Eight

In just a couple of weeks it will be four years since my mom died. I try to wrap my mind around that and I just can't. Four years! That's a long time to go without seeing someone you love so very much. It's overwhelming to even think about at times. Four years! That's a lot of missed days, missed moments, missed life.

I was thinking this evening about the pain scale they use at hospitals. You know the one where they ask on a scale of one to ten with one being no pain and ten being the worst pain what would you rate your pain. If someone asked me to do that for the pain I feel over my mom's death I would still rate it an eight.

When you are in the hospital the goal is to never let your pain exceed a five. So how do I function at an eight every day. My eight isn't what I feel on a bad day. I have an eight all the time! How can you live at an eight? Do I live at an eight? I know I'm alive but am I really living? There are so many days that I still drift through in a fog. I know that there are moments every day that I watch my little guy and feel pure joy. But then there is still always that huge empty spot that is a throbbing eight.

Maybe eight will be my magic number forever. Maybe this pain never goes away. Maybe I will just learn eventually how to survive better than I have so far. I suppose this is all part of the journey. I can't help but wonder what kind of person I would be if my mom was still here. I have a feeling life would be quite a bit brighter, more fun, and not quite so painful...