June 29th was the sixth anniversary of my mom's passing. I wrote this entry, but didn't feel like reading through it to post until now...

There's a rule of thumb which states that the amount of time it takes to get over someone is half the time you were together. If you were together 10 years, then it takes 5 years to get over them not being in your life any more. And though this was coined about relationships, it can easily apply to anybody, really. I was close to my mom since birth, which means I was with her 52 years. I assume this meant I'd be 78 before I'd be over her passing. Assuming such a thing were even possible. It's my mom, after all. How do you get over that?

My mom only made it to 73½ years, which makes it easy for me to envision never making it to my 78th birthday.

But here's the thing... I think there's levels to being over somebody close to you who has died. At least that's how it's been for me...

• The first level is where you're inconsolable. You can't imagine how you will ever be able to carry on... ever be able to be happy again. You think about that person multiple times a day and it cuts you to you core. For me this was the first six months. Fortunately I had cats to feed or else I probably wouldn't have gotten out of bed in the morning.
• The second level is where you're starting to accept that life goes on, but randomly think about the person all the time and the waves of sadness makes you think this is just your life now. This lasted for weeks after the first anniversary of her passing.
• The third level is where all the sadness and all the bad things start to mostly fade away leaving you only happy memories. I could start looking through our travel books again and be joyous that I had such a great relationship with my mom and got to do so many wonderful things with her. Sure Mother's Day, birthdays, anniversaries of their passing, and other memorable dates (like Christmas) are tough, but they're manageable. Mom's birthday that came four years after she passed was when I crossed this threshold. From then on I had made peace with no longer having her around and stopped feeling like I was enduring some kind of torture.
• The fourth level is where you aren't thinking of the person all the time. And when you do, it's without the kind of deep sadness that rips through you. From here on it's just your new reality. You miss them (sometimes more than others) but you've moved on. I notice a photo of mom hanging somewhere or see a Facebook memory of somewhere I went with her and it's almost like I'm looking through it. Do I still miss her? Of course I do. But I rarely think about how much I miss her... it's just a photo that makes me think "Oh yeah, that was a fun trip" followed by a flash of sadness that she's gone, and then I carry on.
• The fifth level was where it just all... stopped... for me. And I remember the day clearly. It was Mother's Day of this year. The night before I went to bed dreading waking up on the day that was most special to me because it was the day I'd buy her a card and ask her where our next trip would be. Then I'd make plans and take her there. In the five Mother's Days past, it hurt realizing that there were no more trips to be had. No more Mother's Day cards to give. But Mother's Day 2024? For whatever reason I woke up, looked through the photo book of our final trip together, and thought "Kinda cool that our last trip was to someplace as amazing as Zimbabwe!" Then I put the book back on the shelf and went to work feeling nothing but happy that I had such a great mom and was able to see the world with her. Now I just coast on all the good memories when they pop up (while still missing her, of course), and that's it. No more random panic attacks from the crushing realization I don't have a mom any more. Because I still do, and I can think about her any time I like...

And here it is, six years since my mom died. It feels like I'm writing all this in a detached kind of way. I'll say "This is what happened and this is the awful way it felt," but from an observational point of view. I'm not reliving it every time. I'm not in there feeling it any more. Thankfully, I'm not able to feel it any more.

And it's very strange putting that out there, because I honestly didn't think it would ever happen. Or at least not until I was 78 years old...

In many ways I still feel robbed. It's not fair that she got dementia and the last four years of her life were so hard (for her and for me). It's not fair that I didn't get another ten years of her company. It's just not fair. And I don't think that feeling will ever go away. Even though I fully realize that there are people out there who got less time with their mom or had a terrible relationship with her, and I'm so very, very lucky...

So, um... yeah.

Still wishing I had mom around.

No longer sad that she's not around because my mind just doesn't go there with her any more. It goes places like this...

It's all happiness, gratitude, and love from here on out.