the only constant is change

two years without my mom.

i had been so eager to get to the 1-year mark because i thought i would magically stop feeling the hole in my heart. but, alas, that did not happen. two things did happen after that first year which caught me off-guard. one, i started to feel an emergence from a dark cloud, which i didn't think i would ever feel. it was baby steps, but the emergence let me feel other things again. by the summer, 16-17 months after she passed, i found i was again aware of my surroundings. i could now look around the house we bought 2 years prior and unpack boxes that were forgotten about, hang up art, or think about decorating for any holidays. most importantly, though, i could be present with my children again.

that first year was all about survival for me. it's cliche to say, "My children saved me," but, in a way, it was true. they had to be dressed, be fed, get to pre-school, have play-dates, etc., and it was up to me to do all that when all i wanted to do was lay in bed and/or stare at a wall. i had to put aside any grief and focus on them, and at the end of the day i was too tired to think or feel. but the grief would creep up and it would come on quickly and suddenly; the second thing that caught me off-guard. it would come out in rare moments i was in the car by myself and i would lose control of my emotions. or washing dishes. or folding laundry. and while these moments in the last year came less, what i didn't count on was the intensity of them staying with me for a few days before getting back on my feet. i felt that for every 2 steps forward i took, those intense moments set me back 5. this made the second year of grief to be a lot more difficult than the first. i felt her physically gone in every one of my pores. and being so much more aware meant the holidays, especially Thanksgiving, were more difficult to get through than the first year. any firsts that happened last year were that much more painful, such as walking my older daughter to school on her first day and leading her to her line for the first time, and then saying goodbye just about killed me.

there are many ways in which my mom's death changed me to the core, and i'm still sorting through those changes and what they mean to me. the sense of finality is so ingrained in me now. i have always strived to live by the words, "Live each day to its fullest"; however, being present with someone who takes her last breath made those words grow life-sized and turn into neon-colored block letters for me. i feel those words. they are not abstract to me anymore. i savor more moments in my life. i tell myself to risk a little more. i remind myself more often to be grateful of the life i've had up to this point.

i still struggle with witnessing my mom's passing. i vacillate between being grateful and happy we were able to fulfill her last wish, and anger because i will forever have those images seared into my memory. it is also my last memory of her.

i feel her sometimes and have dreamt of her, and, of course, i miss her like hell. but i see her in my baby niece and that always makes me smile. i hope i keep feeling her close and i look forward to our fleeting moments in my dreams, but i especially look forward to seeing her spirit come through in her grandchildren.

i don't know what to expect from this upcoming year. from what i'm told, the hole never goes away, but its pain lessens. i can already tell this is true. i try to remind myself that our mom wouldn't want me (us) to dwell on things. for as beautifully, vivaciously, and chaotically as she chose to live her life, and despite seeking out ways to challenge the status quo, one thing she was incredible at was accepting things as they were. she would often remind me that i was stressing over things that i could not control, and i've been trying to work on keeping myself focused on that. i saw her battle breast cancer in 1995 and i saw her fight for 12 weeks in late 2015 through early 2016, defying predictions of top specialists at the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix. she shocked nurses and doctors with her will to pull through. her numbers weren't matching the situation she was in. they couldn't make sense of it. but there is always a check-mate and this was cancer's turn. while i'll never know for sure, i think there were a few days of sadness, and maybe even anger, on my mom's part once this reality was presented to her. but 48 hours after meeting with her team where we were told there was nothing they could medically do for her anymore, i noticed her entire demeanor had changed. she was ready to come home and she was no longer in battle mode. she was in acceptance mode. she still had 8 days of hell to go through. we all did. but underneath all of that was the acceptance that this particular life's adventure was coming to an end. out of all that i witnessed and went through in those 12 weeks, this is the one, last, big lesson she taught me. it was also very much in character. so, in honor of her, i've written out the lyrics of the song we played at her request during her memorial - Frank Sinatra's, My Way:

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

I've live a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption

I planned each chartered course

Each careful step along the byway

And more, much more than this

I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I'm sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I at it up and spit it out

I faced it all and stood tall

And did it my way

I've loved. I've laughed and cried

I've had my fill my share of losing

And now,...

Buči buči myliu myliu.*

*Lithuanian, "Kisses, hugs/I love you."