These moments come over me, completely unexpected and uninvited. An anger rushes over me followed by a wash of sadness, and then the tears flow.
It can be anything, any big or small situation that I would have talked over with my mom. It didn't matter whether she had advice to lend or words of wisdom. Her listening and her reassurance always made everything seem better. Even though the situation at hand hadn't changed one bit, just talking to her about made it feel more in focus, conquerable, smaller.
I miss that.
I'm angry that I don't have that anymore.
My person is gone. There's not a person out there that fills this spot for me. And I doubt there ever will be again.
And that's what brings the sadness. The grief wells up again like it comes from some eternal spring, and I find myself wanting to scream, to throw something against a wall and watch it break into a million pieces, to hit the floor and sob, to do all these things at the same time.
Instead, I find a quiet corner. I cry a little. I blow my nose and return to my daily functions hoping no one will see that I've been crying.
Is this a normal way of dealing with loss? I don't know. It's the pattern I am in, though. Whether or not it's healthy or normal or right, I certainly don't know. But it's what I do to get through these little inner temper tantrums of grief.