Being Motherless: Reflections After a Year March 14th, 2014, One year later. The date reads the same, except for a difference of only one number; but, what a difference that one number can make. If that four were a three, I would be back there, on that day; but, instead I am here, where everything has changed. There are the numbers of the days that slip into a count of the weeks, which amount to the passing of months – starting at a crawl but before you know it, fly by at a run. And pretty soon you arrive at a year. Before too long, not having a mother anymore is no longer your first thought upon waking. It becomes, perhaps, your second or third thought, until it hits you mid-morning or even mid-afternoon. Then, on some months, the 14th slides right on by and you realize later; oh my, it was ten months ago yesterday, wasn’t it? As the countdown clock of 2013 wound down, I began to feel a strange melancholy ache about leaving this dark year behind; because, as much as I was ready to begin anew, it felt as though that switch in year meant that I had to permanently leave my mother behind. I still was trying to process the fact that my father was gone. Could I really handle this? Is this really happening? For my daily consciousness to no longer be in the context of my mother died this year, but to have to now be my mother died last year; or, knowing one day, sooner than I think, it will be three years ago … five years ago … ten years ago … infinity years ago…. In my mind’s eye, I yearn to have all this passing time seem to make losing my mother matter less; because, I knew the world at large would see it as less of a loss, once a certain amount of time had gone by. So many people might think, she died last year; well, really then, shouldn’t you be over that by now, shouldn’t you not feel the fresh raw grip of gut-wrenching sadness that you will never talk to your mother again, now that a full year has passed? Because you see, death is also in the people you leave behind. The ones who show up and the ones who don’t. In addition to everything else you have to process, you have to process the little discussed truth that, with one singular death, not to mention in my case two within 8 months, there are going to be people who can’t turn and face the depth of your pain and the monumentality of life change that has just happened to you. The people you loved and trusted and thought you knew, before death, after death, sometimes become someone uncomfortably unfamiliar, especially when they havent been through anything remotely similar. It becomes that simple. Your life before the death of your parents. Your life after death of your parents. But there undoubtably are also always the ones who do show up, and show up in ways that will make your heart hurt with their love and support. I thankfully have had the privilege to learn that family is not only made by blood, but by those who surround you in times of triumph and trial. Then there all the moments in between, the day to day, you watch life somehow go on. The checkbook still needs to be balanced and the grocery store still needs to be visited. But then, sometimes, out of the blue, out of the waves they call grief, a giant fist appears out of nowhere and delivers a knock-out punch to your soul; and it cries out, “Your mother is dead.” It can be as simple as a song on the radio, or a commercial she always laughed at, or when Dancing With The Stars (which my Father loving called Dancing With The Shmucks...lmao!) is on. Then there are the profound moments when you realize that no else loved you or listened to you like she did. So here I am. It has been a year. I don’t feel like I have crossed a finish line or won any kind of trophy, and I certainly don’t feel like I have achieved any sort of closure. I don’t feel as though time will necessarily heal anything, but what I do know is that time will pass by. I still carry my grief with me. It is a part of me now. My grief is made of irreparable loss, and the realization that all of what I have left are the amazing memories of her incredible sense of humor, finding laughter in everything she could , missing the touch of the softest hands Ive ever felt. And that has to be enough. If I have learned anything, it is that no one can be prepared for a major death, and time can’t fix everything. All time does is allow you to find a way to accommodate grief, like a sudden and permanent limp that doesn’t stop you completely but will forever alter the way you move through the world. But what I do know, is that I was blessed to have the most amazing, talented, warm, genuine mother anyone could have. A Mother who never missed an opportunity to to tell me how proud she was of me...and that I was special and loved. And that is the most amazing gift I could ever ask for. I know she is in heaven, telling jokes and spreading her warmth, healthy and pain free. She is there with her parents, that she loved so deeply, and my Dad...who she couldnt live without. I know she is peaceful and safe, and that can do nothing but give me great comfort. I love you Ma, and I miss you every minute of every day. You were and always will be my favorite person.
Posted on: Sat, 15 Mar 2014 03:39:57 +0000
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