“The holiest of holidays are those kept by ourselves in silence and apart: The secret anniversaries of the heart.”

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I now write blogs in my head. This is really rather convenient because I can do it from most anywhere, and by anywhere, I pretty much mean in the shower. This is where all of my deep thoughts and reflections hit me. Late at night, in the quiet of the wee hours, where water and tears meet, and there is no judgement. Wow. Typing that feels so incredibly sad. Seeing it in print makes it feel even heavier. Probably another reason why I started writing blogs in my head.

The truth is, these ongoing reflections have morphed into a conversation. At first, I thought I was praying, but it’s not that. The best way I can describe it is that it’s like talking to yourself. And maybe it’s even more than that because the participants are typically past me, present me, and future me. If it sounds confusing, that’s because it is. And it isn’t.

You don’t need me to tell you that grief is difficult. We already know that. What I have learned in this time is that grief draws a severe, permanent line. There’s your life before loss and your life after. Hence, the conversation between past me and present me. Still, there is also this secondary, imaginary line where present me and future me try our best to map out a course for the days to come. I always say that I live my life according to one word, “forward.” I’m pretty sure God gets a good chuckle at that one. How does that line go, “If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.”

As I prepare to mark six years without my Mom, I find myself with even more questions. Does grief ever soften, or does it merely change shape? Sometimes I contemplate who I am without her, but that doesn’t feel right either. She is such a big part of why I am who I am (if that makes any sense.) And do time and distance ever lead to healing? My best guess is no.

I had no answers in 2020, and I have none now. Forward it is.

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Empty Chairs, Everywhere is a personal grief diary as I process the loss of my Mother to COVID-19.