In a Tizzy

Years.

Plural!

So believable and unimaginable at the same time.

At this time a year ago, I had just returned from Europe in the midst of an extended leave from work (the goal of which was still unclear) and I was feeling pretty unmoored.

I was (am) very busy (all the time) doing fun things with beloved people, to be sure — some of my favourite memories were (are) being created in the process. But, the brief moments of stillness tended to allow a feeling of unease to creep in.

“Are you having the best time of your life? It looks like you’re having so much fun.”

I am. I have been. But – and friends have heard me say this – the highs have been high, but the lows have been some of the lowest. It has been tremendously difficult – more than I could l have imagined – to find my footing in what I keep calling, “this season of life” (ad nauseam).

“When you stumble, make it a part of the dance.”

This phrase was on a travel-size nail care kit that my mom gave me (a classic Joanne gift), and it feels like an apt sentiment for this past year. I have certainly been dancing, both in the literal sense, as well as the stumbling sense.

Year 1 felt easy, in a way. Most people can immediately appreciate the challenging nature of a loss of this sort when the loss happened a few months ago, or just the year before. Perhaps especially so, if there are some bonus opportunities for character development happening simultaneously. For a year, my whole personality felt like it was characterized by two foundation-shifting events (thank you to those who have listened to me turn the same ideas over in my mind again and again).

Year 2 proved difficult in ways I wasn’t prepared for. Without the emotional and psychological adrenaline of year 1, I was left to sit with how I’m feeling about where I’m going and what I’m doing. And, quite frankly, I didn’t know and it didn’t feel good, and it made for some pretty low lows. Some lows were heavy and slow — others, jagged and fast (if that makes any sense).

A couple of months ago, life threw a wild curveball that, while certainly a “low,” provided unexpected clarity and recentring, and an opportunity to reflect on matters of life and death, relationships, energy outputs and inputs, values, priorities — everything. While I can’t say that this relegated the lows to my past, I do think this was a “meaning-making” low that connected me to some estranged parts of me (ew, cringey) and maybe even allowed me to catch my footing. If only for a moment.

This reflection on two years without you (in the traditional sense) is pretty me-focused. But, I see my life as “pre-mom” and “post-mom,” with “mom” referring not to you, per se, but to the final moments with you on a cold, blue-sky Sunday at noon two years ago.

Without the shock that permeated the first year, your influence has grown and been felt in different ways throughout the second.

When I make a new friend or meet someone new, I can tell if you would like them (or that you’d at least like hearing stories about them). I have a lot of friends you would really like.

I send copious voice notes of extreme length to friends when I go for walks, and I listen to their responses, and it reminds me of us calling each other while doing the same — just to have someone to talk to about nothing in particular while on the move.

Your ability to hold so many people and their important dates in your memory (and comprehensive yearly agenda) is still unmatched. However, you have inspired a network of memory among the people loved by you, and we share the work of keeping everyone in mind (as best we can). I saw that a lot this year.

It is hard to be another full year away from you — another year without new photos of you, or Bitmoji celebrations in our text chain, or a request to print a recipe that you found on Instagram and couldn’t (didn’t try to) locate the URL for.

Your presence hasn’t lessened, though, evidenced through the thoughtfulness you continue to fuel in so many people carrying pieces of you through the world.

XOXO

Siri. Stop. Send message.