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.
