anniversary

Today marks two years since my Mum died.

Once again, I really don't know how this anniversary is supposed to be. What am I supposed to do? Should I be raucously celebrating the astonishing person that she was? Should I be miserably lamenting all the lost time? Should I look at photos? Light candles? Smile? Cry?

It's one of the ickyest clichés in the book, but that thing they say about "it seems like only yesterday" is true. But so is the equally icky cliché that "it seems like an ocean of time". Every day, I remember minutiae of who she was, the phenomenally important role she had in my life. She still often wanders into my dreams - sometimes quietly cheerful, occasionally raging with fury.

Unlike this time last year, she no longer accidentally bounces into my everyday consciousness, in the sense that I no longer forget she's gone. I don't find myself thinking, "I must remember to tell Mum that," only to realise, moments later, that I can't. These days, I'm more self-consciously aware of myself as a product of her life. I will catch myself using a certain figure of speech, giving out sage advice to someone else, referring to some obscure piece of knowledge or trivia, and know that it came from her. Above all, I find myself wishing she could see what I've been doing, hear the songs I've written, visit my own little apartment, spend time with my boyfriend... be here to see and share my life, as it is now.

My life has changed a lot in the last two years. I have moved out of home. I have finally found the courage to share my life, romantically, with others. I have felt the bitter hurt that can go along with this, as well as the lofty euphoria of love at its most beautiful. I have kicked my anti-depressants and am doing okay without them. I have taken the first tentative tiptoes back towards the arty/creative/inspired life that is where my heart truly lies, but from which I have been so long estranged. It is all happening slowly, as is my wont. But baby steps is what it's all about, and I am taking them.

I suppose the irony is, I quite likely wouldn't be doing all of this if she was still alive. I'm not saying for a moment that she held me back, or that the last two years have been sunshine and roses on a gentle uphill incline. But I guess the point is, I'm getting by. We have no choice but to deal with changes - even terrible, desperately unfair ones - and, of course, that's when we find out what we're made of.

I realise this ramble has been completely self-centered, but I couldn't possibly pretend to speak on behalf of my Dad, brother & sister, or any of the other many people whose lives have changed because my Mum is gone. It's all too big, too much. I can only speak for me.


I guess the bottom line is, I will never be okay with the fact that she's gone.
But I know she would be proud of me, two years on. Damn proud.
And that is some comfort.