My mom believed that every day was a day to be celebrated.
[This particular day was celebrating my finishing my second marathonÂ and taking off more than 40 minutes â€” nearly six years ago.]
I honestly believe Iâ€™m mostly doing as OK as one canÂ during this whole wretched grieving process. Iâ€™m going on with my live while honoring my momâ€™s as best I can [some really cool stuff to announce in the near future related to this :)]
This past weekend, I went back to Franklin Lakes (there, now I donâ€™t have to say the house/their house/his house/whatever) to see my sweet dad and attend a family reunion with him. As you might imagine, these things were difficult.Â
I came back to the city emotionally drained and crawled into bed to nap and let myself wallow for a while.
Sometimes friends who are like family have that weird spidey sense of when you need them, and I got a text from my best friend that she was in my neighborhood, was I home? She came over and we just sat on my couch for a long time chatting about a whole lot of things going on in both of our lives.Â
Eventually, we got hungry and made our way down to Republic in Union Square, which, btw, New Yorkers, is closing? (But, hot tip, they have frosÃ© on happy hour for $8, and itâ€™s fabulous.)
We sat at the bar chatting, and I started telling some sad story about my mom. Iâ€™m a little absent-minded to begin with, but lately Iâ€™ve been extra absent-minded (no idea whyâ€¦nothing going on here), and I stopped to catch my runaway train of thought. The entire time weâ€™d sat there, we hadnâ€™t noticed the music playing softly as we chatted, but suddenly Shut Up and Dance, our favorite song to dance like fools to late-night, came on.
And in that moment, I knew my mom was with me, telling me to stop being sad and to have fun.
I woke up still thinking about that this morning, smiling. I went out for a run, and sure enough, another gorgeous sunny day, and I vowed to fight hard for happiness and joy today amidst sadness. It was a hard/weird day at work, but I just kept looking for the roses among the thorns and kept thinking of the advice my mom would give me if I could call her right now.
Iâ€™d love to tell you that means that I didnâ€™t cry after getting a sweet sympathy card from a friendâ€™s family or after texting with my cousin, but then Iâ€™d be lying. Iâ€™d love to tell you that I didnâ€™t start writing this post with tears streaming down my cheeks, but that would be a lie, too.Â
But Iâ€™m trying to have a good cry and move on, to not let it bring down the rest of my day/night. To honor the feelings, but do my best to not let them consume me.
One thing thatâ€™s helping with that is thinking about and planning for the future. Short-term, long-term, even just thinkingÂ about planning and the future gives me glimmers of hope to think to a time when this pain wonâ€™t feel quite so raw and the future will feel a little brighter than it does right now. Iâ€™ve done bullet-journaling on and off, and Iâ€™m obsessed with Rachel Wilkersonâ€™s new bookÂ on bullet journaling. Just readingÂ about planning is giving me some weird peace.
Iâ€™ll take it where I can get it.Â