On June 30, my wonderful son brightened this world with his smile. One day later, my mother turned 65. Seven days later, she was admitted to the hospital she would never leave. Two weeks and two days after my beautiful son was born, my mother was gone.
The increments of time are devastating. They eat away at you. Scorch your skin. Scrape your soul. Scar your heart.
The funeral was five days after her death. We interred her in the cemetery two days later. It took three weeks and five days to clean out her townhouse. Seven weeks and three days for it to sell. Two hundred and two barrettes (give or take) donated to charity. Two cats were rehomed twice.
July 30 rolled around and suddenly Lincoln was one month old. And there were just two weeks and two days to go until mom had been gone for an entire month.
How does Time not realize that sometimes stopping is ok? Sometimes necessary? Does it not understand that some of us are not quite ready to move forward yet?
It’s now October. Lincoln is three months old. Amazing child. Love him eighty-two weeks times infinity. And in just eleven more days, my mother will have resided in heaven for twelve weeks.
Twelve weeks and one day ago was the last time my mother hugged me, told me she loved me and that she’d see me tomorrow.
My heart is tired of counting the milestones she is missing. Marking time without her is wearying. I know that eventually I will have to bow to Father Time and say ok. I understand. I cannot bring her back.
She lived on this earth for 3,382 weeks and two days. The number of souls she helped are too many to count. Her love was infinite. Her support, unending. Her warmth, unwavering. Her smile, slightly crooked and full of laughter.
In three weeks and four days, I turn 39. My first birthday without my mother here.
Two weeks and two days later, she will have been gone a quarter of a year.
Time, defenestrate yourself.