“You’re stuck on the one day she died… instead of celebrating the 10,000 days she lived.”
I understand that there isn’t a time limit on grief. But, the second I heard this ↑ from the TV as I was doing some household chores, I knew I was guilty as charged. Damn.
My baby brother was taken by Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in 2008 at 41. My mama, after surviving breast cancer and a stem cell transplant, was taken by Multiple Myeloma in 2012. Their cancer battles both lasted roughly 4 years from diagnosis, and I was with them when they died, holding on to their hands for dear life. But I’m acting as if they’re on some indefinite vacation or out for the day, or in another room. Ugh.
I never went through my mother’s clothing or things — I left it until my aunts stepped in. I avoid their graves like the plague. Even though I moved into my childhood home to take care of my elderly father, whether I’m cleaning the living room or merely walking through it, I never look up at Mama’s or Baby Bro’s pictures on our family portraits wall.
For 4 years, my eyes have landed everywhere else in the room but on that one wall. The old If I ignore it, it didn’t happen trick.
How incredible is that?
So. I dropped the handle of the vacuum cleaner and picked up my cell, opened up the calculator. 41 x 365 = 14,965. Okay. 74 x 365 = 27,010. Hmm.
I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions. I think I need to make an exception, though.
- Start celebrating the 15,000 days that Barry lived
- Start celebrating the 27,000 days that Mama lived
READ: Linda G. Hill, One-Liner Wednesday — Enough Said