It has been several months since I posted. Truth is I’ve had a lot to say, and not enough strength to say it. Easter was hard, because I saw how terribly my Mom’s health was fading. Mother’s Day was horrific, because I realized she was actually dying. 1 week ago she did.
At some future time I might try to revisit all that, to pour out so much of the fear and pain that has bubbled under the surface of my life for so long, but right now I won’t. Right now I want to just try to open up again by talking about the now and not the horrors of the past few weeks. I don’t yet have the strength for that.
This past week has been easier and harder than I expected. Easier simply because none of it feels real. It is hard to grapple with emotions when the emotions are tied to what feels like a dream. I can’t imagine the fact that my mother is actually gone. I can’t imagine not being able to talk to her again, how I can’t rush to her with my good news and bad. And so it is a vague fear of the future that fills me, but not a very precise one. Yet.
I sense a breaking in the dream coming. More and more things happen that remind me my Mom is dead, and more and more I feel the truth prick my heart with pain. I have a friend who is thinking of buying a house. Mom used to be a realtor, and I almost told her my Mom could probably offer advice on that. Someone mentions their mom in a conversation and a blunt voice in my mind rings “I no longer have one.”
Accidentally saying “My parents house,” or “I am going to visit Mom and Dad this weekend,” and thinking that those are no longer correct phrases, is only slightly more painful that actually saying “My Dad’s house,” and realizing that not only is it true, but my mind actually went to the right phrase first.
I fear so much for the future. For Dad without his other half. I don’t know that Dad has ever needed anyone besides Mom, they were always so content together. Now I worry what his life will look like without her. I worry about that big house, and the days Christian might not be living at home anymore. I worry about all my family without my Mom as our rock.
I worry about the day I get a random bloody nose or a bad flu and I can’t call her to ask her what to do. I worry about what should be happy days and wonder how they could be happy without her there to participate: holidays, when I graduate, if I get married someday, if I have kids someday.
I worry about major life decisions without her advice, I worry about struggles without her love to support me.
I wonder why she had to go through so much pain, why her body had to waste away to nothing, why, why, why…
And how in the world am I going to move on from this?
I can, for the most part, shove this all inside and ignore it, as I always have done with pain. But it creeps up and if I don’t surround myself with distractions it hits me, more persistent than any emotion I have tried to set aside before.
I wish she was here to hug me right now. She would know the right words to say.
I hope this doesn’t make me sound desperate and alone, because I have wonderful, amazing friends and family who have been so supportive of me through this. But they aren’t mi Madre, my Marme, my Mom, and they never will be.
And I haven’t figured out how to come to terms with that yet.