I can’t wrap my head around that my mom is dead.
I never really understood cancer, how it morphs and changes, how it can consume.
I feel sharp edges of grief.
Rough, hurtful, prickly especially when I think about my mom’s unnecessary pain and hospital stay.
These sharp edges are immediately smoothed over when I hear stories of my mom, our Nana.
Like a soothing balm, these stories cover the edges and ease the pain… until the next wave comes on this ocean of grief.
Last night, we went for a walk to the field at the end of my parents’ street. As we walked, I was remembering walking their with mom, tobogganing, having the dogs out there.
Suddenly JC and CC ran ahead of us, across the field. They sat on two pieces of wood standing up. They sat there for a long time. Then JC called us over. I don’t know what the boys said while they were sitting on those logs, but JC was very clear in what he told me.
“Mom, I sat on those logs with Nana. The last time I had a sleepover by myself. ”
JC was lit up with joy by this simple memory my mom created with him.