Moments that forever change who we are, how we respond, how we think or feel, how vulnerable we allow ourselves to be. We each have our own individualized timeline of pivotal moments in life. Actually, I’m not sure it was much of a choice really. I did not have the mental capacity to mourn my dad’s death and my dying marriage. Losing my dad, engulfing that grief, forced me to make decisions that I had been fighting to not make. What I stood for, what I loved, what I hated, what I was willing to take or give, what comprised all of the intricate parts of me. But outside of them I had no idea who I was anymore. My kids, my boys, were what gave me purpose. In fact, ending that marriage was probably one of the best things that happened during that time. I had lost my dad suddenly, but I’d been losing myself gradually for many years. I was broken, shattered, but the truth is my marriage died long before my dad did. I know what you’re thinking – I left my husband because I was so broken after losing my dad. Within a four year period of time, I had moved jobs, become a mom… twice, lost my dad suddenly and left my husband. I still try processing this timeline of angst, confusion, grief, self realization, strength… repeat. Pieced back together, but never the same. The fragments of moments I can piece together, of the roller coaster of life, that flashes through those mental photos or videos in your mind. I’m trying to process the time that has passed since this day. The other part of me is drowning in a seasonal wave of insurmountable grief. I am hightenedly aware of how incredibly blessed I am to even have this opportunity. A part of me relishes in this role as a mom, my most fulfilling responsibility. Today is a strange day, to say the least. Which simultaneously happens to be the day 9 years ago that I got a phone call, on the way to work, that my dad had a sudden and massive heart attack. I’m sitting here in a coffee shop on Mother’s Day. Always vulnerable of being broken open again. Often the rawness, the ache, the blistering red, burning wound eventually quiets some, but it’s almost always there. But I call deep, gut wrenching, paralyzing grief cannot be completely healed with this inevitable passing of moments in life we refer to as time. “Time heals all wounds” – a cliche of words coined, I’m sure, by some well-intended person as a source of comfort during a time of grief.
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