As If Those Moments Were Going to Go on Forever.

“Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and images of Mom Mom play through my brain. I see her shuffling through the house on those last days. She just went about her day, a little slower than before, but other than that, just the same. It was really cool to watch her live those moments, as if those moments were going to go on forever.”

As if those moments were going to go on forever.

Those words echoed over and over in my head. I was already crying on the phone as I talked to my mom. It hadn't been a particularly hard day, but I had awakened that morning and my first thought was to pray for Mom Mom. And then, I remembered. Any time Mom Mom is my first thought, and I have to remind myself that she’s gone, somewhere along in the day, I’ll end up in tears. 

I've been having a bit of a hard time lately. It’s been various things, but my boyfriend, my best friend, and my mom have been the best and strongest people in my life, because they've listened to all of my worries, my rants, my irrational fears, my spiritual troubles, and (as with this conversation) my tearful confessions.

But amidst all of my little problems, the spiritual battle that I've been facing lately, and my lack of faith and belief, I was reminded last night of something so important.

As if those moments were going to go on forever.

                Isn't that how we are supposed to live? I've been letting my worries and my own personal issues disrupt my life, at least mentally. I've been placing today’s concerns upon tomorrow, and worrying about the future. We were never meant to live that way. Here I am, 25, in perfect health, letting little things eat away at my peace. Yet, there was my great grandmother, well into her 90s, and on her very last days, she wasn't worried. She wasn't fretting about what would happen to her, what she would be doing tomorrow. No. She was shuffling back and forth from her bedroom and her living room, in her pajamas, waiting for the next PBS special to come on. She was giving me bridge toll, as if it was simply a normal visit and nothing had ever changed—as if nothing would ever change.

Was it denial? Not at all. She knew she was dying. She just didn't care. She still had life, so she was living it.

I cried. I cried so hard last night. Big, gasping sobs. I am inspired by how Mom Mom lived. But it doesn't mean that I don’t miss her every single day.

“How long does it take to stop hurting?” I asked my mom.

“Sometimes it takes a long time,” she replied. “I tried to prepare you,” she said, her voice trailing off.

I nodded, but she couldn't see it. “I know,” I said. “I just didn't want to believe it.”

It’s been 6 months and I’m still learning how to deal. But I guess more importantly, I’m still learning how to live.