I’ve spent the last 24 hours surrounded by my mother- in her sanctuary, her home. Stopping to admire everything that reminds me of her. Now I’m sitting on her grave, desperately wishing I could reach through the soil to hug her again.
I can’t feel her here the way I can at her house. Her body is a shell now, her spirit flown. Her grave is a stone memorial to her death. I’m grasping for any connection, any comfort, and I’m realizing that I’m never going to find it.
My mother and I were estranged when she died. That guilt is never going to leave me; neither will the constant gnawing ache in my chest. I deserve my pain. I’ve earned every second of this lifetime sentence. The hurt ebbs like the tide but it always returns in full force. This is my reality and it’s never been harder to accept.
I can’t stem this incessant guilt. It engulfs me. Apart from brief moments of clarity, it persists. It’s eating me alive. I need my mother’s forgiveness more than anything in this world. I realize I’ll never have it. I know I’ll never have peace with her death or with my many other issues. I have to accept it. It’s tearing me apart, but I have to stop reaching for a savior that will just never be there. I’m trying, but I will never be good enough. I’ve earned my pain through my own stubbornness. That brand will exist for the rest of my days, and I need to accept that. Now it’s time to piece myself back together the best I can so my burden can be a bit less heavy. Some people just aren’t worthy of redemption; our love will always equal pain for ourselves and everyone around us.