Some days are harder.
It’s the realization of the uncertainty in what your future holds for you, it seems like it is the only thing that there is. You find yourself curled up in a ball, holding whatever slight comfort you might have or get, like it is the last lifeline to those clearer waters.
I have not felt this much discomfort in a long time. Today marked the first time I’ve cried since the day I lowered my mothers ashes to the ground two years ago. Cried because of longing. Longing for that voice to reassure me that things will turn out okay. She was the strongest person I’ve ever known. Which adequately shows this life’s notion of irony, because the weakest I’ve ever seen someone was her. Strapped into a machine to keep her breathing, just so that we had the time to say our goodbyes, as the doctors said there was still the slight possibility of her being able to hear our voices… Did she hear us, then? Did she find comfort in our voices…
No. Because I know, I know that the last thing that she would have ever wanted was to leave her children behind. Not like that.
In these past couple of days some thoughts that I’d had two years ago have resurfaced. One of them is that I’ve been contemplating about the possibility of one day having children of my own. Taking them where her ashes are buried, and eventually, one day having to answer those questions, having to describe their grandmother to them. A grandmother who would have been the best role model that I could have provided for them, whose example I would gladly let them follow. But who they now will never know. Hell, who I barely got the time to truly know, when only just a couple years before she had told me about her childhood, the troubles she faced and overcame with such determination that carried to her adulthood. All the people she tirelessly helped throughout all the years. That was the day when my perception of what constitutes a ‘Hero’ changed. It’s things like that, that weigh the most; The stories untold. The futures that will never unfold.
All my recent decisions I’ve made was to give myself the chance to feel happy. Just once. To feel like I belong and find that place that feels like home. And now to find out that the things I’ve aspired to, that were within my reach, have been snatched back again.
I still believe though. I believe I can find that place, and even to have the chance to share it. I’m not stopping, I will find myself out of the mess I created by my own naïveté. I just could use some words of encouragement, you know. I spoke with my sister on the phone about it all, both crying, she said to me that I know what mom would have told me in this situation, and I do know what she would have told me. Everything will turn out okay.
But I don’t think that I remember her voice anymore.
And that really tears me apart.