Denial

I sometimes re-read old text messages between my mom and I. Every time I do it, they hit really hard, especially the ones between us from the night Mom found out she had cancer, and from those early days when everything was still new and raw. It’s hard to look at those words now, to see just how deeply I was in denial. Every sign pointed to how serious it was, but I held on to whatever scraps of hope I could find, convincing myself it wasn’t as bad as it seemed.

I’ve heard that denial is a defence mechanism, but now that feels like an excuse. I’m angry with myself. Denial might have been all I could handle back then, but it’s something that stole time from us. I can’t help but think about all the ways I could have been more present with her, the things I could have said, and the things I could have done if I’d really accepted what was happening. Reading those messages now, I can see how much time I wasted telling myself things would somehow be fine, when they clearly weren’t. 

I wish I’d been able to face the truth sooner, to really be there with her, fully present, instead of hiding behind the comfort of “maybe.” Denial shielded me, but it also kept me from moments I’ll never get back.

Other than terribly missing my mom, I think these are some of the hardest parts of grief - the reckoning with the things we didn’t do and didn’t say because we thought we had more time. I can’t go back, and I’ll carry that regret with me forever. 

I miss you, Mom, I would do anything for more time together.

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