Watch Corey Grieve

I scrolled through my last dozen or so posts before going to bed last night and realized that for more than two weeks now almost everything I've published to this web log has been about my mom and about her death and about my sadness and for a moment I considered changing my URL to something like to give new visitors fair warning about its contents, but before I made any headway on that idea I remembered the last email that my mom sent to me before she died (yup, there I go again) and I realized that is probably still a fair name for this website and that I am still me, just a really fucking sad version of me right now. "Corey, please don't ever feel bad about things you say to me," she wrote in the aforementioned email, just two days before her passing, in response to an apology that I had sent to her about a conversation we'd had over FaceTime a few days before. "I want your true feeling always."

Well, right now my true feeling is sadness. I'm fucking sad. But even in my sadness I know that life goes on and that there's a good chance that someday I'll be considerably less sad (which makes me even sadder somehow) and I also know that it's okay to feel this way (see number nine) and that it's okay to write it down and share it with others (my mom's blog rang true for so many because she did just that) and also that nobody wants to read posts like this and this and this all time anyway, right? To be honest, I thought that when my mom finally passed I'd feel relieved because she wouldn't be suffering anymore, but instead I just feel, and I know this is selfish, heartbroken about the hole she left behind. I feel torn up because she's no longer around to brighten up my world. I have to keep reminding myself that she's fine, wherever she is, and that someday I will be, too.

I hope that author Anne Lamott, whose writing my mom adored, got grief right when she wrote:

" will lose someone you can't live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp."

I miss my mom.

And I'm sad.

And fuck.