There is so much I could say, so much I want to say, and so much I wish I could say to make it all OK again. But I cannot fix this, and that absolutely kills me. Most of us have suffered a loss of a loved one at some point in our lives. Yet, I cannot begin to imagine what you must be going through right now. While this isn't what you want to hear, the truth is you will never stop grieving. You will never "get over it." But maybe you aren't meant to.
My father once asked me "How long is a string?" to which I replied "Well, I don't know. I..." He cracked a half-smile and said "Exactly. You have no idea how long or short the string is going to be," and the same goes for grieving. You may be hurting for a week or even years, and you cannot determine that, but what you can determine is what type of person you're going to be..."because of this string, and how you can utilize it to make yourself a stronger, better, and wiser person."
My dear, you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around this loss. You will never quite be whole again, but you will never be the same. A piece of you is gone, yet she will always be with you.
I bet being alone is the worst. People always say keeping yourself busy is a great dose of medicine for any sort of rough time. Because when you are by yourself, all you can do is think...think of everything you never ever ever want to come to terms with. Time isn't friendly. It speeds up when we're with whom we love; it takes longer when we grieve. It walks slow when our tears fall fast, and has an incomparable speed when we just want to stand still. And hard as you try, you can only remember the big things. You finally somehow manage to fall asleep. 20 more sympathy notifications on your phone that only remind you of reality. And even when you wake up, you are never really conscious. Those visions of memories, both good and bad, and sometimes somehow at the same time, sit with you long after you wake. And you always try to put the pieces back together. But it is a puzzle to which you have lost half the pieces.
You will struggle to find the drive. "How can anyone feel motivated to keep going?" You lose your beliefs; your mind; your love; your best friend; your mother. You look around, and everyone else is walking. You have stopped. The only way you can move is when you become complete again. "How long can this go on for?" But the train just keeps going, unbelievably fast. The passengers stare out their windows at you. Doubt. Don't count. Breathe. Live. Heal. It definitely can't last forever.
No matter what, no one could possibly be prepared for the fact that grief is so unpredictable. It isn't just sadness, and it certainly isn't linear. Somehow I hoped that your first days would be the worst and then it would steadily get better, kind of like getting over the flu. I don't think I need you to tell me that it is nothing like the flu.
These times can serve as a reminder that people and our relationships with them are gifts. Loss can remind us that life itself is a gift. Remember to love yourself. You deserve it. You are a gift, just as she was. Your mother was clearly such an amazing person and she must be so proud of the young woman you have become. And guess what? She will continue being proud of you, every step of the way, every experience you go through. She isn't far, sweetheart.
"When will I be strong?" Trapped in a routine. I don't want the highlight of your day to start tears. But you always knew. She was your conscience. She was your sunshine. Now she is like starlight. You know better than anyone else in the world, a light like hers simply can't go out. And even though you can't see her, when you look up at the twinkling stars, you need to know she is still shining somewhere, too. A mother's love shines brighter than any star in the sky.
It won't be easy. It will never be easy. But don't be afraid to feel. Don't be afraid to cry. Don't be afraid to hurt. You are human. Tears shed for another person do not make you weak; they show your kind heart. But my love, you just gotta swim. And whether it is help with school, being your shoulder to cry on, or your stuffing-your-face-with-ice-cream-Nicholas-Sparks-movie-marathon-date... I will probably get to the point where I annoy you like crazy. Because after all of the texts, Facebook messages and Instagram posts of people letting you know they are there for you, I know you would never ask for help. So I will just force mine upon you by showing up at your door with Dunkin' Donuts coffee and the Halloween-size jumbo bag of Starbursts. As I said, I cannot fix this; no one can. But some things can't be fixed. They can only be carried.
Grief is like the ocean: It comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning. No breath at all, it seems. Wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing you can hug. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's even a person who is floating, too. For a while, all you can do is float. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you will survive them. It can be calm at times, yet completely overwhelming at others. Just know I will do whatever I can to not let you sink.
