I didn’t think anything could be more painful than the day my mom died. But the weeks that have passed and learning how to live without her, have taught me otherwise. It’s the everyday things that sting. The painful realization that sneaks up in a random moment on a random day. Picking up the phone to text her - even going as far as physically pulling it out and then it hits me - she’s not on the other end anymore. She won’t see the first day of school photos I took… she didn’t get to see Max turn 12… she didn’t look at my nothing special homemade birthday loot bags and say, ‘oh, isn’t that cute’, as only a mother can, to make the most mundane feel the most special. I’ve come to see, it’s not one big heartbreak, but a thousand little ones scattered through each day. I was not prepared for how unpredictable this is… how you can feel steady for a moment, then unravel in the next. It’s exhausting, this constant push and pull of holding it together while silently falling apart. In t...