The waiting is the hardest part.

Today Dad and I went to a funeral viewing at the same church Mom's services were in. This happens to be the first one I've been to at the church since Mom's services. The sense of smell has a strong correlation to memory. There's a certain smell associated with death and funerals. It's very distinct, very somber. The moment we walked into the sanctuary I felt all the emotions rush back and it was so very familiar.

One of the family member mentioned something about today being one of the hardest days of their lives. Having so recently been there, I have to say that the blur of days from the time Mom died until she was buried were not easy, but have, by no means, been the hardest days. Initially, the body is numb to almost everything that is happening, and you're in such a whirlwind of emotions that you don't even begin to process everything that is going on. You are surrounded by family and friends, and every waking moment you find yourself within someone else's embrace. You feel comfort. You have experienced a loss, but you have yet to feel it. It's the days, weeks, and months that follow that people begin to forget and you just being to realize what has actually happened to you. There isn't a single day that goes by that you don't remember. The empty place at every meal is a reminder. Mother's Day is a reminder. Songs on the radio. Restaurants. Everything... You sometimes feel as if you're suffocating within your own body. You become an experienced pretender, sometimes almost fooling yourself. You yearn for sleep because that's the only time your mind isn't thinking, and yet even then the thinking sometimes happens. You take a shower and put on clean clothes, hoping that you can convince yourself of something you know just isn't true, or that maybe just going through the motions will bring about some miracle of peace. There is a huge hole in your soul, a void that cannot be filled, not matter how hard you try. There's a hurt so painful and so deep within yourself that nothing soothes it. You strive to remember what "normal" feels like, but then realize how ridiculous that is. The "normal" that you once knew is no more. People politely ask how you're getting along, but you think that most of them don't really want to know the truth, so you smile, and lie. It's the same lie you tell yourself, "I'm doing okay," hoping that maybe this time you'll believe it. The more you long to be "okay" the further away "okay" seems to be. It's a trip you don't get to take, a destination that you just can't quite reach. The great philosopher, Tom Petty, wrote, "The waiting is the hardest part." Today, I believe that. Waiting to feel whole again. Waiting to be "okay." Waiting to be better than okay. Waiting for normal. The waiting is the hardest part.