Going ,Going, Gone * A Year Ago Tomorrow


A year ago today Mommy was alive.

 A year ago tomorrow

she was not.

It seems that somehow a year should be enough time to come to terms with the loss of a parent.

It seems somehow that I should be,

I don’t know,


I am uneasy and afraid. I am worried and testy and sad and uncomfortable in my skin.

Mommy is gone but she was not gone just one year ago today.

That is not entirely true though is it? Mommy was gone a long time ago and her leave-taking was hard and uneven. Mommy took the long way out:

Wernicke-Korsakoff; alcoholics dementia.

Mommy took the long train out through the bottle.


Not one bottle, tens of thousands of bottles.

No, many, many more.

Alcoholism Kills and the grief lingers and the confusion and sadness and anger and fear  hover like sky and air.

I am breathing this: a year ago today my mother was alive

A year ago tomorrow,

she was not.

Weird how that happens isn’t it?

Here one day, gone the next.

Or ….

Here once upon a time

a long time ago

and going going


A year ago tomorrow.

Peace, sort of,


~ by Step On a Crack on November 29, 2012.

11 Responses to “Going ,Going, Gone * A Year Ago Tomorrow”

  1. I was just thinking of you yesterday and wondering how you were doing but I didn’t know how to get in touch with you except here, and today, here you are. My heart and thoughts are with you… I think it’s too much to place an expectation of time on when we are supposed to be “resolved” by the loss of someone – and especially a parent. It’s even harder when the relationship might not have been resolved prior to their passing. All I can say is, I’m thinking of you. xo.


  2. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately. Of course we have. A year doesn’t actually seem long enough when the road was as challenging as Mommies. Or as challenging as ours. But then I remember watching Mommy sit at that dining room table. Years ago in high school. And knowing she was already gone. 20+ years ago that mom was gone. But then is 28 years enough to be resolved with the death of a parent or the death of 2. What about when they have left such deep and empty impression.
    So here we have it… we made it. Now we will love our children. We will hold and cuddle them make them giggle. Feed them well. Love them deeply. We can know at 17 they will not feel our absence with us across the table.
    A year is a long time. A year ago we did not know I was pregnant. Now I cuddle your boys name sake. And listen to the Bee snore. That is enough. It is enough for me. I love you.


  3. Hello Brave Woman. I wasn’t certain about the exact day and date, but i knew this “anniversary” was coming: Your mom died exactly one week after Harper; exactly One Week. … and “you would think one year…” would be enough to “move on”, get over it, blah blah blah … but for folks like you and I (and many others) one year is nothing. Grief is NOT linear is it? It absolutely is NOT that way.

    I wish i were more ELLABEE4 ;-). Andrea, you are an amazing woman. I think you’ve embraced the stiff upper lip way … i’m not sure i can keep my “stuff” sucked-up at all times; but we are all different; have different ways of dealing with tough-stuff … our temperaments are different etc. DUH, like i need to tell you that.

    So Jen, I was talking with a pal the other day and saying the EXACT same stuff as what you have written today (sort of) 😉 … that it may have taken me at least 6 months to realize (or accept … or whatever) WTF happened to mom?

    Having a cupper with Don, and i thought of something “moms” would like, and literally said, “Where is she … she would like this” … Tears.

    So, i’m thinking of you, knowing ALL those feelings, knowing they come and PRAISE BE (when they go) that we are

    OK .. we survived, we thrived (giving you the same pep talk you give to me when my feathers are fluffed, or a BIG SAD THING happens).

    Mucho love, my friend, MEL


  4. What a beautiful picture of the two of you!
    Even during the darkest of times we can always pull out something good. By showing this picture you have showed something beautiful and that is of a mother and a daughter captured in a moment. No bottle, a smile and connection regardless of how small.
    Sending you love in this anniversary ❤ ❤


  5. Oh Jen, it’s been so long since I’ve received your post in my mailbox. I’ve thought of you often, wondering how you’ve been doing, and I’ve assumed you’ve been busy being a full on awesome mom! And here today, this post with a picture of you and yours. My heart sends you deep love today honey, as I know it’s a day in the zone for you. The zone of memories past. The zone of questions. Ya, that zone. Please feel all the love and support that surrounds you today. And tomorrow. Feel it as fully as possible. Because it is real. And it is now.


  6. Jen, much, much love to you today.

    I cannot believe this year has flown past us already.

    This sentence really hit my heart and soul: “Alcoholism Kills and the grief lingers and the confusion and sadness and anger and fear hover like sky and air.”

    It does, and it does. But I hope that the darker clouds are exposed to the sunshine of perspective and working through grief, and that silver linings will abound.

    Thinking of you.
    “Celeste” (but singing — lol — typo, but not a bad one, so I am leaving it — my real name with my heart!)


  7. I’m so sorry to know how many years she was “gone” from your life, but recently “gone” from this earth. How do you make sense of all the lost time and lost relationship? You have reached out to so many through your difficult journey and know how senseless so many things were … and your life is based on “were”, your past experiences. Somehow you’ve made these experiences “positive” personality traits.

    You’ve flourished so much, but I hope you are taking care of yourself. You’ve had to take care of mom, while you were a child. Now that child inside you, needs YOU … to parent yourself, care for yourself, and continue to love yourself. WE LOVE YOU JEN! Take care and stay safe, Edie


  8. This is an amazing post–to me your best! When it comes to heartfelt writing, nothing else comes close. Bravo. Supberb writing.


  9. The strength that comes through your sensitivity is remarkable and inspiring. Thank you for sharing it with us.


  10. I’ve been thinking about this ever since I read it. Knowing your deep sense of loss in so many ways. I’m glad you’re writing about it. I’m glad you’re not isolating and sharing your heart with us. If nothing else than to know you aren’t alone in your sorrow and mixed emotions. Much love to you, brave woman! You’re a shining star. xo


  11. Simply sending a squeeze… x


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