I haven't blogged in several months, largely because the fact that Mom is gone has become a part of my daily life. It's just something that I accept, something that is and something I cannot change. The saying goes, "time heals all" but I think that is a bunch of crap. Time just makes it slightly less painful. There really is no healing.I had a moment tonight. One of those great motherly moments with my amazing daughter. She came down to the kitchen, sat at the island and finished her homework. Lately these days, Regan has taken to her room like it is a full-service suite at the Ritz. She goes up there and never comes down. I actually ventured up to the third floor this morning to check out "the-cleaning-lady-is-coming-so-clean-up-your-room" progress and I was totally disgusted. Diet Coke cans, half-eaten bags of SmartFood, and dirty laundry piled high. The advantage of moving her to the third-floor was that I don't have to see this shit every day. The disadvantage is that raccoons could easily live off her trash. God bless the cleaning lady!
Anyway, Regan has blown us away this year. She started at a private school in the fall and the work load has been insane, but that has not phased her one bit. She works her tail off in the classroom and on the sports field, coming home at 6:30 most evenings, grabbing some bit of dinner and heading to her room to plug away at her homework, oftentimes not hitting the sack until well after midnight. Which basically means that we don't really see her Monday through Thursday. Tonight, however, was one of those rare moments when she wanted to be seen. And I relished every minute.
We chatted about the boys, the friends, the school, life in general for a seventh grader. She was funny, witty and more mature than I could ever imagine. She jokingly tossed me the worksheet, diagrams included, from her health class where they are discussing all the topics that parents fear most and then rolled on the floor laughing when I glanced at it and squealed in disgust. Yes, I am the 42-year old who birthed three children but I really don't want to go over that with my 12-year old daughter.
All-in-all, it was just 40 minutes of pure motherly bliss. And there is no one, not a single person in this world, who would have enjoyed my euphoria more than Mimi. But, she's not here. So when Regan bounded out of the kitchen, with her lacrosse uniform still on, school books and laptop tucked under her arm, I was left here at the kitchen island all by myself. As much as I would have loved to call Mimi to tell her about this moment, because I know she would have understood exactly how I felt, I couldn't. She's gone. And while the wound has healed, the scar remains. It always will.
I guess the upside is the scars remind us that we have to move on, but we don't need to forget.
