Dear Allison, the "fog" is heavy

Dear Allison, while beauty and life surround me in so many forms, and I find the blessing in the moments, one by one as they tick by, I must be honest that the fog of grief is heavy at times, right now. I suppose that is why I am writing again, fast and furiously as I make my way through your birthday month, only to realize that another holiday awaits...Easter Sunday. When that thought came upon me today, there it was again, the strain of grief, the wave of stopping me in my tracks, telling myself to breathe, reminding myself that as I prepare a meal you will not be here. I have barely been able to relax and savor your birthday, the celebrations, the moments with your sister, father, aunt, and house full of family and friends last week. How can this be that I have to pull it up again and again and again...why does the "fog" seem so constricting and choking, even as I look around and see the wonder that surrounds me.

Sometimes, most times, grief occupies my life to the edges of everything...my soul, my heart, my mind, my actions, my words...yes, I want to scream, it is all consuming. I want you here, I want you back, I don't want to hear the word cancer one more time, I don't want to visit with one more grieving mother, I don't want to even imagine living out the rest of my days without you. So, I put all that I face and cope with in little compartments of my being, and I take them out when I can. I handle them, one by one, or more than one at a time, little by little, or a lot at a time, and I know that I am no longer the person I was before...before this. And sometimes I feel like I cannot see the hand in front of me, or what is to come from all this, or even remember what has specifically happened in my life. Yes, I recall, but sometimes with the events blending into one, or having to review my journal just to know when, how, where, and why I did some particular thing. But that's not really the important part...it's the pain of living in a "fog" that gets to me at times, I want it cleared, I want to know what lies ahead, I want to SEE how this all will play out, but I can't, Allison, I just can't. So, I keep the promise of God's wisdom, grace, and love in front of me at all times. I find comfort in the ways I know how, from my readings, from those who care and love me, and while they will never understand, they try, or they ask, or they take that minute to share a thought or hear a story.

Sometimes it feels as though there is nothing in the horizon but this...this grief, this pain, this ache, this life without you in it. But I know that is not true. There is much to be thankful for, and I list those in my blessing journal every day. I find them, I seize the day, I live as clean as I can, I take no drugs to cope, but I am no hero, I am just one mother of millions who buried their child way too soon, who now must live on in the way that will make you proud, myself proud, and God proud.

The "fog" may never lift, I may remain sensitive when others lose their patience with me, I may remain confused when others say things that I cannot even respond to, I may find myself resorting to tears of frustration, anger, or disbelief at times, and I may offend others while I dance in and out of this thing called grief. I may not know what I need, who I need, what I can do, what I cannot. But I am learning, taking all cues from God above, being still to hear and listen intently, follow my spirit that is guided from a loving God, the angels, and you.

Indeed, the "fog" is heavy, Allison, but I will be patient with myself. I will allow what is to be, accept what IS, and take the opportunity to start anew. I will live in my grief. I will live.

March is closing soon, my letters may stop, but not my writing. You are always my only audience as I pour my heart out, and I will never stop knowing you, talking with you, and loving you in my heart. I reached my goals and birthday blessings, and I will not stop the daily random act of kindness, and I will keep walking, physically, and spiritually, as I take that closer walk with thee.

You are my light out of this "fog", this I know for sure, your mom