It's been a long day, without you my friend... and I'll tell you all about it when I see you again. We've come a long way from where we began, and I'll tell you all about it when I see it again.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday...
It was a Sunday. Jason and I had taken Evie out to breakfast at IHOP that morning. We had a nice family day. I went to the grocery store, and came home. I wanted to make some chili before work that night.
I pulled out the ground beef, and was just about to put it in my hot frying pan when my phone rang.
That phone call would shatter me... in more profound ways than I even realized at the time.
My mother was dead.
Looking back on that day still knocks the wind out of me. I collapsed on a heap on the floor. I felt gutted. I still feel gutted.
Whoever said "time heals all wounds" was full of shit. The loss of my mother is a wound that will never heal. Every time it starts to scab over, the scab comes off and I start bleeding again.
Recently, my good friends mother passed away. Her death, the season being so close to my own mother's... her age, the circumstances- brought the whole thing back to me in full force. I hadn't cried in a while... I just couldn't hold it in after her mother's passing. Its still too raw, too fresh. I suspect that it will always be too raw and too fresh.
Over the last year I've gone through the stages of grief, just like you're supposed to do. I've accepted that she's gone. But I'm not ok with it.
Well meaning people say "She's in a better place." F-THAT. A better place is here with us.
Over the last year, I've been touched by the kindness of many people. At my mother's funeral, my former coworkers at Georgetown had sent the most beautiful floral arrangement. It touched a place in my soul, that I can't even begin to put into words. Friends have sent thoughtful notes, texts and emails. Christmas Eve last year, an aquaintance from high school that I haven't talked to in many years, sent me the most thoughtful and caring Facebook message. She said "I can't even imagine the heartache you're going through. I can't begin to think about the day we will no longer be making this drive to my parents..." That message meant more to me than she will ever know. And truly, it's one of the only things I can even remember about last Christmas. Acknowledging the loss, for me at least, is so much more helpful. It's painful for me whether we talk about my Mom or not. I think about her all the time... and for you to join me in that, while it may be uncomfortable for you, is actually comforting for me.
A question I get every now and then is "how are you doing?" And my response tends to be "Thanks for asking, today I'm doing ok." In the early days, ok meant 'I got out of bed today.' It also tended to mean that I didn't sit around crying about missing her all day. That doesn't really happen anymore. Also in those early days I used to blare sad, 'missing your loved one' songs and sing them in the shower... The tears wouldn't stop. I don't do that anymore either. So... I guess that means I'm going to be ok...? Maybe?
The days and weeks after my mom's death are a complete blur. I was so worried that I would go into preterm labor- I started feeling contractions the day she died. I remember going to the Ob-GYN the day after she died, sunglasses on my tear soaked face. The tears wouldn't stop. I don't remember any of our conversation at the doctors office that day- I just remember the pain and asking for sleeping medicine- sleep evaded me and it felt like someone had cut out my heart. They obliged.
A few weeks after she died, I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. Even that fabulous day is cemented with the pain of her absence. She never even knew his name. She never even saw his sweet face.
As I moved through the motions of mothering a brand new infant and a smart, energetic toddler I was constantly reminded of the absence of her. Sure, I hadn't seen her every single day- she lived in another state. It had been 6 months since I had seen her before she died. But, i talked to her all the time. She was a continuous presence in my life, always just a phone call away.
I talked to her briefly on the phone 2 days before she died, and texted with her the night before she died. If I had any inkling that that text exchange would have been my last with her, I would've said so much more.
I spent a lot of time angry with myself for the way I handled that conversation... She said "I love you" and I didn't say it back... Why? It was pretty common for me to say that to her, so why didn't I say it then? I have no good answer for that.
After I had Evie, she wanted me to text pictures all the time. At first it annoyed me a bit, but then I realized that she cared about her like a loving grandmother does and just wanted to see her growth and not miss a single minute. I get that. And I appreciate that. But I'm not sure I ever let her know that I appreciated that.
There were several times that she had asked me to call or text when I landed somewhere, and let her know I made it alright. And independent, defiant me would argue "Why do you need me to tell you that, Ma? My friend is meeting me, I promise you, if something is wrong, someone will let you know." But now I realize that she requested that of me because she cared. She wasn't trying to control me or my life. She cared about me and my well being... and she would wonder or worry about me until she heard from me.
Weston's baptism was in November, making the guest list and addressing cards and leaving her name off still feels so wrong. I imagine it will for some time. I felt the same thing with the Christmas cards. I imagine that will diminish with time. I hope so anyway. Things just feel incomplete.
One nice thing, has been Facebook's "years ago today memory"- looking at the comments, my mom was ever present. And re-reading her words has been a delight and I find myself looking forward to to tomorrow "because what did she post on this picture 2 years ago today?"
I still have her on my favorites list in my phone... maybe in the next few weeks I will remove her number once and for all. But for today, I just can't... Someone else has her old phone number now. It was a little strange to have "Mom" pop up on my contacts list for Snapchat... I chatted with "Mom"... that was an awkward conversation. And then I promptly deleted Snapchat. I still have 2 of her voicemails saved on my phone... somedays I wake up and feel like I just need to hear her voice... So I listen. Albeit brief, it means so much to hear her voice. I never want to forget.
One of these days I'll probably accidentally call her number.
But for now, I don't care. I just can't bring myself to get rid of her contact in my phone.
Loss is inevitable. We are mortal. But it sucks. There is nothing wonderful about it. It's so final. So permanent. There is no sense of peace for me. For now, it's just pain and emptiness. A void that will never be filled.
It's changed me. I wish I could say that now I make every effort to make every exchange with every person I know, a quality one just in case we never get the opportunity to speak again- but I don't. I wish I could say that I always end every exchange with those that I love with 'I love you'... but I don't.
The thing that has changed most notably, is my empathy. I can feel that pain of loss that others experience. I can join them in that experience, because I've been there. I've walked through that nightmare. And even though their losses remind me of my own, and it reignites all of those feelings from my own loss- its ok. Because when you're in the thick of it... you need to know you're not alone. The lonliness can feel isolating at times... and you yearn for someone, anyone, to tell you that even though today you don't feel ok, one day you will be.
One day you will laugh, and it will feel good. One day you will be ok.
Today Ma, I miss you. But I will be ok.
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