10

10 Years. A Decade.

I was telling a friend I feel like I should be “over” my mom’s death by now. Spoiler: I’m not. Not even close. I could literally cry just thinking about her, saying her name, or—brace yourself—even contemplating my dad getting remarried. Yuppppp. You heard that right. He decided to bring that up about a week before her 10-year deathaversary. Savvy timing, Dad. Really smooth!!!!

I didn’t expect to be this emotional. It’s not even about the person he’s marrying—honestly, I adore her—but the concept of trying to “replace” my mom? Impossible. The thing that hits me hardest is that he gets to move on, and he very much has. I, however, don’t get to move on, because I will always have this gaping hole in my heart.

And here’s the thing: I can celebrate him, adore my future stepmom, and still miss my mom with a depth I can’t explain. There’s no timeline for grief, and maybe that’s okay. This enormous swirl of emotion? It just shows how big my love for her was and still is.

I don’t want this to be my whole story, and I don’t want anyone to pity me. I just…want my mom back. I loved her so much. I miss her so much. I want her guidance, her comforting touch, her words of wisdom, her presence. I DON’T HAVE THAT ANYMORE. Do you know how badly I want to pick up the phone and call her? To wrap my arms around her? To see her sitting at the kitchen island? Hear her laugh? Her voice? Be on the receiving end of her stupid wink LOL.

It’s brutal. I don’t think this pain ever really goes away. It seems to get deeper every year. I realize more and more how much I need her—how much I long for that built-in best friend I know she would’ve been. Something really traumatic happened to me this past year, and my sister said something that cut deep: “You know she would’ve been your first call.” Yeah. That stung. Because she would’ve held my hand, taken my pain away, and talked me through it. And now? I don’t get that anymore.

I’m getting married this year, and I already know I’m going to miss her presence so much. I also opened a business, and while she was a SAHM, she was the most innovative, savvy person I knew—my brain keeps imagining her ideas and guidance, and then hitting a brick wall because…well…she’s not here. I want to be a mom so badly myself, and the thought of doing it without her scares the living shit out of me.

But here’s something I’ve been trying to remind myself: my feelings are real, and they’re valid. I wouldn’t trade my grief for the world, because that grief is the energy of all the love I have for her. Someone told me recently to think of grief as a friend. It’s going to be there forever so you might as well make it your companion. My grief is simply all the love I have for her. If my grief were to disappear tomorrow, I'd be sad because that would mean I don’t think about her every single day—and I do. I need that reminder of her.

Ten years later, I’m still hung up on it. And you know what? That’s okay. She’d be proud of me. And honestly, if I can honour her by feeling all this love—and grief—then maybe, just maybe, I’m doing something right.