Tested

 So I went yesterday for my first ever Covid test. Don't worry, it was negative. This Omicron crap ain't playing, though. So many people around me have had in the past couple weeks it's amazing that I haven't caught it yet.  I got a little concerned, though, when my nose was a little runnier than usual and my throat was a little scratchy. It felt like sinus drainage but Omicron, they say, mimics common cold and sinus issues. I tried SO MANY places to find a convenient test and ended up at urgent care and waited for nearly five hours. 

When the nurse finally took me to the back she had to do the whole "family history" routine because you apparently don't just get tested and go about your way. They give you a whole office visit with vitals, family history, the full nine yards. When she was going through the family  history questions she asked, "Does your mom have a history of ____" and I stared blankly at her for heartbeat, a little stunned. I didn't cry but it caught me off guard, someone asking me about my mom in terms of her still being here. 

We're coming up on a year of her being gone and it's still so hard to believe that she's NOT still here and yet at the same time I'm always hyper aware of the fact that she's not here. 

There are days when it all still seems so fresh and I replay that last week over and over in my head. Then there are days when I can think back on memories of her and smile or laugh or think to myself, "Mama would have hated xyz" or "Oh, how Mama would have loved this" and I can imagine what she might have said about whatever it is. I can still remember what her voice sounded like and it comforts me.

What they say about grief not being linear is entirely true. It certainly  hasn't been linear for me. It has been the most chaotic experience, emotion, or whatever way you want to think of it. Grief, I've come to learn, is a lot like love. It doesn't always make sense. Some days it's stronger than others. It often comes in waves. Sometimes it hurts and other times it's the most bittersweet feeling. It's an emotion, a feeling, an experience, and quite often the sweetest burden.

I read a quote recently that said something like "Grief is just an abundance of love with nowhere to go." How true that statement is. 

I'm in the less heavy stage of my grief right now. Still missing her but not so supremely devastated that I think about her all day long. I think about her every day, still, but not all day. Broken, but not shattered.