Ten.

Ten years.
I cannot believe it has been ten years already since she passed from this world.

(And how appropriate that the year that marks 10, is the year the one person in my life who promised to stay by my side for better or for worse, made a decision to leave me.)

I hate July.
I've hated it for 10 years now, and over time, as other awful things have occurred in this month, it's just increased my hatred of it.
Even more so, now, because the one "good" thing that happened this month a few years ago, has now become another bitter taste in my mouth.

How is it that so many years have passed already, and yet the grief still feels like a fresh wound within my heart?

How is it that I still can't speak or talk of her death because it's too difficult, it pains me too much, and at any moment I'll start crying because it still hurts too much?

How is it that for all this pain that I feel, I feel like such a fake, because it's not as though I was any closer to her than anyone else in the family?

I may have an answer for that one, at least.

I was talking with my therapist about this last week, and mentioned how this month it's 10 years.
And how I feel like a fraud, because it's not as though I was incredibly close with her.
But in discussing my childhood, and how I was often over at her house growing up, because my siblings didn't want to/couldn't put up with me when my parents would go out of town for business, my therapist helped me make the connection that at her house, it was a place where I got positive attention from an adult.
Rather than the majority of the attention I received at home being negative, because I was the youngest in a large family, and if I had attention on me, it was most likely from doing something wrong or bad and I was in trouble.

So being at her house a lot, was a good thing for me.
Because it was an adult in my life who gave me positive attention, rather than negative attention.
She was basically like a third parent, raising me, with how much I was over at her house compared to my siblings.

...I took her for granted.
I was young and stupid and thought some of the things that she thought were dumb or outdated.
I didn't appreciate that she took care of me so much growing up.
I wasn't mature enough to have conversations with her about her life growing up, or faith, or anything more serious.
And for as much as she took care of me and loved me, I didn't allow myself to open up to her, or let myself be truly vulnerable around her.

But she still loved me.
She loved all of us.  With her whole heart.
She cared for us, celebrated alongside us, supported us, loved us.

And I took all of that for granted.

Her last words to me were "be good."

I think if she saw me now, saw how my life has turned out, she would be ashamed of me.
(I'm ashamed of me.)

I remember after she died how I would have dreams of her being alive again.
And one dream, more than any of the others, has stuck with me, even though at this point it's been over 7 years since I dreamed it.
I dreamed she was in the process of dying again, but somehow got better, and was alive for several more years...
And how my heart broke when I woke up from that dream, only to remember that it wasn't real, and she wasn't alive still.

I have not been good since she passed.
I haven't been outright evil, but I have done things I shouldn't.
Things born of hurt and pain and confusion.
Things I aimed for because I was tired of being hurt and not mattering to anyone.
Things I thought were better to aim for (at the time) because I wasn't going to walk around vulnerable and open anymore.

And that has only led me to where I am now.
Decisions that were made without enough knowledge to know any better.
The decision to risk being vulnerable again, to risk feeling things, to risk loving even though I knew the potential of hurt that can happen because of love...only to be hurt deeply and repeatedly.

I wish I could go back and do it all over again.
To be better prepared for her death.
To actually try and be good like she told me to.

Maybe then I wouldn't be here.
Maybe then I wouldn't have sunk into this depression that has lasted for the past 10 years.
Maybe then my grief wouldn't feel so unbearable, and this hurt would be a little less.
Maybe then I would have sought out the answers to know what I didn't know before, to make better decisions.

But I can't go back.
I can't bring her back to life.
I can't fix my brain.
And I certainly can't force the person who was supposed to be by my side in life to love me in all my brokenness.

My heart hurts so much.
All this grief is so heavy.
And I am so tired of bearing all this weight.

Two things I can say for certain:
I am glad she is not here to see what a mess and disappointment I have become.
And I am glad she is no longer suffering.