Grief is weird. Sometimes I'm not even sure what I miss. When my mom died, between 3-4 years ago (already?!) things changed.

My dad got way more responsibilities, and so did I. I'd just turned 18, and started my final semester of highschool only weeks after her death. I'd made majority of my current friends before she died. She also died right after (when I say this, I mean less than 8 hours after Midnight, before I'd woken up the next day) a widely celebrated holiday, Christmas. The circumstances of her death were complicated and there are a lot of things about it that just tear me up inside. The moments before her death were not peaceful. Sometimes I just wish she could've died in a way that didn't sound miserable. We'd been in a car for ~8 hours driving home from a trip, and by the time we got home there was a death rattle. I don't know if anybody will ever understand what it's like to ride behind somebody in a car as they slowly die a seat in front of you. I don't think anybody will ever understand how bad it burns into my mind.

I had other things to worry about. Finishing school. My future. My dad acting weird. I felt scared to look for support among my friends because I worried I'd get called an attention-seeker or liar if I brought it up.

Sometimes I'd still hear her voice calling me from another room. Sometimes I'd start to get up before remembering she wasn't there. Her voice wasn't there. It was my mind playing tricks on me. Sometimes, from another room, other people's voices would sound like hers. Sometimes, at school, I'd think, "when I get home I'm gonna tell my mom-" only to remember. When I get home, I'm not doing anything of the sort!

Every now and then, I will have a dream with her in it. In some she is alive and well. In some she seems alive and well, but I know she is dying. And in some she is just dying. I think, "wow, I thought she died, but she must've survived!"

Eventually I wake up and am reminded of reality again. Sometimes I remind myself that her ashes are on the mantle above the fireplace. There is no way she is still alive.

But still, every now and then, she will be in my dream again.

In real life it is weird. Sometimes it's like I forget she even existed. I feel bad about it. I have bad memories of her, and I feel bad that I have them. I have good memories of her, I wish I could only think of those. Sometimes I miss having a mom in general. Somebody to coddle me and cuddle me and take care of me. I have this weird yearning to be taken care of by somebody. Sometimes my brain will start trying to find other older women to be my "mother" figure. This makes me feel weird and guilty. I have been working in school cafeterias. My mom once worked in one when I was little, though not at my school. But sometimes it makes me think of her.

Sometimes I daydream about having a mom. Sometimes I daydream about being a child and having a mom to hold me and take care of me. Sometimes when I'm sick I think of being given warm tea and medicine. Being checked up on. Any expression of love at all. When I was eating lunch alone at school, she would message me so I felt less lonely. I wish I could have something like that again.

I feel silly for yearning and wanting things like this. I am 21 years old now, but sometimes I just want to be held and coddled like a child in my mom's arms again. I want the sense of safety, the comfort. I feel like I don't have anybody left to take care of me. And it's making me sad.

Even when she blurs out of my mind, it's like I'm subconsciously trying to find something to fill her role. Somebody who can take care of me. But I don't know if anybody could. Especially now. I'm not a child, and nobody wants to take care of an adult unless they're being paid for it. So I am alone.

Art has been my main way of coping with the loss. A lot of my characters have experienced losses as well, and being able to give them my feelings helps them feel more okay. It helps my feelings feel more useful and important. Even if I know even without making art my feelings aren't bad to have, I feel like nobody will care unless I'm able to make my feelings interesting enough. I feel like it's hard to sympathize with me, like maybe my characters are easier to relate to than I am. Though sometimes I'm not even sure if they are.

Still, art helps. It gets my mind off everything, it gives me an outlet, etc. Still, I have bad days. Sometimes I cry to myself. But I'll never lose the ability to make art, even if I am confined to my mind with it.

That's all for now.