I chose to ignore what I wasn’t ready to accept: my mother was dying.
I have to convince myself, disclosed from reality that I can’t really share the bits and pieces of my day with her – at least not in the way that I crave to.
Cancer was too hard for me to think about – yet – the irony is that right now, at this current moment in my life, four months after burying my mom, cancer….it’s all I can focus on.
I wanted her to be around for my first dance, and to see how our bridal party did their obnoxious entrances, and I wanted her to kiss me goodbye and wish me the best time as my husband and I packed our bags for our honeymoon.
You’re not here when I have a bad day. Or when I have a good one.
Despite nearing my thirties, this week I felt like a six year old child again, begging and desperate for my mom to heal this raw wound of mine.
Feeling guilty about feeling happy.
The rumors say that the fourth floor of the Hawthorne Hotel is alive with spirits. But they’re wrong – there were spirits in our creaky room at the end of the hall on the third floor. And they had a story to tell. I just regret that they knew I was listening.
Everything that once never made sense, will circle you, and the clouds will fade away, and everything before you will be clear; you’ll see, for the first time ever, in all of your life.
You were my forever before we had promised each other to be. You were my light at the end of a long, winding tunnel.