Tag: grief

good grief, loss of parent, self-discovery

The Force

WFAM

Last night was date night. It was rather exceptional. Of course any time a stay-at-home Mom showers and puts on make-up makes an evening exceptional. This was exceptional for other reasons. Mad Dog took me to see Star Wars in Concert. I loved it.

The whole outing made me feel loved and special. Only someone who knows me well (like my husband) would know to take me to something like this. Even if the show was lame (which it was not) I felt the night was a success because he recognized my love of all things Star Wars. Thank you Mad Dog. Han Solo’s got nothing on you (except maybe the Millennium Falcon)!

I had a moment as the opening and highly recognizable crescendo of Star Wars theme music kicked off the show and my heart welled up and broke a little. I have these moments in my life that I off-handedly think, ‘can’t wait to tell my Mom about this’. The thought leaves my brain before my heart has a chance to remind it that she’s not here anymore. When it happens it knocks the wind out of my lungs and I miss her so much everything hurts.

A Mom knows you almost better than you know yourself (that is if you are lucky enough to have a kind and compassionate variety such as myself). She would have gotten a huge kick out of hearing about my Star Wars experience. She was there as I grew up and my sister and I watched Star Wars dozens of times. She respected the fact that Han Solo was my first love. She knew the force was strong in me and loved me anyway.

Star WarsI know on some level she sees my life and is part of it everyday. She knows I had a great time on my date and that the music of the trilogy I love so much moved me. Although she is no longer physically tangible to me, I can feel her with me in the deep pause between life’s moments. I haven’t totally accepted that she is gone. I have totally accepted that she knew me and loved me like only a mother could. And that is a force all unto its own.

children, loss of parent, mommyhood, self-discovery, terrible twos

Stinky Socks

WFAM

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At Full Speed’s mini-birthday celebration T.Puzzle fought tooth and nail when presented with the decorated eggless cupcakes. I wasn’t surprised. He likes to defy everything and anything that I want him to do. I didn’t fight him on it. If he didn’t want it, fine. Of course an hour later he decided he wanted it and ate the whole thing.pa183389

The next morning I woke up feeling incredibly achy from my head to the tips of my toes. At first I thought I was just old then I realized that I was coming down with something. Once the stomach distress set in (I will spare you the details) I knew that I was in for a long, long day.

As I attempted to get T.Puzzle ready for his school photo he threw a fit because I removed his socks from the night before. Heaven forbid that his Mom put on clean socks for him. I sent him screaming to his room. What. Ever.

After T.Puzzle’s drop-off (don’t ask me how I got him to school because I don’t remember) I had to take Full Speed to the Children’s Clinic. Again. Granted we are lucky to have such awesome care. Even so, I was feeling less than upbeat about another trek downtown Jacksonville (you know achy, old body and all). If you ever need to reach me and I’m not home, try the Children’s Clinic, Third Floor, Ophthalmology.

I think my life is catching up to me. The stresses of Full Speed’s surgeries and aftercare, T.Puzzle’s unrelenting terrible twoness and the ever present twinge of missing my Mom have converged on me all at once. My whole body hurts. My whole spirit hurts.

I’m in need of some rest in a major way. Unfortunately, in my line of work I haven’t accrued any vacation time. I guess that’s okay because ultimately I love my job no matter how much I might grumble at its challenges. However, I’m fairly certain my house, my personal hygiene and my overall disposition are going to be less than pleasing in the days to come. I may even forgo clean socks. T.Puzzle is on to something with that one….

good grief, loss of parent, self-discovery

The Cheese Stick and a Hug

WFAM

I have been struggling lately. I am sad more days than not. It’s been about six months since my mother’s death and I feel I am deep in the sadness part of my grief process. I have no more denial to protect me. I must move forward through this raw, biting pain that sits on my chest and weighs my movements as if I am submerged in water.

Today has been particularly rough. No rhyme, no reason. I have this overwhelming sadness that feels so powerful that it’s like carrying around another full-grown, helpless person.

I am home today with T.Puzzle. This is the first day in a long while that I didn’t have a million and one things to do. I have time to be still. I hate it. I can’t run anymore. I have to face the fact that my Mom is never coming back. She is gone forever. End of story.

I have to admit (and not proudly), T.Puzzle is watching a lot more television than I normally allow. I don’t have it in me to be ‘Mommy’ today. At least it’s stuff like Sesame Street so it will hopefully reinforce his letter recognition and won’t be a total wash.

He can tell I feel off today. He’s not fighting me at every corner. He’s been more gentle and loving which I appreciate. It’s amazing the intuitive nature that children possess. I hope he always keeps that.

I was sitting on the couch staring into nothingness and feeling downright sorry for myself. T.Puzzle came over and climbed on my lap. It’s surreal that feeling you get when you are holding one of your children. You sort of lose where you begin and they end. It’s like the physical boundaries of the world melt away and disappear into the love you have for one another. It felt good. I liked the weight of his body pressing into the sadness that sat deep in my gut. I didn’t hold him for too long. I understand that my grief is ultimately a solitary process. It’s not up to a child to fix an adult’s broken heart. I have to sit with it and come to terms with it all by myself.

I lifted him up and gave him a snack, a cheese stick of all things. He ate it with hearty enthusiasm. I went back and found my position on the couch and began my pity party all over again.p9173290

T.Puzzle finished his cheese stick, came over to me and climbed right back up on my lap. Who am I to fight the wisdom of my own child? Maybe he knows that I need him more than he needs me in this moment. Sometimes Mommies need band-aids for our hurts. Sometimes all we really need is a hug.

good grief, self-discovery

My (almost) Birthday Blues

WFAM

p4182669The days leading up to my 35th birthday have been incredibly sad. This is the saddest I have ever felt as a birthday has approached. Your birthday is the one day that links you inexorably to your Mom. In most ways that is a beautiful thing. If your Mom is no longer alive, it kind of makes it difficult to achieve a celebratory mood.

I keep imagining my Mom, thirty-five years ago being fully expectant with me (I was overdue), feeling as big as a house, harboring anxiety over my impending birth and the stirrings of unconditional love for a mysterious being she hadn’t even met. My Mom was a woman of few words. I know only the basic details of my birth day. I was slightly over nine pounds, my Mom was overwhelmed with relief that I was healthy (she had me at thirty-three which categorized her as an older, at-risk Mom in that day and age), that I was born on a Friday the thirteenth (which my Mom claimed to have been one of her luckiest Fridays ever) and I was a good baby right from the start (oh, why oh why couldn’t my boys have been like that in the newborn phase?).

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I don’t know much about what she was feeling. I think that now that I’ve given birth twice, I have a better perspective. That’s what I can’t get out of my head. I can’t escape the images of my Mom being young and beautiful, eagerly waiting for my arrival. I feel what she felt. I feel the hope and the fear of it all. The feelings of a power greater than yourself as you prepare to give life to another person and the feelings of absolute helplessness because you have no control over the process or the outcome. It is at once amazing and terrifying.

I was with my Mom on that day. She held me and loved me and promised to take care of me. On that day there was no inkling that we would only have thirty-four years and how our time together would end. There was only relief and joy.

I know that a year from now, the grief I am feeling surrounding my birthday won’t feel as raw as it does right now. I am trying to label the sadness I feel as simply love that is blurred at the edges. The painful connection I feel to what used to be is a reminder that I had something special in the first place. Maybe the more sadness you feel when you lose someone means the more blessed you were by the impact they had on your life. If this is true, then I am blessed a million times over. For that, I am truly grateful, deep sadness and all.

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