As a writer, one hopes never to be at a loss for words but I find myself in a place where words fail me. My mother died four weeks ago. For four weeks I have tried to make sense of the world without her, tried not to imagine the years ahead that she will not share with us, tried to stop myself from calling her phone, just to hear her voice one more time. Mostly, I've struggled to articulate the pain of losing someone I cherished so much.
Most mothers and daughters struggle at some point in their relationship - go through a period of friction, distance, angst. We were no different, there was a weekend when I was in junior high that we hardly spoke. More recently, I spent a weekend with her and we hardly spoke, this time because we didn't need to - we sat together, holding hands, happy to be together. It was at once nothing like the times we spent laughing and having adventures with each other and exactly like all those times because we were together, which was all that ever mattered. I held her hand in mine and sat beside her and it was perfect, it was love. That was the first weekend in October, by the last weekend she was gone. The universe makes no fucking sense to me.