Tomorrow Will Be Different.

Today will be a good day.  Today is Mother's Day.  Mom died two months ago.  This will be the first Mother's Day in my life that there will be no card to buy, no phone call to make, or reservation to book.  But today will be a good day.  Today everyone will understand my sadness.  They will not expect me to smile or laugh.  In fact, today I can cry openly and it will be okay.  Today no one will tell me that time will help or that life goes on.   All my friends will think of me today.  They will send good thoughts my way.  They may stop and say a special prayer as I come to their mind today.  Today everyone will rally their support of me.  Today there will be texts and emails, greeting cards, and Facebook messages and maybe even phone calls to reach out to me.  Today I will feel loved. 

But tomorrow, as I return home, I'll pass through Hammond.  Past the exit where my parents lived, where I turned more times than I can remember now.  And there will be tears.  There will be heartache anew.  The pain will be just as real tomorrow.  In fact, there will be an overwhelming sense of loss and loneliness in the aftermath of Mother's Day.  Yes...there will be more tears shed again in private.  And on this day, there will be no texts, no emails, no phone calls, no cards.   Everyone will have returned to their own busy lives.  It's not that they love me any less, but the reminders won't come. So it is with grief, I've learned.  It's personal.   Each experience with grief is unique.  Only you walk the path you're on.  And tomorrow I will feel alone.

But today will be a good day.