The Firsts

Happy Birthday, Mom

Yesterday would have been my mom’s 65th birthday and it feels like the weirdest thing in the world to not have woken up in the morning and made her breakfast in bed. But let’s be honest - what part of this whole grief thing isn’t weird?

The firsts are supposed to be the hardest.

The first mothers day, the first birthdays, the first Christmas’. But what happens when they’re not? What happens when the firsts are all done and the floor still feels like its going to swallow you whole?

You see, the firsts are hard but at least people don’t expect you to face the hard alone. During that first year everyone is there. You have endless meal trains scheduled. People check in on you all time and understand when you’re bad at replying or when you need a day to lay underneath the blankets and cry. It’s okay when you’re not okay.

But then the second year starts. Suddenly you need to meal plan and fight your way through the grocery store all over again. A fight that gets harder and harder because every time you go each meal - each tomato or onion, reminds you of something that your mom used to make you. So instead of cooking you microwave another canned soup and call it a day.

The second year is full of wanting to call her and forgetting that you can’t until it’s too late. The phone rings and before you realize what is happening you hear her voice on her old answering machine. She has never sounded so far away and a tear runs down your face as you remember that she’s never going to answer again.

The second year is full of more loneliness than you ever imagined but everyone has moved on. You should be okay now.

But I’m not okay. All of the firsts are over, and I’m not okay. I wasn’t okay yesterday and honestly, I might not be okay tomorrow. My heart still hurts just as much as it did 378 days ago and I often wonder whether or not my heart big enough to handle this much heartbreak. But I’m learning to be okay with that.