Does anyone else ever look around and think “Is this really my life? How did I get here?” I don’t really mean that in a negative way… just more of a pondering sort of way. I feel surprised sometimes — even though I know I’ve been here the whole time, it occasionally often feels like where I am now just snuck up on me.
September weighs heavily. Every day becomes a mental montage of “this day two years ago, [fill in blank here].” There’s a feeling of disbelief. HOW can I still be here, still be breathing and functioning normally, two years after losing Mama? It feels like a betrayal of her, like she wasn’t as important as she should have been, if I can live two years without her. This is permanent. This is real. She’s really gone. And today a year from now, I’ll be saying “it’s been three years.” And then five years, and then 12, and then 18. And she’ll become dimmer and more abstract, part of my past with no place in the future. I wish I could drag my feet and make time move slower — every day that passes puts me farther away from her.
She’s so far away now. I can’t remember the last time I felt her presence. I wonder if she thinks of me as often as I think of her. Somehow, I doubt it.