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Incoherently Lucid

If this turns out to be clear to you, see a doctor.
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Tell me how wonderful I am...

Saturday, November 7, 2015

Happy late birthday Mom

November 4th was your birthday. And for some reason I just didnt "feel" the pain. It was confusing, and a little disappointing. I mean, why wouldn't I shed a tear for you on your 1st birthday in heaven?  Am I heartless?  I couldn't understand why I wasn't falling apart. I went to bed feeling a bit unfinished and almost as if I betrayed you.
I woke up the next day feeling normal. Got myself ready for another 4 days of work and 6 days away from home. Get to the airport with my Stacey and proceeded our normal stressful nonrev flying. Out of nowhere, I started to feel down and sad. Stacey noticed and asked me several times if I was ok. I just kept saying i was ok, just sad. I knew what was happening,  and I couldn't stop it.  And all of a sudden it hit. Grief. It's been over two months since we talked. And I'll never hear you voice again. Never call you on your birthday again. I tried to keep myself together. But this overwhelming panic started washing over me. A tidal wave of loss and pain that i couldnt control or stop. And I just couldn't even exist.  I couldn't hold it back. Right there, in the Atlanta airport, I wept for you. I wept for me. I wept for all of us. Tears just continued. Stacey was trying to help me but I couldn't stop. I held it all in yesterday.  And today it came out. And I am reminded that grief doesn't care where you are, or what you're doing. It doesn't care if everyone is watching. You can be strong for your loved ones all day everyday, but it will find you eventually.  And you know what? It sucks. And it is ok. You always wanted suppression of feelings,  and I've never been able to comply. I'm sorry mom. I will continue to mourn you. Probably my whole life. I just miss you so very much. I finally calmed down a bit after stacey bought me a giant cupcake with at least 2 inches of frosting.  Happy birthday momma. I bet the party in heaven was grand. I love you.

Friday, October 16, 2015


August 26th, 2015. Worst day of my life so far.  I knew it was coming and thought I had prepared myself for it.  My mother was always a very upbeat and positive person.  She hated any kind of negativity.  She always looked for the positive in every situation I brought to her. I wish she could help me now.

I have known grief before.  I have felt despair and experienced great loss.  I was unprepared for the intensity of the emotions associated with losing my mom. This is the person who has always been there for me.  Every event in my life is sprinkled with my mom.  If something good or bad happened, if she wasn’t actually there, she was the 1st called.  Every decision I made I realize now that I have always consulted her advice.  Not that I always followed it, but I always asked for her thoughts.  Sometimes her opinion hurt. Sometimes her way of sneaking the truth about a situation in her opinion was quite annoying.  But mostly she helped me work through every situation faced.

I have spent my entire life under her umbrella of unconditional love.  She has loved me through everything.  Even through times when I was a terrible daughter and didn’t deserve it.  She would still love me and forgive me. I can’t begin to tell you all the things she has done for me.  I would have to write a book.

Since the day she left this world, the emptiness is very intense.  I feel this huge cloud of sadness hanging over, trying to swallow me up.  Every time I try to pull out of it, something will happen, and I will think, “I should tell mom”, or “I should ask mom”.  And then it his again.  Right in the pit of my stomach, straight up to my heart…

I cannot tell her.

I cannot ask her.

She is gone.

No more late night wine talks. No more compliments that sometimes seem oddly critical. (yes, I miss that)  No more advice. No more beautiful momma love.  No more lip kisses. 

I am so grateful that I spent the week before her death with her.  I am also ashamed of myself because I was not as “there” as I could have been. But for every moment I spent talking to her or holding her hand or just feeling her love, I am grateful.  Because she was beautiful, even while facing her own death.  The morning before she left us, I woke up and could tell that she was different.  She knew.  She had had a rough couple of nights and hadn’t slept very much at all.  That morning all she wanted was for me to sit and hold her hand.   I don’t know how long I sat there, it was until my stepdad came and I had to get ready to head back to Georgia.  I looked at her as I was leaving, and I just knew I wouldn’t see her like that again.  I could feel it.  I gave her a kiss, and then gave her another kiss. She smiled when I asked for a second kiss.  I told her I loved her and I would be back by Friday.  She said, “I love you too, honey”.

She never talked to me again.  By the time I came back from the airport, that very same day, she was no longer having actual conversations.  Throughout the day, family arrived.  We were all weak with sadness and grief that was already there.  Still, we stood by her side, taking turns touching her and holding her hand as we slowly watched this beautiful strong woman wither away.  It was truly heartbreaking.

After it was over, there was a surreal feeling of relief because her suffering had ended.  And I could get on board with the “at least she’s not suffering” crew for a few days.  But now I’m just mad that my Mom was so young and had to die so horribly.  Lung cancer is cruel. 

I am broken now.  I feel absolutely broken.  How is it possible to crawl out of this grief?  It is all consuming. I find myself being unable to empathize with any problem that isn’t monumental.  People are like “go to grief counseling”.  Ok, when I have time for that.  I’m home rarely and honestly, I don’t want to spend my precious time at home going to therapy.  I got me some new anti-depressants and no, it’s not wine, (even though Mom would approve of that). I’m going to write my feelings out, and possibly find an online resource for grief work.  Until then, please be patient.  My heart is broken.  So are the hearts of my stepfather, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins and everyone else that loved her.

She was one of a kind. You don't just "get over" love that is so beautiful as a mother's love.

I love you Mom. And until we meet again, Yes, I do want another cookie.