It's strange, how different this is from when my dad died 13 years ago. Then, I was absolutely gutted. Now, I'm still sad, and can still be brought to the verge of tears by pretty much anything that brings her to mind... but I'm basically OK with the whole thing, as far as I can tell. Is it just changes in me over these many years? Maybe it's because I couldn't watch her die, courtesy of COVID-19 restrictions at her nursing home? Maybe it's because I was able to do a "window visit" with her at that same nursing home less than a week ago? Maybe it's because her body slowly failed her, but left her mind pretty well intact up to the last straw stroke a few days back? Maybe it's because, after the better part of three years, she doesn't have to endure the nursing home any longer, a hellish environment for anyone with an intact mind? Heck, maybe it's just because I've had pets die on me in the meantime, helping to cement the "this is normal and expected" sentiment beyond just my rational side.
Well, whatever the reason, I'll take my current state, even if it means I have to work to silence the niggling guilt that I'm not grieving for her "as hard" as I was for my dad back then. Adieu, maman.
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