Krista and I were talking about grief the other day, and Mom, and how not much seems to have changed since last year (awful first year holidays) except the actual pain. While I may not actively feel numb and cold and wondering how I can get through this, I still react to anything and everything much the same way. Whether its learned and/or habitual, or like Krista thought, residual traces of grief that needs to be felt, it's fairly inconvenient, and exhausting, honestly.
It sounds silly, too, but I'm dreading the flip to 2011 - because then Mom didn't just die last year anymore. And it's still so terribly new to not be able to call her, or talk to her, or see her. Terribly awful.
I found these pictures on my lovely sister-in-law's facebook page; I'm not sure why I hadn't seen them before, but I swiped them immediately, since Mom looks so pretty and healthy and happy, as does Dad.
Denae had made her a quilt, with squares that we had all contributed on. Mom's birthday, 2007.
Writing has been hard, lately. I think it's because I want results, even a finished draft, and what I'm working on now isn't something that just churns itself out quickly. Third-person-other-world stories are really hard for me. Give me first person, a teenager, and/or a quirky idea and I can write it quickly, and it can be good. But the worldbuilding takes time for me (potentially more than it does others?), as does the science, real or made-up, and I rant and rail at myself all along the way and think that perhaps this is all a big joke, or I'm the big joke. And I conveniently forget how long "Child of Fortune" took, as well as "Light Stones" - I struggled with that story like nothing else, and it was the first one of mine to find a home.
Back to the practice idea that I blogged about weeks ago - real practice means working on something I suck at. Which means I must be on the right path.