I was thinking this morning about the day after the anniversary of someone’s death. It’s odd.
For me, the anniversary of my mother’s death (4 years ago this week) is always a very difficult day. And now, with the double-edge that is getting more in touch with my feelings, it’s a bit more difficult even. Not a sob story– just an observation.
The thing of it is, though, as hard as that day is I think I prefer it to the one after. The anniversary of her death is a day that I can focus on her, both her life *and* her death. In that way, the day is partially nice. I try to take some time to reflect on her. I’ll think about the things I miss about her, the questions I’d like to ask her, and just the strangeness of her not being here. I’m trying to respect my own grief and give it some room. Not an easy task.
However, part of the day is also spent thinking about the good things. Even though our relationship was incredibly rocky when I was younger, we had become really close later in her life. We raised my sister together, which made us feel more like friends than mother and daughter. And of course there was her multiplicity. Her four year old internal child, Meme, ruled the world and let the rest of us live in it. 🙂 I’m fortunate to have so many wonderful memories of her and her internal folks.
Still, the day after someone’s death anniversary is somehow harder. I hadn’t thought of that until this year. To state the obvious, the day after her death represents the first day that she was no longer alive. At least for part of the day that her death anniversary honours, she *had* been alive. Then there’s that day she never saw, and all those that have come after it. It’s rather a chilling thought and reminds me of why grief sometimes feels like panic.