It has been 100 days since Nanny died on Memorial Day.
Everyday has felt unremarkable since she left. I’ve been viewing the world through grayscale. Birthdays have passed, good things have happened and still, I feel…numb. Ethan also feels occasional sadness. He told me the other day, “I am still worried about Nanny because she died. I thought about her today at school, but I just kept doing my work.” I asked him if he cried; he assured me that he did not. But he did said say that he felt it “in here” (pointing to his forehead).
We talk about her daily, discussing what she would’ve liked or thought about certain things. He picked up a cantaloupe in the produce section the other day and asked if I wanted to buy it. I don’t like cantaloupe, but I made sure to tell him that Nanny used to eat it for breakfast. I am doing my best to keep her memory alive with him.
My beliefs regarding death, reincarnation, the afterlife, etc. are a complex web of intuitive realizations. I feel she is with us, all around us, and yet very far away. I miss her terribly but do not wish for her to return. I know that is not how this works.
There are coincidences throughout the day that bring me comfort from time to time: a cardinal resting on my window sill, a familiar smell, an old photo, conversation in my dreams. I have one voicemail saved on my phone that I listen to several times a week. Tears are always resting on the edges of my lids. They fall when I drive to work in the mornings, in restroom stalls and on my lunch breaks.
My heart still aches.
I am not who I once was.