Unfortunately, or
fortunately, I'm not totally sure how to look at it, but the shock has finally
settled and moved on. I was uncertain when this period would end, but I am
guessing now is as good a time as any.
Turning to Google (unfortunately,
again) that was the first step.
“1. Denial and Isolation
The first reaction to
learning of terminal illness or death of a cherished loved one is to deny the
reality of the situation. It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming
emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block
out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that
carries us through the first wave of pain.” (psychcentral.com)
I wouldn't go as far as
saying that I never denied losing my mother. It was very real to me, I knew what
was happening. I was there for every step of her disease and demise. I was
probably more involved than most people could have handled. Trust me, I never
denied her illness, or that any of it was happening. Or that it happened, or
what could happen. I just wanted to make sure I was doing the right thing; that
in a year from whatever was going on then, that I wouldn’t look back and regret
any mistakes or choices that were made. I wanted to make sure I did everything
possible for her.
I do believe that I needed
to be strong and was shocked, and I definitely buffered my pain with courage. If
it was a false courage, I will never know. I knew that I had to get through
everything standing. I wasn't going to take anything lying down.
The first wave of pain
has subsided and dulled. It is surely painful, but now the pain has been
replaced by a wave of immediate sadness. I terribly miss my mother and hearing
her voice. I miss talking to her about anything and everything. One of the
hardest things I’ll have to go through is losing her, and that’s just it. I
lost her, and I can’t hear her voice of reason to help me through it. And it
hurts. It’s not a stabbing hurt, it’s numbing.
Now, I am not having a
pity party for myself here. A whole lot of people lost an amazing part of their
lives also. I can only say how and what I feel, so that’s what I'm doing. This
is my release. I cannot speak for others. I can hardly speak for myself. So I write.
I finally went back
through Facebook posts and re-read the status I posted the day my mother
passed. I initially read through those comments as they came and “liked” them
to show my appreciation to the people who reached out to me during my sad time.
I never re-read them again until today. There are 110 comments on that post,
and a few are mine. I just sat there and read each one about what an amazing
person my mother was, how sorry they are for my loss, a memory they have of
her, their condolences, etc. I think at least 2 tears fell for each comment. 200
tears in about 5 minutes. That’s 2 tears per second. It was a lot of tears. It
was the first time in over two months that I’ve shed that many tears.
I had to get up from my
desk, go outside and cry a little more, wash my face in the sink, and come back
to my desk. And then I thought to myself, “Well? Now what? What’s next?” I just knew I had to write again.
According to Google the
next step is “Anger.” That should be interesting. I am not angry. I am dealing
with the “unfairness” of it all. But I don't think that it is anger. I don't think I have enough energy for anger. I just
think its unfair. I will try to write more as time progresses.
So, what’s next? I don’t
know, but she would have been able to tell me.
“And it came to me then, that
every plan is a tiny prayer to father time
As I stared at my shoes in the
ICU that reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I
said to myself that, I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the
LCD took you a little farther away from me
Away from me
Amongst the vending machines and
year-old magazines in a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that
our memories depend on a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth
I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the
eyes on the ground as the TV entertained itself
'Cause there's no comfort in the
waiting room
Just nervous pacers bracing for
bad news
And then the nurse comes round
and everyone will lift their heads
But I'm thinking of what Sarah
said, that, "Love is watching someone die"
So who's going to watch you die?”
~Death Cab for Cutie, “What Sarah Said”
