Dear Mom,

Last week I had an emotional rollercoaster of a day. I spent my morning at a funeral and spent my night at an epic concert with my daughter. The lowest low followed by the highest high. I woke up the next day exhausted. Mentally and physically drained. And I’ve been thinking about that day ever since.

I booked the concert at the last minute, knowing I’d be crying that morning. Paying my respects to a family who lost a loved one too young. Remembering a friend and former coworker who had only recently turned forty. I knew it was going to be an emotionally charged day. I knew it was likely to be too much. I also knew I had to say yes to a magical memory with Scotland.

In the moment, the concert was a distraction. A band-aid really. I told myself I needed it. I convinced myself that a positive, happy experience would be the best way to get through the day. In the moment it worked. But during the next few days, the impact of the death began to intensify, and I began to feel guilty for having so much fun. For laughing and dancing with my girl while others were out there grieving. 

It feels so cruel that life goes on.

As the days passed, I found myself thinking less and less about the loss. This wasn’t a family member. It wasn’t someone who I thought of daily. A friend from the past in many ways and my mind is currently cemented in the present. My mind is tethered to my to-do list and my week of volunteer hours at school and sports sign-ups and birthday wishes to Dad who turned 90 yesterday. Come to think of it, my mind has been overloaded recently. For the last few days, I’ve been busy calculating whether or not it’s possible to finish my book club book before the book club meeting this weekend. I’ve been so busy calculating those pages that I hadn’t realized until yesterday that this weekend is Mother’s Day and I can’t even participate in the book club. During the last week, I’ve been late to meetings, mixed up days, and forgotten to respond to friends. My brain has been totally fried since I got back from spring break. Fried since the day we landed. The day I got the phone call of the tragic death.

Maybe the death impacted me more than I thought.

I have this feeling that I am pushing it away. I’m convincing myself that the loss isn’t on my mind. That because he hadn’t been in my daily life since we last worked together over six years ago it must not be a significant loss for me. But even while I’m busy volunteering and checking off my to-do lists. Even while I was busy dancing and laughing with my girl at a concert. The thought of him not being here anymore keeps sneaking up and hitting me. I get this sudden rush of sadness when I’m reminded that he’s gone. That he left behind a loving family and close friends. That he died while young and thriving. That the world lost a huge source of happiness for so many people. He’s gone. And I am sad about it. I am so sad about it.

At the same time, life does go on. I still have to get up each day and be a mom and do all the things I’ve agreed to do. People really do die every day, and the world doesn’t stop spinning. And this isn’t a shocking revelation. This isn’t a new idea. This is the way it’s always been. I know that. I’ve always known that. But still, it feels wrong to go about my day. It feels wrong to stress over the small stuff. To care about insignificant things while such tragedies happen.

Why do I feel like I’m betraying the dead by living my life so fully? Why do I feel like I’m supposed to mourn harder? Mourn longer? Why do I feel like I should hide my own joy or not even acknowledge it?

When you died it was somehow easier. I didn’t waste any time getting back to my life. But that was different. I knew what you wanted. I knew you wanted me to still get married and follow my dreams. I knew that living my life wasn’t disrespectful to your memory. Perhaps I need to remind myself that living isn’t offensive to the dead. Maybe I can even look at it as me living for the ones who’ve left us. Me saying yes because I still can.

Often, when I’m experiencing great joy in my life, I feel this knot floating through my veins. It’s my reminder that you’re not here to join in the happiness with me. Every milestone. Every big trip. Every life-changing moment is a cruel reminder that you are missing it. But I’ve learned through the years that the fact you’re missing out on my life doesn’t mean I should stop trying to live. Death sucks. It’s terrible to lose a loved one. It’s cruel that it happens in the first place and that there are no rules around it. Anyone can die. At any age and at any time. But life really does keep going for the rest of us.

I guess I need to find a way to live in the imbalances. I need to find a way to juggle the highs alongside the lows. I need to learn to live without being consumed by the tragedies of the world. 

I must find a way to grieve and mourn the dead while continuing to thrive with the living.

I love you, Mom.

Love,

Rachel