People will tell you that Time eases grief - makes it easier to bear, takes the raw edges away. Perhaps for some it does indeed accomplish that task.
For myself - not so much. I find that there are times when it bothers me not in the slightest. And there are others - important days, days with meaning to me personally, with history behind them - that it wells up as unquenched as when the fires were first sparked.
I've been sitting here trying to figure out why most of today has seemed a bit blah and lackluster to me.
Then it struck me - today is February 13th. It would have been mom's 69th birthday today, if she were still alive. And in 2 1/2 weeks, it will be the anniversary of her death, 14 years ago.
She had just turned 55 when she went into the hospital for the final time, before she finally died from complications from the Systemic Lupus and Fibromyalgia that she'd suffered from her entire adult life.
She was my best friend. She was my confidant. She was my rock, my stability, the glue that held the disparate portions of my family together. She was the voice of reason. She was my encourager. She was smart and funny and talented. She kept her granddaughters entertained, and her daughter (mostly) sane. She taught me how to laugh at my own foibles, how to cope with a disease that never goes away, how to not give up on living when that's what I want to do most, and how to love even someone who doesn't necessarily really want to be loved.
And I miss her more now than I did the first year after her death - and will no doubt miss her more a year from now than I do as I sit here and write this.
Happy birthday, momma, wherever you happen to be waiting, taking a break from the pain that plauged you.