Only 300 more to go...gulp.
Day 65. I have been waiting for this day, waiting to turn my head to the heaven's and say "Oh My God, what have I done?! What have I attempted to take on? Why would I do this to myself? Because, to be totally honest, this takes a lot out of me, it takes time, and energy and emotion, and telling my Husband to please not make my butt look weird in photo's and remembering not to swear when I write in case my daughters want to read it someday, and all of that. And then I will have a friend tell me that they love to read it, that they feel closer to me, and to my mom, and honestly, the fact that I have to think about her everyday, (not that I wouldn't normally,) but I mean really think, connect. I jokingly call it court mandated therapy, but honestly, it sort of is. The first six months after my mom died, I was so good at compartmentalizing, I cleaned houses, closets, garages, any way to instill order to an otherwise orderless world. And then I hit the wall, there were no more messes to clean up, at least not the physical kind. And then it hit me. You can't clean grief, not matter how hard you scrub. You have to feel it to release it. I once heard this analogy, of someone imagining that each time they cried they released pain from their hearts in the shape of butterflies, and that the more tears you released the more the sadness would float away like butterflies, until the heart was lighter. I'm still releasing butterflies.
I wore this shirt for my friend and neighbor Leslie who gave me grief about dissing Chico's. Leslie, I am rocking this Chico's blouse for you and my mom who is somewhere is the ethos giving me the thumbs up, and sporting chunky jewelry. xoxox