Yesterday was the first of many firsts.
It was the first time I celebrated a birthday without my mama on this earth.

She died on a Monday. July 17th. 
It’s been a little more than 1 month and yet it feels like many more.
Grief is tricky that way.

I have grieved many things in many ways but none like this.
I’ve lived enough for 10 people in this one life and never have I found sadness to be as complex & intricately woven throughout my being as this of my mother no longer bound by earthly limitations.

I’ve been abnormally quiet over the last 4 weeks.
Even still I am thankful for each one of you who have reached out to express your condolences. I know that takes courage, especially when you aren’t sure what to say.

The relationship with my mom was complicated and now I am learning how that translates into a grief that is not without complication.

I have thrown myself into this campaign to raise money for baby llama, Callisto Stardust, in an effort to do something productive while processing how in the hell I’m supposed to handle this sorrow that continues to perplex & challenge me.

I’m finding that while one moment I’m laughing and completely okay, the next I’m in the bathroom stall of a public restroom bawling my eyes out after realizing that I won’t need to find a Christmas present for her this year.

Mom didn’t call before 8am to sing “Happy Birthday” referring to me as only she did, “Joy Beth.” (She’s the only one who has ever shortened my middle name of Elizabeth to Beth.) Once again something I never thought I would miss, I find myself longing to hear once more.

I’m learning.
Grief is grossly personal.
No two people will experience it the same way.
Including sisters. I’m certain I am processing & moving through the world differently than either of my sisters. 
Guess what? That’s okay.

I know this has led to a great deal of judgment from those onlookers who know the person I was 2 decades ago. I’ve had to let go of that in an effort to get up in the morning and do basic life skills like brushing my teeth and making the bed.

This is a lingering grief. One I am now certain never goes away, only softens as healing continues. My hope is to learn from my experience in this that can only be described as the place after witnessing the valley of the shadow of death.

So instead of postponing or ignoring the many emotions that can surface all at once in this season, I’m asking it, as I do most things after the initial shock wears off,
“What are you here to teach me?”

I hesitated to ask in this case as I wasn’t sure I had the patience left to learn, but thankfully I have a group of the most badass women consisting of medical & mental health professionals as well as girlfriends who are willing to guide me while also pointing out potential pitfalls. If you do not have a therapist who truly sees and meets you right where you are while maintaining the goal of not leaving you there, l would strongly encourage you to seek one out.

These are the lessons I hope to be familiar enough with to share, offering hope to others not as far along in this classification no one chooses to join.

Teach me…

How to be a better listener,
When to keep my mouth shut,
When to explain my reasoning for why I’m not doing what everyone expects me to do,
How to be present with someone else’s pain, 
When to sit in the silence many find deeply unsettling,
How to forgive someone for something they were not mindful of doing,
The meaning of acceptance without fully understanding.

I thought I had a decent grasp on grief. Not just one type, many.
Turns out, I’m still learning and growing.
And that, if nothing else, is beautiful.

(the gorgeous flowers around Mom’s pictures are all by my incredibly talented sister, Jennifer. Owner & Lead Designer of J. Riley Design.)