Last weekend I scanned this photo and was struck once again by the look on your face. You will probably recognize it immediately. It was taken at your Mother's funeral. You were twenty-seven or twenty-eight but you look so much younger. Although you were taller than most women you look so small beside Danny. I'll never forget how you reacted when you found out your Mother was gone. You were on the phone in your bedroom crying. Seeing you cry made Joshie and I cry too. Even as you grieved you comforted us and told us you were alright but you weren't alright. When someone you love dies, it feels like a part of you dies with them. A part impossible to resurrect. I know a part of you died along with your Mother. I know, because a part of me died with you.
Looking at you in this photo is like looking in a mirror. My face has adopted the same drawn, tired expression that results from the interal feelings you experience.
Often I feel as though my soul was sucked, without warning, into a dark vacuum. Instead of being an open space void of any matter, this vacuum is populated by a forest of thorns. Remember the scene in Sleeping Beauty where Prince Phillip is trying to cut his way through a forest of thorn bushes to the castle? That's the best imagery I can think of. Although it's possible to emerge from the vacuum, one must carefully manuever through the thorn bushes. This is a tedious process that requires great care. One must be on their guard at all times to prevent additional hurt and pain. One never knows how long the journey will take because starting at the beginning its impossible to see the end. I am not sure if my analogy makes sense but that's exactly how I feel and I think you probably felt it too. I am only sorry I was not able to offer you the comfort you needed then. The comfort that my friends have offered me.
I think the reason I am sharing these thoughts with you today is due to an experience I had this morning at work. A man approached the desk and smiling said something like, "Amber, it's good to have you back." Assuming he knew the reason for my absence I thanked him. Then, to my shock, he asked, "How is your mother doing?" Instead of asking me a simple question, it seemed like he had delivered a swift kick to my stomach. I just looked at him dumbfounded until I quietly replied, "My mother passed away. That is why I was gone for so long." He apologized and then went on and on about how we were best friends and yada-yada. All I could say was, "I don't want to talk about it." I know he wasn't to blame but, in that moment, it was all I could do to contain myself. Since your passing I have experienced these random flashes of intense anger and frustration. Everyone says, thank goodness, this is normal but I still feel guilty anyway.
When others stole moments to offer their condolences throughout the day I couldn't fight the tears. I don't even know why I try. It's useless. I don't want to be angry Mom. I just want to feel peace. Please help me not to be angry or bitter about loosing you.
After work Joshie called to say they were going to Rupp Arena tonight to watch UK play Georgia. I'd like to think you would be cheering for Georgia, especially to annoy Dad.