Lustrum

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lus trum

/’ləstrəm/

noun

  A period of five years

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Lustrum.  I lost my Mom 4 years and 8 months ago.  The first year, the "20th" of every month hit me like a ton of bricks.  That first year of "firsts" took my breath away.  The first anniversary of losing her.....well, actually, that whole month of August knocked me down.  I spent every day of August posting pictures of her covering her 79 years.  It was my way of coping or, more likely, a way of distracting myself from the grief I have (still) buried.  After all, I had things to do, responsibilities, my Dad to take care of.  I had to be strong.

It never got easier.  Four weddings, birth, successes and failures....all without her.

I began thinking last year that maybe the "sting" was lessening a little.  Then......it was 2016 and I realized that this year is the 5 year anniversary. It hit me, I mean, like a Mack truck!!!  I'm not quite sure why that "marker" is a big deal, but it is.  Lustrum.  Five years without her, my best friend, my biggest supporter, my voice of reason, my Mom.

As I've stated before, I'm not sure I've even fully grieved.  It doesn't feel like I have, but I don't know.  I've never had to do this before.  It feels like there is a suppressed gut level grief just waiting.  But....I have responsibilities, you know.

My heart is, once again, very heavy this year as the days get checked off closer and closer to August.  I spend more time in her "garden" I made beside her potting shed, more time looking for hummingbirds, more time babying her Clematis that she loved (and I thought I killed last year).  And in August, I am making the trip to Wisconsin to "visit" her.  I haven't been there since she was laid to rest.  I haven't seen her bronze marker.  I don't know how I will react, but I DO know that it is something I must do.  Michael is very protective of me and it upsets him to see me cry or upset, but I have already told him that he has to just let me do whatever it is that I do when I get there.  Honestly, I'm afraid.  I'm afraid of the grief bottled up and afraid of the floodgates.  I live in her home, surrounded by her every day and I miss her. Every day.  But THIS is going to be different. 

Lustrum...