Joolzie

When my mom died, I wrote that I found her peacefully tucked up in bed.

She wasn't ill. The night before, my washing machine had flooded my kitchen and she’d come over to help. She was pretending to swim in it while I mock dramatically scooped up the water 'cause she was ace. I remember thinking that the washing machine dying that day was terrible news.

She was peaceful. And, yet, the experience of popping over to her house on my lunch break and finding her that way was anything but. It was horrendous. Without wanting to explain it all, I don’t think I can really convey the magnitude of that otherwise completely ordinary Thursday afternoon. I’m not exaggerating when I say my life as I knew it ended that day too.

The anniversary is creeping closer and I can feel myself bracing for it. And I’m frightened. There was no bracing the first time.

I'm still not okay, and yet, I am. I don't want to pretend everything is fine because it really isn't. That said, I still have things I want to make, bridges I want to build. I am grieving, and celebrating. I'm still a mom to two humans who call me home.

Definitely still holding on whilst letting go haha. And I 'spose that's okay for now. 🧡