PYHO: It's not the big ones

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Everyday, I miss her.

But there are days where I miss her so much I can barely breathe.

I knew these days would happen, before she died. 

But they were not the days I thought they would be.

Mother's Day, her birthday, my birthday, Christmas, holidays.  These were rough.  I've gone through them all once, save for Mother's Day.

But it's the days that seem to mean nothing that matter to me most.  It's the little things that take my breath away.

It's the days where for some reason, I remember exactly what happened on that date in a past year, and exactly what we were doing.

Like July 23, 2007.

I was engaged.  We had taken the day off work to go get pedicures and have lunch.  A girls day.

I remember us talking about the wedding, about how when we had kids she would take her vacations when we did so we could get away for a few days.

Or pound cake with chocolate dipping sauce.  One of her favorite desserts to serve, and how excited she was about her little dipping bowls and plates she had ordered from Pampered Chef for this very purpose.

How she always wore two different earrings.  Always.

It's hard for me to remember her healthy, sometimes.  It's hard for me to forget the pain, the trauma, the heartbreak of the past 3-4 years.

These things bring me back.  But it's hard.

It's hard when your 4 year old sees a cemetery, and says "Don't go there Mommy. That's where you get sad."

It's hard when your kids understand what it means when someone is "sick" before they have even started kindergarten.

July 17, 2005.

I had finally broken up with my asshole ex boyfriend.  Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince had came out the day before.  I took my book and went to my mom's, laid in the pool while reading the book, with a friend, and my mom made us drinks and food all day.  She was in her element -- entertaining, cooking, taking care of people.

December 31, 2007.

My parents first trip to Ruth's Chris.  She had an apple martini for dessert.  She loved it.  Vowed our NYE tradition of dinner would continue for years to come at Ruth's Chris.

May 31, 2009.

PJ's Christening.  Four days after diagnosis of ALS.  She was still walking, working.

December 31, 2009.

Her last trip to Ruth's.

March 27, 2010. 

The last time I would see her outside of her house - at my house, for PJ's 1st birthday.

So many more days come to me in fleeting moments. 

Grief changes us. The pain sculpts us into someone who understands more deeply, hurts more often, appreciates more quickly, cries more easily, hopes more desperately, and loves more openly.

I understand more deeply.  I understand your anger, your frustration, your hopelessness.  I understand more what to say and what not to say.

I hurt more often than I ever imagined.  Things hurt that I could have never known had the ability to hurt.

I appreciate more quickly.  I appreciate every single moment I have with the people I love.  I never waste an opportunity.

Cries more easily?  Definitely.

I hope more desperately, because I am desperate.

I love more openly.  You know if I love you.  You probably always did, but there's no secret, it's not hiding.

I am not the person I was before May 27, 2009.  And I am not the person I was before February 24, 2012.

I am forever changed.  By grief.