Broken

It is hard to measure the depth of your grief when there are so many other things going on. Almost as soon as my mother died, the world as I knew it began to slowly shatter around me. My heart was understandably broken and the person who I would most likely call to share my sorrows was no longer with us. The weekly, daily contact with my brothers and my dad dwindled just as the crisp memories of my mother began to fade. I attributed these feelings to living half a country away from my family… but that wasn’t the case. Slowly there was less to talk about. The funeral was over. The thank you notes had been written. The tombstone was set.

It’s been three years since my mother passed and only recently have I discovered that I am suffering from grief AND a broken heart. I mourn the loss of my mother. I feel the pain of how I should have done and handled things different and how I could have been better… a better daughter, a better friend, a better caretaker. There have been changes deeply etched into my soul from my experience. It has changed the family dynamic too. We are broken. The glue that once bound us together died. And I struggle to keep her memory alive and to maintain the bonds the once tied us all so tightly together.

I never fully appreciated how Mom kept us tied together (and how delighted she would have been to know another strength she had). She always carefully mentioned everyone in our conversations, keeping me up to date with my dad, her sister, my brothers, the nieces and nephews. In one phone call with my mom, I was back in the fold and in sync with everyone else. The gap left by her departure has not been filled. I run around ad-hoc trying to piece things together and make sense of it all. I ask myself how do I fix this kind of broken? How do I get this back?

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