200 Tears

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 It is surely painful, but now the pain has been replaced by a wave of immediate sadness.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”