730.

For the second time in my life, I found myself bracing for impact – mentally preparing for the painful, jaw clenching head-on collision I knew was coming. It was like the calendar turned from January 31 (the longest January of all Januarys by far) to February 1, and my heart somehow gained 10 pounds and laid heavy in my chest.

I felt unusually emotional, irritated, tired, and angry… I just felt – UGH.

Do you ever have that feeling? Like when someone asks you what's wrong, and all you can say is, "I don't know, I just feel UGHHHHH." There isn't one specific thing that sets you off; there's not one person or lousy driver or one shitty email that makes you want to scream. It's just life itself - all-encompassing and perpetually disappointing - that leaves you wanting to run and sleep and cry and drink all at the same time. That is what February 1 does to me.

Experiencing the important days/moments in life without mom the second time has been infinitely more difficult than the first go-round. Nothing can prepare you for the pain of losing someone you love – but when it comes to living after losing someone you love, survival feels like setting sail with no water, no food, and no life raft. It's disorienting and dizzying and scary - will I survive another day? Meh, who knows. 

But then I remember that I have survived every hard day – all 730 of them – without her, and no matter how much it hurts or how bad my day or month or year is, I will keep surviving them. I still can’t believe that she is gone. That’s it’s been two years since I held her hand and said goodbye. Two years that I have lived with the pain of knowing I will never see her again.

People always say it gets easier with time. To those people, I call bullshit. If you ever have a conversation with or read books/blogs by people living in grief, you will know that it doesn't get easier or less painful. You just learn to carry it well and hide your emotions better.  I still think about mom every single day and miss her with all of my being, but the heartache isn't as crippling as it once was. I have gotten better and pushing through the hard days without letting people know how much I am hurting. And I have learned to laugh and love and live and actually mean it – despite the massive hole in my heart and my life.

There have been moments over the past six months where I have felt real, absolute joy, and there have been moments of darkness and pain. But sometimes, these moments of total happiness were shadowed in sadness, knowing that mom wasn't there to experience them. It's weird to feel so happy and so sad at the same time.

I have a screenshot saved in my camera roll of a quote from one of Glennon Doyle's books (I love her btw) that says, "Being human is not about feeling happy. Being human is about feeling everything." And I hold on to that when I am in my lowest places. It reminds me that I am allowed to feel everything... and I am allowed to feel it all at once, because that is human and because I am strong and that is what she instilled in me. Pain and grief aren’t just a part of life, they are a part of love – and in the darkest of days, when I feel inadequate and not enough, I remember whose daughter I am, and I stand a little taller.