Loss

Two months ago, as I was sitting writing up the next Italy blog post, we got the text that Alex’s sister and her husband had been in an accident. The shock and horror that hit the family that night, and continued to hit as we spent time in the hospital, and continued to hit as we sat through the double funeral, has been absolutely scarring.

It has been just now that life has returned to some routine and constancy for the family, though sorting out legal things and personal things and all the things still happens constantly. Prayers are appreciated as the family makes their way through the first year milestones and holidays; prayers are appreciated as lives are rebuilt around the holes of missing loved ones. Prayers that I can be a good support person for my husband, for his family, and all those who are in need of it.

If I’ve learned anything it’s that losing someone is not made easier by experience. There are a million different struggles that came with this compared to losing Mom, and both were hard and traumatic and didn’t make the other easier.

But I don’t want to process it all here – goodness knows this blog has enough grief scattered throughout it.

We rest in the hope that those that were lost had hope in Christ, and that death is not the end.

1 Corinthians 15:54: When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: “Death has been swallowed up in victory.”

Shades of Grief

Hey, Mom

I needed a cry today so I read the letter you left us 5 years ago. It worked. There’s a lot of feelings that arise I could unpack with it. I think I’ll let them settle internally to sift out later.

The anniversary of loosing you was hard, like it always is. I’ve been a moody witch (as you would have said, with a look that said you didn’t mean “witch”) more than one day this month, and poor Alex has taken the brunt of it. But he’s forgiving and Ill try to be better.

I wish so badly I lived in a world where you could come visit. We could sit in the courtyard and watch the cats chase bugs and talk about all the plants that I’m trying to get growing in the landscaping. We’d be sipping extra strong coffee. You’d listen so attentively as I told you about my hobbies, and you’d have such wisdom to fill in the cracks of my life with. Because you were the type of person who cared so deeply about the details of those around you, and you just got me so well. And you’d get animated as you told me your latest ideas about the world and your plans for a garden; perhaps we’d both start ranting about a mutual frustration and solve it all while we were at it. Because you were so full of life and energy and thoughts. And before we knew it it’d be 2 in the morning and we wouldn’t even have noticed it.

It’s never gonna be easy. Every year I’m going to hurt, and every year I’m going to think “wouldn’t it be great if…?” But it’s a small consolation that this lap past the marker hasn’t been just me seeped in bad memories of cancer, and more about who you were and continue to be to me, and maybe that’s the progress I needed even if it’s just another shade of grief.

3 Years Later

Yesterday marks 3 years since mom died. I still struggle so hard when May comes around and the double whammy of Mother’s day and yesterday come together to churn up memories. It’s not that I miss mom more during this time. I always miss her. I miss her advice and friendship, I miss her spunk, I miss her passion. I constantly try to describe her to Alex and know I fail miserably to get the idea of who and how amazing she was across to him and grieve over the frustration that he can never really know.

This is the time of year for the not good memories. I remember when she first died, and how someone told me that while right then I remembered her as sick and dying, in a few months that would go away and I’d remember her for who she was; Healthy and alive and vibrant and always up for an adventure. And that comforting hope rang true, to where I mostly remember the good times now. I remember our adventures in Germany, our coffee dates, our shopping days, our late night talks about life around the kitchen island when the rest of the house was asleep. But this time of year the bad memories come back. This time of year the horrors of those last months plague me again. I wonder if there will come a time in my life when a May comes and they don’t.

Until then I’ll snuggle close to Alex and in the safety of his arms try once again to tell him what all I’ve lost.

I miss you Mom.

Gosh, we had the same smile, didn’t we? Twinning on so many levels here.

On Grief and Other Things: Thoughts A Year Later – Part I

I visited the grave for the first time yesterday. It had always been in the back of my head as something I should eventually do, but which I had not yet felt the compelling pull to face. But with Mother’s Day happening and the anniversary of the day Mom died coming up soon, I found myself needing to feel that release of facing it and crying my feelings out and just letting my grief air and get out of the deep confines of myself where it is usually tucked as inconvenient or ill timed or just as that thing which I prefer not to dwell on.

I did that thing which you see in movies, where you talk to a grave and try to tell that person what you’re feeling, what you miss. I had always thought it a rather silly thing, I think, to find some comfort in talking to someone who is not there to hear. But somehow it is comforting. It creates, however falsely contrived, the feeling of still being connected, of still holding on to that person and who they were and how they impacted and continue to impact your life. You feel for a fleeting minute as if some part of them can still reach forth and give you the comfort or the guidance you seek. Maybe, in a way, you can find all that; in the memories, in the picture of them that you still hold in your head.

Mom and little baby me, so very long ago

Grief is such a multi-faceted thing. There are so many dimensions to the way it is felt, to what triggers it.

There is the grief of the past, of all the memories that have swirled in and out of my head recently of just how sick she was, of the pain and struggles that were horrific to witness and live through. Of the countless days of walking up to the hospital with her and the way she had anticipatory nausea before they even pumped her full of chemo. Of how she slowly lost her strength. Of how she was so strong through it all, so much stronger than a person has any right to be, so strong for all of her family. If I could have half her strength I would be content.

There is the actual missing of someone in the moment, of having this wonderful person in your life and suddenly not having them. There are so many things I wish I could tell her still. She was always the best person to call if I was excited about something in my life. She would always be so genuinely supportive and happy for me. When I had an opportunity to do some on-the-side legal work, or when there was a potential for me to visit DC, there was this sad slap of feeling during my excitement  that the first thing I wanted to do was call her up and share it with her and I couldn’t. And there is the knowledge I cannot go to her for advice. If I am worried about something, or if I am struggling in a friendship or have questions about relationships, she’s always the person I want to ask. We used to just snuggle up with our cats on her bed and talk about it, and she’d always be so full of wisdom and guidance or sympathy, or maybe she’d just join me in being ever so frustrated and that was great too. She does not get to meet Alex, and he does not get to meet her. They would have really liked each other. I want to be able to share how amazing they both are with each of them, and cannot.

There is future grief, the knowledge and fear of facing a lot of life without her. The idea of ever trying to plan a wedding if I am to be married and not having her to go dress shopping with me, or if I have kids how she will not be there to support me through the pregnancy or becoming a mom.

There is guilt grief, of all the ways I think I should have been there more, should have supported her better, or have let her down in not watching out for the family as well as I ought.

Someone asked me what my greatest fear is, and I realized it’s losing those I love. I see what I’ve lost with Mom, how it will always effect me and how there will always be a small chunk of my heart that’s missing. And I think of how eventually, I will lose others. Inevitably there will be more chunks of my heart that are ripped away and gape with a loss unfillable. Yet somehow that has pushed me to connect more with those around me, to care for them more, to try and soak in the moments I have while I have them.

I think, I really do, that Mom would be proud of how I’ve grown this year. Of how I’ve not let the struggle hold me back but have let it propel me into being more open and vulnerable with myself and others, of how I’ve worked hard to progress in college and life, of the strides I’ve made in my habits and goals. I know I’ve fallen short in many ways, but I hope someday I can be as strong and graceful and kind and supportive as she was.

It’s been a tough year, and an especially tough couple of weeks. And I fear this post will make people think that I have a lot of hidden struggles constantly that I’m just not sharing, which isn’t really true. I’d genuinely label myself as happy, as living life and deepening the relationships I have with those around me and enjoying the adventures along the way. There will just always be a part of me that wishes I could still do all that with her.

To the very best and most beautiful of mothers. It has been a hard year without you, hard years before that watching you fight so hard in a war with cancer you’d eventually lose, and it will continue to be hard without your guidance, support, opinions, joys, friendship, and love as I try to navigate this life without you. I love you and miss you so very, very much. I’ll always be your ToriBelle