The Chrisanthemum That No Longer Blooms

My mom died years ago. To this day, I never properly grieved. I understand that now. It doesn’t diminish the pain I feel. Whenever I think about this, the tears follow, like an old friend. I know these tears. They are long-forgotten tears which always come back. I recognize them, they are all too familiar. I’ve cried these exact tears before.

I never went to her grave after the funeral. I don’t fully understand why that is. Was it too hard, was I not ready? I think I always wanted to go back when I knew I was doing really well in life. When I had accomplished something bigger. I think I just needed to be able to stand there and say – don’t worry, mom, I’m doing alright. I never went back to her grave after the funeral. I guess that moment I imagined in my head never came. And so, it didn’t feel right to go and bother her without having some good news. The more I think about that, however, the more I think it’s a lie. I think I’ve been lying to myself because I’m scared. There were plenty of good things that happened to me since then and plenty of opportunities to go there – and I chose not to. Because I was afraid and sad, and I couldn’t handle that. I couldn’t handle her being gone. I couldn’t handle the fact that I had never properly said goodbye. I just couldn’t handle any of it, and so I chickened out every time, always coming up with one or the other excuse in my head as to why that is.

I always admired my mom. She was the single strongest person I have ever met in my life. I don’t know of anybody who went through such absolute torture, for years and was still smiling through it all, showing no signs of slowing down or giving up. I guess that’s why she exceeded the doctor’s expectations by years. Because she gave everything she had to that fight, and through all that, she still had enough of herself to give to us. For that, I will forever be thankful to her.

I often ask myself if she were here today, would she admire me too? Would she be proud of her little boy? I grew up. Sometimes, I wish I was still a kid, and she was still here by my side. I feel like a lot of things would be easier for me if I had her by my side; if I had her to help me fight. Maybe some of that incredible courage could have rubbed off on me, and maybe, just maybe, I could have had a bit more strength through it all. 

I carry a lot of sadness within me. I don’t know where that sadness came from, but it refuses to leave. She never got the chance to teach me how to let go of my sadness. She was always so good at doing that. At least, I think. I never saw her sadness. I just saw her, and I don’t recall any sadness there – despite everything; despite the cancer. If only she stayed a bit longer, there are so many more things she could have taught me, so many more smiles she could have given, so many more times that she could have held me in her arms. And I know she would have loved that too.