Editor’s note: The following article is an op-ed, and the views expressed are the author’s own. Read more opinions on theGrio.
On Feb. 8, 2023, I observed the one-year anniversary of the passing of my mother. There have been very few days in my life whose approach made me feel anxious, but this “anniversary” was definitely one of them. I thought I was going to be more emotionally drained on her birthday — Feb. 2 — but when that day arrived, I felt OK. I didn’t feel like I needed to take a break or put my day on hold. I called my sister to check on her, and we both agreed that while we were sad, we felt better than expected. But the 8th of the month was right around the corner, and I think we both felt a sense of dread about how that was going to go.
I woke up that day thinking I was good. Perhaps part of that was the routine of the day: get up, get my boys up and get them bathed and ready for school and then take them to school. Because of how much has to happen within a short amount of time with two kids who would much rather kick balls around the house, there wasn’t a ton of time for thought or reflection in the morning. But as the day went on, I found myself thinking more and more about my mother and feeling less and less … well. I was sad. I thought about all of the phone calls that didn’t happen in the past year for birthdays and holidays. And I thought a lot about my kids. My three oldest children at least have memories of her, and fun ones. But my youngest, my 2-year-old, will never know her. He won’t have any memories, and she’ll just be a person he knows he’s related to whenever a conversation about her comes up.
That was the part that really had me in my feelings. Despite whatever difficulties my mother and I had on and off, she loved her grandbabies and truly relished the time she had with them. She came up with cool little things…
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