A fragile healing over the grief

Today marks six months since my mother died. In many ways, it seems impossible that so much time has passed. A half a year! I think of her multiple times daily, and honestly, most of my thoughts are fixated on those last months. I wish her end had been less painful, though I know dwelling on it will not change anything.

But certainly there are some things moving along in the right direction. The house is refinanced, and I hope to have credit card debt cleared in less than a year. My job is going well, and I’m thankful for the good benefits it provides.

I’m writing not quite as much I think I should, but I am writing. I won a writing award. I was interviewed for a documentary.

To use a not-so-lovely analogy, my grief feels like a bad wound that is slowly healing. If I leave it alone, and don’t pick at it too much, it will eventually heal and a scar may be the only reminder. But it won’t burn or hurt permanently, if I tend to it well. If I let time take its course, and focus on other things, the healing process will work.

I just need to trust in that process.

I need to resist the temptation to open that wound.

My mom would wish me peace over pain. I need to honor her wishes.