Yesterday was a blah day for me. And I didn’t figure out why until this morning.
Gina died one year ago yesterday.
And I knew that. Kept talking about it beforehand. Thought I’d go to the cemetery. Yet, the day passed with me mostly in bed. Napping or reading. I couldn’t figure out why I felt so lousy.
Mom and I talked on Sunday that for it to be a whole year seems impossible. That it actually seems much longer. But that’s because for us, she left long before her body did.
I’ve not seen my Godfather for a year now. And I have no plans to see or talk to him either. Yes, I told mom that I know I’m only hurting myself for hanging on to that anger. At him for leaving her in that hellhole. I’m sure there are worse nursing homes she could’ve been in, but not by much.
And you know what? I don’t like him. I haven’t for a long time. His racist, sexist "jokes" and stories. His need to be right (even if he isn’t) and to be the center of attention. So when I told mom that we probably would’ve dumped him long ago if it weren’t for Gina, she had to agree.
We talked about how we still miss her. How we catch ourselves thinking of picking her up to "go running" with us. I probably don’t do it as much as mom does, but it’s still painful when it happens.
I went back this morning and re-read that week last year. It brought tears to my eyes to remember:
As the minister said, she is in heaven now, talking up a storm. Catching up on all the things she had to say these past few years. And when she is finished, she will pick up her brush and paint again, using the heavens as her canvass.