The Softer Edges of Memory

Odd thing, healing.

This is the first year since my mother died that I actually had to think about which day it was. (Today, of course). In previous years, the anniversary sorta loomed on the horizon for a few weeks before hand, generally falling into a patterns of despair and sadness.

And then the day would pass, and I’d get on with my life.

This time? I actually almost forgot it was here.

Maybe that’s more of a reflection of how busy life has gotten – who has time for memories when there are things. To. Be. Done?

Or maybe it’s because I’ve been trying to let it go over the last year or so. (And if you’re a longer term reader of the blog, you’ll probably recognize this by some of the posts.) For a very long time I kept a good deal of it to myself, because the grief was so utterly unbearable that I literally could not comprehend it.

So I didn’t try.

I suspect that some of my health problems are a result of some of this – but slowly, I’ve been letting it go a little at a time. It’s not perfect, and it may never be – but I’ll settle for a more subtle blur of emotions over nothing at all.

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