Missing my mom is like having a good-sized hole in the floor. I can see it--I know how to avoid it--but I am still getting stuck in it pretty regularly.
Most days, I am doing better. I am confident mom is healed and rejoicing in heaven. I can remember her and honor her here on earth. I can stop at the hole and look at it, and remember, and move on with my day. I can visit joyfully with my family, read Lincoln books his Grammie gave him, and happily bake her recipes.
There are still many days, though, when I get stuck in the hole. I am filled all day with a sluggish sadness, an inability to move with any freedom or joy, a despair over missing my mom, a deep jealousy for anyone I interact with who has a mom, for any child I see with a grandmother. These days are hard--I am aware of how to get out of the hole, but every tear and interaction keeps me stuck.
I think the hole will always be there--I am hoping I will get better at walking around it and hoisting myself out, but the hole will be there--maybe getting smaller.