You’d think after ten years, I would have something profound, possibly something esoteric, to say, something that would make this day a little easier. The truth is, I have so much to say but can’t quite find the words to form the sentences, the magic words to make everyone who will never understand have an a-ha moment, a moment that could make this day a little easier. There is simply no combination of words that could justify the magnitude of the loss I endured ten years ago.

After all these years, I still call bullshit on the adage, “time heals all wounds.” Our emotions are not time-sensitive material, packaged in a cardboard box, and resolved after opening. Our feelings don’t have an expiration date and being vulnerable doesn’t always ease the burden. It certainly helps, until someone comes along and accuses you of using your grief as a weapon or an excuse. Yep, that’s happened before.

Our grief is narrow and wide. It’s ever-expanding and distorting. It’s an expert shapeshifter with no regard to anyone’s expectation of time, especially mine. One moment, I am perfectly fine and the next moment, I am hurling expletives at the piece of a shit driver who just cut me off, followed by a deluge of startling tears.

TEN YEARS IS MERELY A MARK ON A CALENDAR

Ten years ago seems like so long ago, yet sometimes, it feels like yesterday. Ten years ago, I uttered the words, texted the words, thought the words, and thereafter, I’ve lived the words: My Mom died. There’s no return from that. There is no comfort from that reality. Every life change, every momentous happening, good and bad, is a deafening reminder that my mom died. My mom is dead. Perhaps that’s why ten years doesn’t mean shit? Ten years is merely a mark on a calendar somewhere because the longing and need for one’s mother know no space or time.

The lyric of a Van Morrison song can bring a smile to my face or a tear to my eye, or both. The anecdote from a family member, about how my mother had never had a corndog in her entire life, can conjure a giggle from my mouth and the swelling of my throat at the same time. I can feel my mother’s joy from one of her happiest places, her garden, when I’ve got my hands wrist-deep in a pot of soil. The scent of Earth reminds me of summer evenings at her home in Kansas and the yearning for simpler times becomes so primal, I almost believe, like my mother, that I can time travel.

Sometimes, I believe that if my mother were still around, I wouldn’t know what that yearning felt like because I’d have everything I’ve ever needed.

TEN YEAR ANNIVERSARIES

Ten years is a big deal for some reason. Maybe because it’s an even number and typically a marker of big anniversaries, albeit happier occasions. The ten-year anniversary of my mother’s death is not a happy occasion, but it’s certainly a time for deep reflection and retrospection.

My mother hated death anniversaries and I respected that. I understood why, for her, recalling the day her father died, was not something she was keen to. But, I also know my mother would respect and understand why, for me, recalling the day my father and mother died is just as important as their birthdays.

For all of our similarities, my mother and I had a handful of differences, differences that taught us things about each other, ourselves, and the world around us. This is what made our relationship so unique. I could tell her anything without judgment and she would love me no matter what mistakes I’d probably made. The day she died, I didn’t just lose my mother. I lost my best friend.

THE WOMAN I MISS MORE THAN ANYTHING

I think about her every single day. When people learn that I’ve lost her, they graciously say they’re sorry for my loss and sometimes, I’m not sure how to respond because I’m sorry, too. I usually mumble something alongside “thank you” and fight the tears that wish to accompany. I talk about her often, though saying, “my mother loved that” instead of “my mother loves that” is just one of those deafening reminders.

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I accepted, a long time ago, that this is just the way my life is to be. In the meantime, I’ll keep looking for the words that say something I haven’t said before about the woman who brought me into this world and loved me with an unparalleled fierceness, about the woman who I miss more than anything.