Everyone who ever knew Mama Bell, knew her differently. She was a generous, boisterous, graceful, soul.
Some would be so bold as to call her mystical. They wouldn't be wrong.
She was always connected in a way that was inspiring and beautiful but she was also very strong willed and minded. A trait that I mostly understand because of the stories I always heard about her.
It's been 4 months since she passed. Sometimes, it still feels like it was just yesterday. Some days, it hurts in ways I don't understand.
Mama Bell was a mentor in my life. She was a friend and a beacon. She gave me a lot of gifts and she granted me an exceptional amount of hope.
I don't see those things as mutually exclusive and neither do I see myself as the only one who feels this way.
I wonder though, as I only knew her in the last 8years or so, if she was always open to a mentored almost weathered, understanding.
At one point in time, I really truly believed that she'd live forever. She had conquered too much to lose now. She had too many friends, too many things to do, to give up.
I remember saying that.
I remember the feeling of those words staining my heart with guilt when she passed.
I can't believe it's been 4 months already.
I can't believe how much it still hurts.
I can't believe God thinks we can handle this.
I can't believe 2016 has been this level of awful.
I do believe it can get worse.
You see, I desperately wanted to be strong through all of this.
I wanted to be a rock. I wanted it to not hurt, or to pretend it didn't hurt, until I forgot the pain.
But it's been four months and I still miss her. I've never experience this before. I have no context for moving forward.
In this way, I have been blessed. In this way, I am grateful for my own family. Especially for my sister who is still alive despite the complications of her own health.
Yet, I still think about that 1am phone call. I still think about that memorial service. I still think about that funeral.
I still think about the way she'd tell stories at the kitchen table.
The way she'd invite me for dinner when I was around.
The way she'd advise us to be youthful and do and see and laugh and make and be, all as we dreamed.
I still think about our Saturday morning conversations. Words I wish I had recorded or written down.
Words I wish I could hold in my ear and remember when everything feels dark and impossible like it does right now.
The world moves on though.
And as it was described to me, "that's the worst part. That's the injustice. The world doesn't stop because mom died. It keeps going and we have to go with it."
I will go with it. I will hate the steps, I'm sure. Everyone who grieves, hates the steps.
But the stairs aren't impassable.
I have to believe that.
I know that Mama Bell did.
For her nothing was impossible. Sadness was temporary.
And when times are tough, and happiness is no where to be found: lean ever into gratitude.
I'm so grateful to have known you, Mama Bell.
I love you very much.
