Over You

I miss you
They say I’ll be okay
But I’m not going to ever get over you
- Miranda Lambert

Sometimes life just slaps you in the face. Full force. Or maybe it's death that slaps you in the face. Full force....

Sunday our paper hadn't been delivered and we had to call in for another one. Not being a morning person, and not really wanting to do anything that required much mental energy while we were waiting, I picked up my laptop to see what people had posted on Facebook. The two most recent posts were from my sisters, about it being the 10th anniversary of my mom's death. And my brother 'liking' their posts. It was a hell of a slap awake and I couldn't hold it in. I just started to cry.

This fall I went to Belgium to visit my sister. I was emotionally and physically shot, having worked 60-70 hour weeks and not taken a vacation in the 4 years since I started my school. Barbara and I took a walk in a nearby park and my mother came up in conversation. Barbara turned to me with tears in her eyes and whispered, "Cyndi, I miss her so much." And we stood there in the middle of the park, hugging each other crying. Because we both miss her that much.

Even ten years later our grief is still that raw. We go on with our daily lives. We talk about our mom. We laugh and we tell stories. And in the quiet moments, our grief seeps out. Because we loved her that much. Because she loved us that much. And you never get used to having that disappear from your life. So how do you deal with it? Each of us deals with it differently. My siblings want to do very public things. Before Facebook became the phenomenon that it is, my other sister wanted to take out an ad in the obituary section of the paper in honor of her passing, as some people do, and was a bit put off that I didn't want to contribute toward this. But I'm too private for that. At least Facebook fulfills her desire to publicly acknowledge my mom. And I don't find solace in commemorating someone's passing. I'd rather celebrate their life. I do that by trying to live up to the ideals she raised me with. I do that by spending time at the places I spent with her and remembering those times. Or sharing things with my daughters that she shared with me.

In some ways, I consider it an amazing thing that after this many years we all miss her that much. It speaks volumes about how much she loved us. It's important to me to pass that on.

In loving memory of Patricia Boe Thomas 6-27-1924 to 1-21-2001