The Question Too Big

Hi my friend,

Last week marked 
another year since my 
mom's passing.

And on that day, 
a message came in 
from someone I used to 
know well.

But our friendship 
had long since faded,
leaving us strangers 
once again.

They wrote warmly 
about my mom, 
and then they asked - 

What do you miss 
most about her?

It was sweet of them
to write to me.

It really was.

But do you know
how it felt on the inside
the moment I was 
reading it?

A full-body, visceral 
“No!”.

As if I was angered by
the thought of answering it.

The thought of going 
into my memories… 
just because they 
texted me.

And I felt guilty
for feeling that way.
Because isn't this what 
we want more of - 
people acknowledging 
our grief?!

They were 
reaching out for me,
but all I wanted was to 
shove them away. 

To ignore them completely
and let the silence stretch 
like a fence.

I know.
Very mature, 
my friend.

The truth is,
I love talking about 
my mother.

I still feel her presence
in the everyday.

She's here.
She's with me.
But memories of her
are precious to me.

Like antique pieces 
of jewellery that I prefer 
to keep safe on my nightstand 
in a velvet-lined box.

And even though I find joy 
in choosing a piece and 
wearing it for a while…

I want to be the one
who decides when 
to open the box.

Because every 
sparkling memory also 
comes with an ocean-deep 
longing too.

And I need to be
able to carry them both.

So when someone
out of the blue
wants to know what
I miss most about her…

I hesitate.

Because to answer it,
I have to face the ache. 
And feel it move
through me.

Only this time it's not 
because I am ready 
to greet it…

but because someone else
is guiding me that way.

And that doesn't feel kind.
Even though they 
mean well.

It just asks too much 
from me…
for a conversation 
I don't know if they 
can hold.

For a simple reply.

Because what do you 
even say when you miss 
everything about them -
without sounding 
vague?

With love,
Elina