In two weeks (God willing) I will turn 38 years old. Which means that in one week, it will be six years since my mom passed away.
I don't know which number shocks me more...I mean, 38 seems so...well, old. And six years?! How is that even possible?
March 24, 2008 has become a timeline marker by which I measure all significant life events. Getting laid off, having Anna, starting a new job, moving to Oklahoma, becoming a stay at home mom, Brendhan's new practice...All after.
With each new hash mark that takes me further away from DOD, I find myself grieving her loss all over again because I hate things being so different from how they were when she was alive. Like if she were to somehow come back to earth she wouldn't even know where to find me because I live in a different house, in a different state and I have two little girls, not one. Irrational much?
That's not to say I haven't felt her presence in the last six years.
I feel her with me when the late afternoon sun shines through the kitchen window and you can see a million microscopic dust particles caught in the light. I feel her when Brendhan tickles Anna under the chin and she erupts into a fit of deep, slobbery belly laughs. I feel her when Ava and I ride bikes down quiet streets past clapboard houses with chippy paint. I feel her when Rusted Root sings "Send me on my Way." I feel her when I am running alone. Confident on strong legs. And I always feel her when I see 11:11 and I know that is her way of saying she sees me too...regardless of how different things look now from six years ago. Kairos in spite of chronos.