I’m very glad to report that I’ve been doing much better. The tears are showing up less and less. I haven’t cried in about three weeks.
However, the salty water has been replaced with dreams about Mama. I’m fine with that though. The dreams allow me a chance to hear Mama’s contagious laugh, take a look at her gorgeous smile, and have a quick talk with the woman I respect the most. I hope I never stop dreaming about her.
Although the grief is become less burdensome, I do find that I still think about Mama all the time. There’s very little that I can do in a run of a day that doesn’t somehow link to a memory of my mother. Shopping at Target, drinking lemonade, sitting outside on the porch, watching the Price is Right, picking out a new mattress, and getting dressed for work are just a few examples of the tasks I’ve done that cause me to think of her.
I’ve decided that I absolutely cannot stay at this house. Although I’m dedicated to holding my mother’s memory close to my heart, I do believe that the memory of Mama’s presence in this house is too much for me. I must find me a new home to create new memories. This house contains memories of Mama that are too painful to live in. While she didn’t die here, she did become deathly ill here. I cannot get those last moments here at the house out of my head.
And I’m still having issues with her room. I haven’t been in there to clean anything out since the last time I posted here.
Yeah, I know… I’m going to have to get better with that. All in time, my friends. All in time…
When I leap that hurdle with triumph, I’ll let you guys know.
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mother. Show all posts
Monday, November 9, 2015
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Mom's Funeral-Daddy's Birthday Party
I’m been feeling a lil’ better the last couple days. I got a good cry out of my system Sunday night. That cry should last me for the rest of the week.
I haven’t been back in Mama’s room to do any additional cleaning and packing. I suspect that I’ll do a little over the weekend. Hopefully, I won’t get and be emotional.
On another note… I’ve decided to give my dad a 70th birthday party in December. It kind of sort of feels like a betrayal to be planning a celebration of life for one parent while mourning the death of another parent. But it is what it is. I cannot neglect to honor my dad’s birthday, just because my mom won’t have another one to celebrate.
Actually, I think that planning Daddy’s birthday party will prove to be therapeutic and healing for my soul. It’s giving me something to think about other than Mama. And it’s also allowing me to focus on what’s positive rather than the negative.
I’ve learned in this whole process that we should for sure give someone their flowers on this side of life rather than the other side. So, on December 12th, we will shower Daddy with all the flowers his allergies will allow.
Oh, one more thing… I think that keeping this journal is helping me. I haven’t told anyone about it. I’m simply writing for me and not an audience. Getting my feelings out of my head and heart has proven to be just what the doctor ordered. I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell anyone about this place. If they stumble on it, I’ll be okay. However, I’m not ready to announce this location.
I’ll check in soon.
AB
I haven’t been back in Mama’s room to do any additional cleaning and packing. I suspect that I’ll do a little over the weekend. Hopefully, I won’t get and be emotional.
On another note… I’ve decided to give my dad a 70th birthday party in December. It kind of sort of feels like a betrayal to be planning a celebration of life for one parent while mourning the death of another parent. But it is what it is. I cannot neglect to honor my dad’s birthday, just because my mom won’t have another one to celebrate.
Actually, I think that planning Daddy’s birthday party will prove to be therapeutic and healing for my soul. It’s giving me something to think about other than Mama. And it’s also allowing me to focus on what’s positive rather than the negative.
I’ve learned in this whole process that we should for sure give someone their flowers on this side of life rather than the other side. So, on December 12th, we will shower Daddy with all the flowers his allergies will allow.
Oh, one more thing… I think that keeping this journal is helping me. I haven’t told anyone about it. I’m simply writing for me and not an audience. Getting my feelings out of my head and heart has proven to be just what the doctor ordered. I’m not sure if I’ll ever tell anyone about this place. If they stumble on it, I’ll be okay. However, I’m not ready to announce this location.
I’ll check in soon.
AB
Sunday, September 27, 2015
Am I Still a Daughter?
As I read all the National Daughter's Day posts on Facebook, I was forced to pause and reflect for a second. I felt weird, being that I have no daughters of my own, yet I love three little girls (my nieces) immensely.
I also felt weird that I have spent 41 years of my life being a committed daughter to my mom, who is now gone from my physical presence forever as of September 2nd.
Does her physical absence somehow make me less of a daughter because I don't have a mom anymore?
Strangely enough, I do feel like I’m not fully a daughter anymore. I feel that I lost a piece of my daughter status when she slipped away from my grasp the early morning of September 2nd. I feel that as a daughter… A good daughter… I should’ve been able to do more to save her from leaving forever. I should’ve been able to do something to help her live without the physical burden of chronic illness and disability. In a way, I feel that my daughter powers failed my mom. And so, she left me, without me being able to do a damn thing about it.
It makes me sad to feel this way. But I get better every single day.
When Mama left me, I embraced the guilt of her pain, sickness, and even death. I punished myself for not making her life better. All of my friends and family told me to not beat myself up. They reminded me of how much I’ve sacrificed for my mother. But even though I knew all that they were saying was indeed the truth, I still felt like I should’ve done more.
Today, I don’t feel as guilty. But even in my dissipating guilt, I don’t feel that I’m as much as a daughter as I was prior to September 2nd.
I don’t feel motherless or orphaned. I just don’t feel like a fully functioning daughter anymore.
It’s strange. I guess this is just grief in all of its vivid, less than delightful colors.
I also felt weird that I have spent 41 years of my life being a committed daughter to my mom, who is now gone from my physical presence forever as of September 2nd.
Does her physical absence somehow make me less of a daughter because I don't have a mom anymore?
Strangely enough, I do feel like I’m not fully a daughter anymore. I feel that I lost a piece of my daughter status when she slipped away from my grasp the early morning of September 2nd. I feel that as a daughter… A good daughter… I should’ve been able to do more to save her from leaving forever. I should’ve been able to do something to help her live without the physical burden of chronic illness and disability. In a way, I feel that my daughter powers failed my mom. And so, she left me, without me being able to do a damn thing about it.
It makes me sad to feel this way. But I get better every single day.
When Mama left me, I embraced the guilt of her pain, sickness, and even death. I punished myself for not making her life better. All of my friends and family told me to not beat myself up. They reminded me of how much I’ve sacrificed for my mother. But even though I knew all that they were saying was indeed the truth, I still felt like I should’ve done more.
Today, I don’t feel as guilty. But even in my dissipating guilt, I don’t feel that I’m as much as a daughter as I was prior to September 2nd.
I don’t feel motherless or orphaned. I just don’t feel like a fully functioning daughter anymore.
It’s strange. I guess this is just grief in all of its vivid, less than delightful colors.
My Undeniable Grief
One of my sisters accused me of not grieving over the death of my mother like she thought I should. I told her that I’m not the type to put my personal grief on display on a public stage for everyone to see or approve of. It’s my grief and it belongs to me. I’m not interested in getting others to validate my grief.
And the truth is that I certainly have no motivation to convince her, of all people, that I’m truly grief stricken about my mother’s final departure. All of my sisters should realize what a loss I’ve experienced in the death of my mother. For the last thirteen years, I put my life on hold to give my mother life. And the other day, all the life I have given her wasn’t enough. She slipped from my grip and life departed from her as she rested quietly in a hospital room on the 25th floor.
Knowing the professional challenges that I already had because of my disability, I chose to quit my job and care for my mother, who required 24-hours of care and supervision. I put my personal and professional dreams and aspirations on an indefinite layaway plan for thirteen years to be a full-time caregiver to my mother. And now that mom is gone, I do indeed have more free time. But now, I simply don’t know what to do with myself.
From 27 to 41, my life was on loan to the most important woman in my world. I now feel like a lost library book, looking for a shelf to rest on or someone to pick up and read to gain knowledge. Not only am I sad about Mama’s death, I feel void of direction.
I’m 41, with a significant disability (total blindness), no kids, no husband or significant other, no full-time job, no significant ownership in any property, and no Mama to take care of. I’m not only grieving for Mama, I’m grieving over what has been lost when she left me: my primary purpose for the last thirteen years.
But with all that being said, I’m still mostly sad for the loss of my mother’s life. I miss her and think incessantly about her. I wish so badly I could call her, touch her arm, hear her laugh, fix her some ice water, iron her clothes, give her a piece of candy, play a gospel song for her to enjoy, tell her a story about my college students, or give her a kiss on the cheek.
I’m I grieving the death of my mama? You damn straight I am.
I find myself grieving quietly and privately throughout the day while loading clothes in the washer, while washing dishes, while teaching my classes, and even while sitting on the sofa doing absolutely nothing.
Yesterday, I was chewing a piece of gum and enjoying the savory taste of the sugars in the gum. And without any warning, grief struck me in the belly. I was reminded how my mother was begging for water, ice chips, and a wet towel to put in her mouth as she was dying. She said her mouth was so so very dry. When the nurses weren’t looking, we put tiny drops of ice on her tongue to allow her some comfort in her dying moments.
When that thought entered my mind, I pulled that piece of gum out of my mouth, let down the passenger window of my sister’s car, and tossed the chewed up piece of gum out the window on to the freeway. My sister was like, “What’s wrong with you?” Before I knew it, I was blasting her and telling her how and why I was so offended when she accused me of not grieving. I told her that my grief pops up all the time and rather unexpectantly. And no one… And I mean no one has the right to tell me I’m not grieving the loss of my mother.
In the next few weeks, months, and perhaps years to come, I will continue to have memories of Mama that will haunt me rather than provide me comfort. My only prayer is that my grief is replaced with thanksgiving and joy as I heal and recover from the second greatest challenge of my life: the loss of my mom.
(I’ll give you one guess of what is the greatest challenge of my life.)
And the truth is that I certainly have no motivation to convince her, of all people, that I’m truly grief stricken about my mother’s final departure. All of my sisters should realize what a loss I’ve experienced in the death of my mother. For the last thirteen years, I put my life on hold to give my mother life. And the other day, all the life I have given her wasn’t enough. She slipped from my grip and life departed from her as she rested quietly in a hospital room on the 25th floor.
Knowing the professional challenges that I already had because of my disability, I chose to quit my job and care for my mother, who required 24-hours of care and supervision. I put my personal and professional dreams and aspirations on an indefinite layaway plan for thirteen years to be a full-time caregiver to my mother. And now that mom is gone, I do indeed have more free time. But now, I simply don’t know what to do with myself.
From 27 to 41, my life was on loan to the most important woman in my world. I now feel like a lost library book, looking for a shelf to rest on or someone to pick up and read to gain knowledge. Not only am I sad about Mama’s death, I feel void of direction.
I’m 41, with a significant disability (total blindness), no kids, no husband or significant other, no full-time job, no significant ownership in any property, and no Mama to take care of. I’m not only grieving for Mama, I’m grieving over what has been lost when she left me: my primary purpose for the last thirteen years.
But with all that being said, I’m still mostly sad for the loss of my mother’s life. I miss her and think incessantly about her. I wish so badly I could call her, touch her arm, hear her laugh, fix her some ice water, iron her clothes, give her a piece of candy, play a gospel song for her to enjoy, tell her a story about my college students, or give her a kiss on the cheek.
I’m I grieving the death of my mama? You damn straight I am.
I find myself grieving quietly and privately throughout the day while loading clothes in the washer, while washing dishes, while teaching my classes, and even while sitting on the sofa doing absolutely nothing.
Yesterday, I was chewing a piece of gum and enjoying the savory taste of the sugars in the gum. And without any warning, grief struck me in the belly. I was reminded how my mother was begging for water, ice chips, and a wet towel to put in her mouth as she was dying. She said her mouth was so so very dry. When the nurses weren’t looking, we put tiny drops of ice on her tongue to allow her some comfort in her dying moments.
When that thought entered my mind, I pulled that piece of gum out of my mouth, let down the passenger window of my sister’s car, and tossed the chewed up piece of gum out the window on to the freeway. My sister was like, “What’s wrong with you?” Before I knew it, I was blasting her and telling her how and why I was so offended when she accused me of not grieving. I told her that my grief pops up all the time and rather unexpectantly. And no one… And I mean no one has the right to tell me I’m not grieving the loss of my mother.
In the next few weeks, months, and perhaps years to come, I will continue to have memories of Mama that will haunt me rather than provide me comfort. My only prayer is that my grief is replaced with thanksgiving and joy as I heal and recover from the second greatest challenge of my life: the loss of my mom.
(I’ll give you one guess of what is the greatest challenge of my life.)
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