10 Years

Today and what it represents is something I have dreaded for a while. A decade is a long time. I remember when I turned ten years old and the gentleman who owned the clothing store next to my parents' pharmacy told me "Happy Birthday, Stephanie. Wow! You're a whole decade old." At ten, it seemed so important to have a decade pass in your life.

This past decade, however, has been a hard one. Today it is 10 years since the day my mom died.

Andrew and I have been talking about my mom often this past week. I told him that what I miss lately is the nice little things your mom does that make you feel like you're always her kid, even though you're somewhat grownup. This is what I miss the most right now - that feeling of being my mother's daughter. Of knowing that she has my back. Of knowing that she'll tell me to put on some blush when I look really pale.

A few years ago I read a book by Karin Cook called "What Girls Learn". It's about two girls whose mom dies after a battle with cancer. The author captures, in the last few pages of the book, what this feeling of loss is like:

"Here are the days that I wish would evaporate, slide right off the calendar and let me be. The first day of school, of spring, of the year. Parent-teacher night. Mother's day. My birthday. Their anniversary. The day she got sick. The day she died. That day of every month. Any holiday. Lots of days in between.

(...)

That I have lost my mother is everywhere in my life. I am not confident in my skin. I am the last to leave a room. Every end feels like a loss. The dregs of her lotion, the last spray of her perfume. (...) I am trying to keep still but the world does not stop."

This gap of time, these ten years between when she was with us and now, it's only going to get bigger. I know that I can't make time stop now. (Trust me, it took me a while to come to grips with that.) I feel a little more confident in my skin. And while the days and holidays have become easier, every April 30th has a twinge. This year, the twinge is just a little more poignant.

Please excuse me while I erase today off the calendar.