numbers

9

the age she was when she was forced to abandon childhood and the age she stays stuck at when emotions overwhelm her.

may

the hallmark month for mothers.

a capitalistic and grossly sentimental moment for everyone else to recognize mothers and motherhood and mother figures. only in recent years has she been added to the public discourse for those who do not celebrate but grieve on this commercial day.

6-1

the deathday.

an otherwise joyous start to summer for those attached to the education system. a day that often blurs into the rush of life as she starts to notice the days grow longer and the activities grow more numerous. she dreads it every year but often finds herself losing herself into the blur as well. this is when summer vacations commence, summer markets, summer movies, songs of the summer, water activities, outdoor air, bbqs in the park, summer stone fruits, and summer tans.

3-16

the birthday.

an increasingly important day as she grew older, as it is one that she begins to relate to more as a human and less as a daughter.

36

the age deadline.

a new number landmine and one she didn't see coming. she simultaneously dreads and anticipates this age, wondering how fated life can possibly be. would it be poetic or tragic to also finish here?

30,000

the assigned life insurance value.

157 of her therapy sessions - that's about three years of trying to continue to untangle this grief. 17 months of her rent - that's not even two years of just continuing to survive here. 600 more average dinners here, ones on the weekdays when she just wants to catch up spend time order a cocktail. 12,000 shy of her new car, a lovely silver lining if there had to be one. definitely not a fair living salary today. definitely not the cost she would trade for any time without her mother.

31

the fresh age when she came intimately face to face with the mode of death. and so the age she had to restart therapy.

i've been in therapy six separate times now with six different therapists. counting that out felt a little alarming. that's more therapists than ex boyfriends for me. during our introductory session, my newest therapist told me it was going to get hard again before it will get better. i really didn't understand what that meant. i've been back here again and again to process new thoughts and new perspectives of grief, and the rest of the time i live so deeply in my own head that i never think there will be anything new to hurt me anymore. i needed therapy again because i spent a month fantasizing about dying in car crashes, but i didn't expect in eight sessions that i might slip into a new haze of depression. it's getting hard. i really didn't understand what that meant, but i think i do now. i guess i'm just waiting for it to get better now.