This afternoon I was sifting through some old papers when I came across the last birthday card my mother had given me. It’s been years, of course, since I’ve seen her handwriting. The note was lovely. She’d written to me how much she enjoyed our unique relationship, and it made me smile to think of the happy times we had together. We were friends almost over being mother and daughter. We went through rather alot together, and we frequently acted as equals. For better or worse, she didn’t always fill the parent role, and I frequently acted as head of household.
Later this afternoon, I walked a couple of miles from my house to a spot that feels safe and let myself cry about her death. That might actually be the first time I’ve cried specifically about my mother’s death. When I wrote the goodbye letters my therapist suggested, I certainly *felt* like crying. Today, though, I let it happen. No idea what it was about that card or this afternoon or really any combination that led up to it. I feel a bit sad now, but better. As one of my insiders said during our walk back home, that was d*mn near healthy.