First of all, don’t be mad that I’m writing this. When I told you I’d be writing for the Odyssey, I’m sure this isn’t what you had in mind for one of my first articles. You’ve always been my best friend, my biggest fan, and my secret keeper. You’ve always been the one to hold me in my times of heartbreak and give me the best advice. You’ve always been there for me, but now it’s time for me to do the same for you.
Promise me to remember these things in your time of heartbreak:
Nothing you’re feeling is “wrong.”
Everything you are feeling is a completely normal process. You’re handling things the way you’re wired to handle them. Everyone grieves differently: some jump into their normal routine, some take time to themselves; some want to talk about it, while others would rather not. So what if you cry every day or if it’s hard just to get out of bed most days? You aren’t wrong to be sad, jealous, selfish, or any other emotion, and don’t ever think you are.
Don’t apologize for grieving.
Your grief is not a burden to me, or to any of our family. Stop apologizing for being sad. It’s understandable. You lost someone who was a vital part in your everyday life, someone you’ve never had to live without until two months ago. It’s OK not to be OK. You, and only you, will be ready when you feel ready.
Don’t feel like you can’t cry in front of me or to me.
There’s nothing I cherish more than when you come into my room to talk about how you’re feeling. Along with that, there’s nothing that hurts me more than when I walk passed your bedroom door and hear you weeping alone. I love being your big spoon and holding you as you cry. I love being your best friend and confidant.
While it’s OK to cry, it’s also OK to be happy.
I know you. When you catch yourself smiling throughout the day, you stop as soon as possible and hold slight guilt. It’s OK to smile at things. It doesn’t make you a bad person; it makes you human. You can be happy and grieve at the same time. Grief isn’t always crying or sadness. Being happy isn’t letting go or moving on.
Broken crayons still color.
Just because you’re broken, doesn’t mean you’ll never color or be the same again. It may take days, months, or years, but it will eventually happen. Just because your world has stopped spinning momentarily, doesn’t mean it won’t start up again. You have a pit in your stomach, a hole in your heart, and you feel broken, but remember -- you still color.
You are still you.
Despite this brokenness you feel inside you, you are still the woman I call “Momma” and the one I run to for everything. You’re still the wonderful mother you’ve always been. Even in your time of grief, you’d still drop everything and come to me if I needed you to. Everything you’re feeling is what makes you, you, and I wouldn’t have you any other way. Depressed and heartbroken or not, you’re still my mom and I couldn’t imagine having anyone else to call that, but you.
And most of all, remember that I love you: forever and always; always and forever.
