My Mother's Daughter: Everything.

Well, the earth has made another trip around the sun.

And it has now been 13 years.

In the years past, it has always been cathartic for me to write...but today has been different.

I have spent much of the day in silence, and I have had no desire to write. Honestly, I haven't felt that there is anything to say.

I keep thinking about a quote that I posted on Facebook this morning, a quote I have posted several times over the years, from an amazing book called Motherless Daughters:

"Yes, everything's been said a thousand times. Only one word has never been said, nor will I say it now, because you are alive in me: my venerable, beloved, imperishable Mother. Wait for me."

The part that keeps ringing in my head is "everything's been said a thousand times." I think that's why it has been so hard for me write or even talk today. It's simply as though everything has just already been said.

It was awful. It still is. It was merciful. It still is. I miss her, every single day. Yet it has been so long now that I can't really remember what I felt like before she was gone. One more year without her, one year closer to when I see her again. I miss her. I will never stop missing her.

Yes, it has all been said a thousand times. And today I felt the heaviness of it.

Sadness has turned into fatigue.

Even after a full night of sleep, it was incredibly difficult to wake up this morning. I could barely keep my eyes open in church. After church, I put Kennedy down for a nap, then I crawled into my bed and fell asleep within two minutes. I slept for 3 hours. I woke up to take my daughter of her crib and put her downstairs with her big brother. They began to play, while it took all of my energy to hazily climb back upstairs and into my bed. I slept for another 45 minutes before I the children woke me, but I felt like I could have slept another 14 hours more. Now it is the middle of the night. I am awake only because my baby is sick to her stomach and lying on the floor watching Baby Einstein is the only thing making her feel better. So I sit here, utterly exhausted, forcing myself to write in an effort to keep my eyes from closing.

It has become clear to me that carrying a loss so profound as the death of your mother can be a very heavy weight to carry. And heavy weights can be exhausting, especially on days like today. But as heavy as it may be, the loss helps me be a better person. It helps me become a better mother, it helps me teach others, it has taught me invaluable truths. It makes me stronger and it pulls me closer to God. It is part of my identity, part of my history, part of my destiny. And for those reasons, the burden is essential.

So I will take the fatigue. I will let myself be sad, and tired, and quiet for today. I will wake up tomorrow and today will be gone, the earth will begin another trip around the sun, and I will move forward. I will find a way to rest, knowing that everything has been said and everything has been felt. But everything is as it should be. And something about that brings me peace.

Today and every day, I miss you.

Wait for me.