The Death of a Parent

It's been 4 months since my mother died. I've survived Mother's Day, my parent's anniversary, and each of all the other days in between. I have been surprised by how different this grief is from the others I have gone through in the past. As I said in my last post, it feels as if this death is more disorienting than others. I suddenly find myself hoping my grandsons will call me Granny, which is what our children called my mom. I find myself planning my retirement years with more intensity than I plan tomorrow. I want to stay young for the pre-teen I still have at home, but I feel older than I've ever felt before.
I also find that I'm grieving a loss of my own history. There are fewer and fewer people I can call to find out the real family history - that history that lurks just out of sight, because of all the secrets that all families have. The history that could help me understand some of my present.
And I'm grieving the loss of the little, seemingly trivial things. I find myself wondering who my mother's favourite Blue Jay would be this year. When I watch a game, I feel the weight of knowing that my Dad is watching alone. Most things are like that - tinged with sadness.