AS you know, my sweet Mom died 14 very long days ago.
She planned her own memorial, choosing the songs, poems and prayers...even wrote her own beautiful eulogy. Evidently dying slowly of cancer affords you this luxury, but I'm fairly certain it wasn't a luxury Mom ever coveted. Still, we were all so grateful to her for the work she put in as a last gift to us. The service was amazingly difficult, yet amazingly beautiful. She reached out to us from where she now flies, and it was a profound experience for my brother, sister, dad, and everyone who stuffed themselves into the ballroom at my parent's neighborhood Chateau {{glorified clubhouse}} to say goodbye.
Because I'm so much like my mom, I'm processing her passing by writing my own words. The day after I watched her take her last breath, I wrote a big ole thing. I wrote it in thankfulness for the mom I was given, for the too-short time I had with her, and for the hope of a future with her guidance to lead me and her memory as my companion. Because I believe she wants me to pursue every drop of hope and light I can....and I know this because she pursued it herself. It's a good piece, written in the heady aftermath of the drama of death and emotion and naive grief not yet tested by the loneliness and monotony of the coming weeks. I'll post it soon, but not tonight.
Tonight I just feel this raging hurting loss. I have some nasties to let fly so my mom can catch them in the wind and toss them where they won't prick me and taunt me and suffocate me. Do you mind?
There is a huge something missing in my life now. Enormous and never-ending and painful and awkward and weird and stupid. I'm kinda pissed about it actually. I mean, why her? Why not the fatass at Walmart in the candy aisle with greasy hair? {{I immediately feel a *Knowing tap* on my shoulder as Mom reminds me "why NOT her?" Ok Mom. It's an uneven playing field and the refs are on strike, so I'll go with it.}}
I know she's near me, but it's just not the same. Not at all.
Anyone who tells you different hasn't lost their own huge something.
And, btw, to those who have sinned by omission due to not having lost your own huge something yet, ouch.
That hurt. I forgive you. But I'm still kinda mad at you. I might be over it by the holidays. Or not. There might be opportunities for enough downward dogs in the next few months to get it out of my system. But don't count on it. I really do hope to be over it by the time you must lose your huge something so that I won't be a dick in your hour of loss. Because, really, I want to be a nice person again.
And what's with this weather? Like the cosmos tapped into my searing heart and was like, "hey show her what her pain looks like on the outside" and sent a sudden foretaste of the biting cold that's coming, complete with heavy, sagging grey clouds and spitting shards of rain. Nice.
I know it sounds like I'm angry. I'm ok with that.
I'm also utterly sad. I'm trying to be ok with that.
And I'm lonely. With my hubby and kids always nearby, I'm still profoundly lonely. I may never be ok with that.
I'm sitting with my emotions when all I really want to do is rage around and terrify everyone around me because it HURTS SO MUCH, then drive as fast as I can to the nearest Dunkin' Donuts for yeasty demons filled with fluffified transfat and rolled in powered sugar dust. Why yes, I will take a bakers dozen. Eating my emotions would taste so good....
And what I didn't expect was the exhaustion. Physical exhaustion, I mean. It's not like I'm training for a marathon....I drive my kids to school, walk my dog, do some yoga. And yet I'm bone-tired. Feels like the kind that won't ever go away.
Yes, I know it will. Don't care. Needed to write it. Needed to acknowledge it.
Since I don't have a freaking clue how this is all gonna come out {this post or my life post-watching-cancer-kick-the-shit-out-of-my-mom's-beautiful-body}, I figure the least I can do is get it out here and hope for the best.. Other things I'm trying out before giving in to the afore-mentioned doughnuts:
Pin a dozen new
hairstyle ideas on Pinterest.
Make just shy of 4 million batches of soap
in my mom's honor (and blow up a batch in the oven).
Remember to breath.
Listen to as much
Mumford and Sons as I possibly can.
Pick up 6 tiny, perfect, flaming red leaves that lay in my path as I walk in the rain.
Blow raspberries and slobber kisses on my grandbaby's petal soft cheeks.
Remember to breath.
Feel sorry for myself, then tell all my facebook friends I need a playdate.
Do
yoga.
Do more yoga.
Remember to breath.
Watch
episodes of mindless TV on Netflix.
Stare at the leaves as they write their own eulogy in brilliant color, just like my Mom did, and know she can see them too....that she's now part of the magic that makes it happen.
Oh yeah, and eat one too many Bob Evans biscuits with honey.
And......remember to breath.
I miss you Mom. Nothing will ever be the same. Help me see goodness again.
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