It's the 27th anniversary of my mom's death.
When you live with grief for a long time you know you're going to feel all kinds of ways about your loss depending on the season or the day--sadness, acceptance, the sensation of being punched repeatedly in the solar plexus--and sometimes, for long stretches, not very much at all.
This year I mostly feel angry. I'm 40 this year, the same age my mom was when she died. That's preposterous, that this--this spot where I am now, where I have some things to look back on, and things still to look forward to, and things to regret forever and things I still have time to fix--this was all she got, and the last few years of that so frightening and full of pain to boot.
It's appalling. I'm so pissed. I've felt like kicking something all week, but there's nothing to kick.
So what can I do? Have lunch with my sister, walk the dogs, pull some weeds, pick out Christmas presents for people I love, cook dinner for Eric, text with my friends and family. Write an inadequate blog post. Drink wine, cry a little. God damn it.