Another January 31st

When January 31st rolls around each year, I again turn into that 16-year-old girl. The one who is sitting alone on the floor outside of a hospital room where she just watched her mom take her last breaths. The girl who can’t move, can’t speak, can’t even cry.

I’m 28 years old now. That dreadful day was 12 years ago. But I’m still her. She’s still me.

The days between each January 31st are getting easier. I’m not used to having grief-stricken Liz around as much anymore. I don’t feel the urge to think about the sad details of my story as often as I used to. My day-to-day life doesn’t include my mom anymore. I don’t think to immediately call her with questions or needs because she hasn’t been here for so long.There’s pain in that, but it’s also realistic. Every year that passes, it gets closer to her being gone longer than I had her in my life. I don’t like it. It’s not how I would have told my story if I got to choose. But the fact is, this story IS mine.

I don’t have the right words to express what my mom and her example mean to me. I don’t have the words to explain how it feels to not have her here when I STILL need her. I don’t have the words to make your own grief lessen. But I do know that if you keep moving forward, you will be ok.

Like me.

Sixteen-year-old Liz is still within me. But she has grown and learned a lot in the last 12 years. I feel sad when I think of her and what she endured. But I am also so proud of the decisions she made and how she found happiness. My mom still isn’t here and her face is getting hazier in my mind, but I’m doing ok. I have found happiness in the story that I’ve been given and I will continue to be ok.

I CHOOSE TO BE OK.

I can be sad, but I can be happy too. My life is my own. No one can tell me how I’m supposed to live it. On my January 31sts, I remind the 16-year-old part of my heart that it’s all going to be ok, because it will.

Choose to be ok, too. It makes all the difference.