I hate March.

The 27th of March is an odd place for me. 

My mother's birthday falls on the 26th of March and she left this world on the 28th of March. This year, I decided we needed to celebrate her birthday. I had some drinks, like I would have done with her. I planned to make cupcakes, but too late in the day, I realized I didn't have everything in the cupboards and fridge I needed for a cupcake endeavor. Despite that, I felt genuine happiness yesterday in thinking of her on the day that brought her spirit into this world.

In years past, this month of March has brought with it pain. Before my brain even realizes it's March, my spirit knows. It remembers the hard, HARD moments of the year 2002. It plays over and over the scenes of her life ending. This brings me so much sadness and in my brain, March is also known as The Month Of Tears.

This year, it is as if the tears are stopped up. I want to cry, to feel that release and yet, I had not been able to. As Matt and I were getting ready to go to bed, I suddenly  began to cry as if my life depended on it. My heart certainly did. All of the emotions of the day suddenly flooded out their release. It felt good to cry. It also felt really good to say goodbye to yesterday.

Then came the 27th.

The 27th is the day my mama was admitted into the Hospice Unit of the hospital, and the day we said our last goodbyes, as my mother was put into a medication induced coma. My family and I were told that it would not be long before she passed away, and yet she kept fighting. This day represents a day of waiting between life (her birthday) and the next day, when she lost her fight with lung cancer.

I have told myself over and over that these few days are just that-days. I tell that to my heart and yet it does not believe me. The pain is fresh in this week, every year.

I miss her scrambled egg breakfast creations.

I miss the way she threw her entire head back when she laughed.

I miss the relationship I had with her- the way she loved me, the way she knew me.

I miss being able to talk to her about anything and never feeling judged.

I miss things I never knew I would miss at the time:
her smell
watching her mother myself and my brother
how she always inspired me to be a better version of myself


This day is the in-between of it all, and it sucks.
I ache to share my present life with her.
I remember her- what she taught me, what she showed me, how she loved me.
That is how I get through.
Still, I hate March.