There are times when I'll see something on TV or in a store or some place and I think to myself, "Oh, I need to tell Mom about that" or I'll be working in the garage and need some advice — what tool or drill bit or whatever to use. "Let me pick up the phone and call Dad — he'll know," I'll say to myself.
And then, a millisecond later, "Oh. Right. Can't do that anymore."
As the years go by, those little blips are fewer and farther between, but they're something that I hope never stops happening completely. Because for me, in that brief moment, before realization, they still exist.
Originally, it was painful when this happened. That sudden awareness that they're gone was like walking off a cliff — out of nowhere, an adrenaline rush of grief. Who needs that?!
But now, it's like taking a step off a curb where the ground is two inches lower than I thought. Or two inches higher. Surprising, and yes, the slightest bit jarring, but I don't stumble headlong into that abyss of sadness like I used to. And oh how I used to! That was just the way it was for me.
Today, when I have one of those moments, I'll just sigh and sort of half-chuckle, and remind myself to tell my sister about it next time we talk. And invariably, she's got a recent one to tell me about, too. And then Mom and Dad come alive again, through shared remembrances and little anecdotes one of us remembers and the other doesn't.
So sorry about your loss, and that of everyone who's posted here. I remember very well that initial feeling of numbness. There's no word more accurate to describe it. But I hope that as was the case with me, however slowly, that numbness will begin to subside and lessen day by day.