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Rated: E · Non-fiction · Drama · #2145953
Writing about a depressive funk I was in and returning back better
Say it isn't so, celebrating the first holiday season without my mom. It was like clock-work, I would receive a call from my mother as I was cutting the Thanksgiving ham instructing me of her arrival date within a few days. My mother loved to spend Christmas in Georgia with me and the family which incorporated besides myself, her four granddaughters and her favorite son in law, Henry. Christmas with my mother was simply irreplaceable, she was like Santa for and to everyone. She was the laughter, the happiness and easygoing spirit that we all needed.mm. She shared old memories of everyone's childhood, involving all of us in her storytelling; although we may have all already heard them before. Despite her limited breath, due to her illness COPD, she loved life and loved to make everyone around her happy. She made life brighter, as she smiled and shared her love with everyone around her. I never thought that there would ever be a Christmas without her.

This Christmas was difficult, it just didn't feel like the many Christmases I had with my mother. I didn't receive a call at Thanksgiving with itinerary plans nor did I hear the laughter. How I longed to hear my mom's voice or the recounted memories. I felt as if I was just going through the motions, putting up the tree, going shopping, cooking, all without my mom's input, suggestions, or stories about a particular ornament and memories. There was rarely any laughter except for the times when the children opened their gifts with surprises and anticipation. Other than that, I felt like dust particles as they drift only moving with a sudden breeze or strong wind.

Normally my tree would still be up, as I loved the holiday so much that I hated to disassemble it as it was admitting that it was over. However, this year without my mother, the tree, ornaments, and Christmas stockings were removed by the stroke of the New Year. There were not even remnants of tree bristles or Christmas cards left out to indicate that the Christmas holiday was celebrated in my house. Every day I questioned the importance of living without her, as she made me feel special and invincible. I never questioned my invincibility while she was living, with her words, "Don't worry, you will get thru this" I was always comforted.

Now, a few days before school restarts, yes I decided to go back to school for my doctorate while she was living and I am slowly remembering the importance of living. Does living means not grieving my mother? Does grieving my mother means I am not living? These questions are constantly reflections when thinking about her and living without her? Grieving and living are synonymous, I can do both. My mother wants me to live and to have laughter. Can I be honest here? I also know that she would give me the side-eye if I didn't think about her once and a while too. Yes, she loved to be the center of attention!!

It wasn't until two days ago that I made the decision to live, to grieve, to laugh, to cry, and to be what and who I always been. I can't give up on myself, the life she created in me, and the life I created in and for my children.

Say it is so, that despite my mom's death, I'm back to living.

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