When will I stop marking the days, weeks, and months since she passed away?
I found myself at my daughter’s dance class, staring blankly, oblivious to the teacher’s gaze as I sat at her table, lost in thought. My mind drifted back to that moment in the hospice room, standing vigil beside my mother, praying for her to release the frail body I had known for decades. The clock struck, reminding me that it had been exactly one week since she took her last breath—one week since I lost her again when the dementia consumed her essence.
Two weeks and four days later, we gathered for dinner, finally convincing my father to join us for pizza—an old family favorite. As we asked for a table for five, a pang of realization hit; there were only four of us now. “Jessica would have loved that salad,” my dad remarked as I took my seat. The memories of her lingered, yet time marched forward, indifferent to our collective heartache.
One month and two days later, we celebrated my dad’s 84th birthday, his first without my mother in over six decades. At the Chinese buffet, the atmosphere was heavy with grief, yet the children wore smiles, their laughter stark against our sorrow.
One month and nine days later, while attending a conference in Baltimore, I instinctively reached for the phone to share my experiences with Mom. Instead, my dad picked up, and I paused momentarily before shifting the conversation to my travel details.
Two months and twelve days later, at a birthday party filled with joyful children, my daughter quietly wrapped her arms around my neck and whispered, “I miss Grandma.”
Three months after losing my mother, I still find myself teetering between tears at memories and smiles at photographs. Friends have stopped checking in, comforted by my “I’m fine” replies. We finally completed the wheelchair ramp that would have assisted her, now serving my father as he navigates his own grief and physical limitations. His movements have slowed, shoulders hunched, and eyes dimmed; a love story of 60 years abruptly ended.
The upcoming Thanksgiving and Christmas seasons loom large, as we prepare to conceal our emotions while celebrating with family and friends. For some, it will be the first encounter since her passing, and that moment of realization will again hit us—the world has irrevocably changed.
When will I cease counting the days, weeks, and months since my mother’s death?
This article was originally published on Aug. 9, 2015.
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In summary, the process of grief is complex and deeply personal. Each milestone, each family gathering, reminds us of our loss while simultaneously highlighting the passage of time. As we navigate this journey, the question remains: when will the counting cease?