Mothers Day

Some days have joyous written all over them. Some are plain. Some put you in a time warp and take you to that same day in another year, like a familiar smell that triggers your senses. This time last year it was the beginning of the end.

I woke in my cold, sterile motel room near the hospital. It was Mother’s Day; alone I readied myself and began like many before and a few after, coffee then hospital. “Would he be better today?” I’d hope and pray thinking it couldn’t get worse, but it became much worse, 2 more weeks until the end, less till our last sparse conversation.

Those painful times are survived as if they belonged to someone else. This life cannot be mine. What happened? Who took my life away…..

Yet somehow, you do, like surviving the Holocaust, you’re in the same place but it’s all changed, nothing is the same. And after a struggle to breathe you reach out and try to find life again. Never the same, but life none the less. Rebuilding begins.

So now I am not alone on Mothers Day, I am home with my kids, I love that part. They are wonderful. I just may need a few more years for the haunting memories and associations to subside. The one year mark approaching fast, I’m not ready for that. But I am ready to be alive again.

It really truly didn’t kill me…I’d had my doubts.

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