Nine years

I want to know when does it stop feeling unfair? When does the anger that death came too early for my Mom subside? When does the sorrow go away that she isn’t physically there to share the big moments and the not so big ones?

I made the drive to Marum today, with the boys. At their age, I don’t take it for granted that things can be postponed. For them, if they sleep in the car or in the basket under my desk, they are happy to be near me – can’t imagine why, especially on the days that I am wearing Cranky Pants.

If you make the trip without stops, it’s 2.5 hours one way. If you make the drive with little dogs that get themselves wrapped up in their seatbelts and start struggling, it takes a little longer with all of the detangling stops. Not to mention the “OMG, who farted??” stops so they can take care of business. The whole way up, it was dark grey skies. Then just over the provincial line, the rain started.

When we got to the tiny church, I thought I would wait the rain out. I closed my eyes and tried to catch a cat nap. But that didn’t work as I was too agitated and the above mentioned doggy farts. When I saw the little old lady walking laps in the parking lot with her walker, I knew that it was time to stop trying to put off the inevitable and get out into the rain.

Dogs in all of their raingear and me, into the graveyard we went. There are a lot more occupants then there used to be. It’s still one of the most peaceful places I have been to and yet I still don’t want to be there. Unfortunately, that is not an option. We spent a good half hour in the rain, me talking to her stone and the boys endlessly twisting around and around waiting for us to move.

On the way back, the sky had a different sort of light. Still massive clouds, like walls, but this time with yellow white light above them. I was reminded of my Mom saying that the light in the north was different, this was the light of painters.

Today marks the end of the Annual Difficult Period (ADP). It’s the time between Thanksgiving and the 16th of January each year. All of my Mom’s lasts. When I wake up tomorrow, I won’t miss her any less but it will no longer be the ADP, which is a relief. Maybe tomorrow I can laugh again when I think of something that she said.

And George peed tonight directly on the bottle of Pet Stain Remover. Perfect target. The bottle did not disappear and nor did it magically absorb the pee. Tomorrow I hope I will find that funny.

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