10 Years Later...

While most of my posts have been about my journey living in Japan - and all the sunny and cloudy moments that have accompanied this journey - this post is about a different journey. It's about my journey with grief. The long and difficult journey that often leaves me at a loss for words and struggling to understand my thoughts. And above all, missing my mom with an all-encompassing intensity that often stops me in my tracks. 

So why now?! Why am I writing this post ten years later?! I've thought about this question a lot over the past month as I've entertained the idea of finally gathering up the courage to sit down and put some of these thoughts, reflections, and emotions on paper. And for others to read, nonetheless. And, I'm not completely sure why now, to be honest. And yet, I feel like now is the time. Perhaps it's something about "ten years" - which for me, sounds like such a long time. Or perhaps my time in Japan, which has forced me to face some aspects of her death a bit more intensely, head-on, and without my usual support system, has lead me to this point. Who knows?! Regardless, in this moment, I am sitting at my computer...ready to put some of these thoughts to paper.

Ten years...and yet, it feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago in the same moment. Time is funny like that...isn't it?! 

When my mom died, I was a senior in college. At that point, I was applying to graduate schools and didn't even know where I was going to go. And now, ten years later, I'm writing this post from Japan - a place that I never in my wildest dreams ever imagined I would visit (let alone live). In that time, I completed a practicum living in Washington DC; I graduated with my Master's Degree; I became a speech-language pathologist; I got my first real job; I moved to Cincinnati; I ran three marathons; I met Kaz; I got married; I presented at numerous conferences; I published two papers; I moved to Japan; I lived in Japan; and, now, I'm getting ready to move to Dallas and take on a whole slew of new changes, adjustments, challenges, and opportunities. 

During these ten years, I've experienced pain in ways I never knew possible; I've bottled up emotions so deeply that at times I've forgotten what it's like to feel; I've felt guilt about feeling happy, guilt about feeling sad, heck, guilt about feeling or not feeling just about every emotion; I've thrown myself into school/work because that's the only thing I knew how to do; I've avoided thinking about mom because the pain was too much; I've built walls; I've refused to acknowledge emotions I was feeling; I've let the 'shoulds' define me; I've lost myself; I've pushed people away; I've worried and ruminated and worried some more; I've held on to people for too long; I've become my own worst enemy; I've become paralyzed by loss; and, more often than not - I've denied myself the opportunities to connect with her...out of fear greater than any I've ever experienced before. 

And, at the same time...I've laughed; I've loved; I've succeeded; I've learned from my mistakes; I've experienced the unconditional love and support of family and friends during the darkest of times; I've shared stories; I've learned about myself; I've been comforted by memories; I've made amazing new friendships; I've taken risks; I've evolved; and, I've continued to take steps (albeit, not always forward) on this never-ending journey.

Sitting here now, I can definitely tell you that 'things haven't gotten easier' as many people tell you they will. Sure, some days I'm totally okay (whatever that really means); and, some days the grief seems almost too much to bear. Some days I can talk about mom with others - and be filled with a sense of comfort in her memories; and, some days I push thoughts and memories away instantly because they hurt too much. Some days, I feel grateful for the time that she was physically in my life; and, some days the child (or adult, perhaps) in me just wants to stomp my feet and shout 'why did this happen to me?' at the top of my lungs.


Perhaps, instead of getting easier, the journey ebbs and flows...as most journeys do. And, maybe a lot of these ebbs and flows are dependent on where I am at a given point in my life. Take Japan, for example. Being so far away from my support networks has been difficult...probably the single most difficult aspect of this entire journey actually. I've realized how much you 'just talk' about things with people when you're physically around them...and how difficult a 14-hour time difference can be in 'just talking' in the moment that you need to talk most.

Especially lately, I've found myself in so many situations where I just want to hear her voice, ask her about her day, tell her about my crazy experiences, ask her opinion, and most importantly be reminded that her unwavering love and support is the one constant in my life amongst all of the change, uncertainty, and craziness. As I think about the future, I can't help but think about the possibility of soon starting a family of my own. While that thought once brought so much excitement, it now also brings with it a lot of other emotions as well. Fear that I won't have my mom on speed dial for help and guidance; sadness that my children won't know her in the ways that I did; and, sometimes anger (which feels so wrong to admit) that she 'left' me. Though I know it wasn't actually her choice. 


While I am reminded daily that my mom is no longer psychically with me, and I've learned to walk with that fact, I have to admit that even after ten long years...I don't know that I've truly accepted this fact. About four years ago, when I told my counselor that I couldn't get myself to just talk to my mom...whether through writing, thoughts, or talking out loud when no one was listening...he pulled up a chair, placed it across from me, and suggested that I try talking to my mom as though she was sitting there with me. My reaction was one of total flight - I jumped back in my own chair and started shaking harder than I had in years. My breathing quickened, my heart raced, my face flushed, and I froze. I think I scared myself more than I surprised my counselor. Why was it so difficulty to talk to someone that I had talked to every day of my life for over twenty-one years.

I still haven't talked to the chair; however, I'm slowly taking steps in allowing myself to move towards connecting with my mom in a different way. Will I ever truly accept that I can no longer connect with her in the ways that I used to? Will the thought of her ever not bring with it a twinge of pain or an ache in my hands? I don't know. And yet, the more time that passes, the more I miss her...and the more the desire to connect grows (and begins to overpower the fear of what connecting in this new way may bring with it). I've also been slowly getting used to the idea that where I am at any moment is where I am at that moment. It's not right or wrong, good or bad...it's simply where I am and what I'm feeling in that moment. While it sounds simple, it sure isn't...especially for someone who is used to solving every problem she's faced with by working as hard as she possibly can...and now finds herself with a lifelong problem with no solution. 

So Mom, if you're listening...there's a few things that I want to tell you. I've learned to love coffee - and find nothing more comforting than starting my morning off with a steaming hot mug! On almost a weekly basis, I have moments when I completely understand one of the hundreds (if not more) of lessons you tried to teach me. And while I may not have thanked you then...there is nothing I wish I could do more than thank you now. I've totally inherited your slightly neurotic editing skills - so know that all of the tears shed (by both of us) while working on school essays paid off! I'm sure that you've been sending me signs in one way or another for years...and perhaps I haven't been ready to see many of them. However, I've seen a seemingly large number of cardinals in random and in much-needed moments. And, every time I start to think about you, talk about you, or feel any type of emotion building, my hands ache. If that's you holding and squeezing my hand...know that I'm squeezing back even harder. I still have the fleece blanket you made me and I made you...and wrap myself up in them daily (as I continue to possess your 'always freezing cold' genes). You and I often talked about the amazing family and friends that I had...and how important those people were to me. Since you died, I've had many amazing people come into my life...and I can't help but wonder if you somehow had a role in making sure that our paths would cross. As well as a role in making sure that those meant to be in my life stayed put as well...even when I was being difficult. Most importantly, there isn't a day that goes by that I don't miss you and wish you were here. I'd give anything. This has been the single most difficult thing I have ever experienced...and I don't know how to do it. I know there isn't a right answer...or a manual, but sometimes I really wish there was. I know that I haven't always made the 'best' or 'right' choices...and I know I'll probably makes lots more mistakes along the way. I just hope that in the end, I am making you proud. And, that with each additional passing moment, I can connect with you more and more...and allow myself to really hear, feel, and believe the voice that's been there for every step of the last ten years (and every step leading up to that as well).

I love you - one hundred, million, billion, trillion, gazillions plus one!

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While I have many people in my life to thank for the nudge toward writing this blog post, it's not actually my first step toward putting some of these thoughts into words. For years, I've been thinking about writing a song for mom. Selfishly, I recognize that music helps me to stay in the moment - and I thought that being able to listen to a song about my mom would help me to both deeply feel and also release emotions in ways I've been avoiding since she died. This year, on her birthday, I spent a few hours at a coffee shop...and attempted to put ten years of thoughts, emotions, and experiences into words. Quite the feat...that's for sure. What resulted was a poem (my mom always loved my poetry) that one of my closest friends is now transforming into a song. Here's the poem - without what will be the chorus in the song. I'll share the song in the future.

The Picture Fades 

As years go by
A young girl grows
Experiencing, evolving, becoming
Safely surrounded by her mother's love

Triumphs celebrated, problems solved, advice shared
Through conversations from afar
Disagreements inevitable, necessary
As she paves her own way

Time freezes
Uncertainty invades
Her world shatters
As sickness cheats and takes her mother away


Faced with a problem she cannot solve
And a reality she cannot change
Emotions bolted and buried
Silencing even the voice from within

Numbness moves her forward
Fear, grief, and loneliness come too
Weighing heavily
On her broken heart

Slowly emotions awaken
Memories resurface
Family and friends remain
Reminders that love prevails

The years keep moving

Each faster than the last
A grown woman continues
Reflecting, trusting, learning to be

Walking with fear and hope
Sitting with pain and joy
Slowly reconnecting
With the voice that’s always been there

Moving toward the acceptance that
While time won't heal
And pain won't fade
Her mother lives on