I remember the pain.
The searing pain in my chest.
Even now, a year later, I am not so sure my heart has healed.
The stabbing pain.
Not being able to breathe.
I am fairly certain that my heart literally broke.
The remnants of the pain remain today.
I wanted to scream, but I couldn't. I didn't have the strength.
And still, my heart aches.
In the minutes, the hours, the days, that followed I was weak.
I layed in bed for a week in a sea of tears.
Crying for me. But mostly crying for her.
Crying for my mom.
Crying for lost time.
For all of the milestones and ordinary moments that were lost then, and the ones that would never be now.
I cried for her suffering. Physically and emotionally.
For her loved ones.
For everyone who would not have the privilege of knowing the mother I knew.
I cried for the girl who just wanted her mommy.
The mother I loved.
The mother I thought about every single day of my life.
The mother I admired.
The mother I hope I can be like some day.
It's hard to believe that a year has passed already and there has not been a day that goes by that I haven't thought of her. In these past few weeks I have had the same thought echoing in my mind over and over again "this time last year my mom was dying and I didn't know it".
I want to do something to celebrate my mom's life. In doing so I think I can honor her and do a little bit of healing myself.
I've thought of many ideas.
Some big, some small. But what I have decided is to join in Ali Edward's Yesterday and Today class at Big Picture Scrapbooking which begins in January.
My mom was an artist and I can think of no better way to pay tribute to her than to tell her story through art. Although I know the journey may not be easy at times, I know it will definitely be worth it.
I'm looking forward to both the process and the end result.