My Progress or lack thereof

I feel like I am moving into a different "stage" or different something in my grief. I wish I could say it was a good thing but I don't really think it is. I am calling this my "full of resentment and melancholy" stage.

Maybe it is the one year marker that is rapidly approaching... I mean, tomorrow is 11 months. How did that happen? Where was I and how can I really have lived so many months without my mom to talk to or laugh with? As it gets closer to the anniversary, or maybe just farther from when it all started, I am just feeling quieter. I can't summon up the energy to write anything lately. I have thought about it numerous times, then I sit down and I am just blank. I have stayed busy this past year, I think now it was just to avoid thinking about it. On the quiet nights when I have nothing to do I can feel myself ready to break down. Sometimes I wish that life was like some kind of a video game and I could hit "quit" and go back to the life I had before this.

Anyway, more then the melancholy which is assume is fairly normal, I am full of resentment. It is a terrible feeling to have, it is terrible to think that you are suddenly incapable of sympathy to others. One of the girls who is contributing to the book wrote about feeling like this for awhile after her mom died, so I am holding tight onto that, hoping it is a temporary thing.

Last week I went to another wake and funeral. Seems to be a pattern this year, a pattern I hope will end soon. It is such a mix of bad feelings going to them. I feel so self-centered because I always re-visit my moms while I should be focusing on the person being laid to rest then and there. It is like having horrid flashbacks. As I went up to Chad's grandfather, I could smell the body, the smell of a dead body, just like my moms. I remember her in the casket... we brought perfume to try and cover it up but it didn't do much. It hadn't even bothered me too much at the time, probably the shock of it all, but it just crushed me to smell it again, and to remember. And the funeral procession. As I drove Chad this time, I kept remembering every detail of when he drove me. I remember being the first ones to leave the church and getting in the car to wait for the procession to begin. I held a wet kleenex crumpled in my fingers and kept rolling and un-rolling it. I didn't know where to look as everyone was passing by my window on the way to their cars. People looked in at me, some people put their hands on the glass, it was very surreal. I remember every little detail, and they all just hurt so badly. And it is just hard to be places and be in your head thinking about things you shouldn't be and not being able to say anything to anyone. And then beating yourself up for not thinking about the right things or feeling sorry for yourself. And for the jealousy... I know people were sad, no funeral is happy, but there were some feelings of relief (no more suffering, with his wife now, lived a good long life...) and because my experience was so crushing, felt so unfair, I actually was jealous at a funeral. It is a horrible thing and I could sit here and lie and say that I wasn't, but truth be told I was.

And its the little things lately (always I guess) that hurt. At the wake, my daughter accidentally peed on my dress. My mom would have found that hilarious. I would have called her and laughed about it. Instead, I thought about how I would have done that and got mad that I couldn't.

And on the topic of jealousy (seems to be a theme, yikes) I have been having such a hard time with my step sister lately. Well first of all, my step father re-did my moms house after she died. I was upset at first because now it is different, but I then realized that it was what he needed for a type of therapy, and the changes he made were all things my mom would have liked. But it is still hard when I go into her house and have to ask where things are... it makes me feel much more like an outsider or guest then family and comfortable. Anyway, back to my step sister. Mind you none of this is her fault, none of this is justifiable anger or hurt. Well, I remember a few months back I was going to Albany for the weekend for something and my step-father was going to be out of town. Perfect I thought. A night with the house. (I usually stay at my dads when I visit now, but with no one in the house I really wanted to be there). Well, I told my step-father I wanted to stay there and then that day he told me Brittany would also be there with her son and boyfriend. I know there is plenty of room... but it took that specialness away from me. Then, more recently, she moved in to the house. And she drives my moms car. Both of these are for financial reasons that my logical self can surely understand... but my emotional self is not quite there. And this past weekend I wanted to spend Friday night after the wake at my moms camp. It was close by to where we needed to be, and I had never stayed there. The last time I was there was the week after she died, and I didn't stay the night. Other then that, I have only been there once when she was alive, but she talked about it all the time, she absolutely loved it there. So I looked forward to a night there, as emotional as it might have been. Well, that morning on facebook my step sisters status said she was staying at her dads camp that night. My heart literally fell through the floor. I called my step father crying and asked if she could stay somewhere else that night, but all he could say was that he couldn't ask her not to stay there and we should all just stay there together. For one, it just wouldn't be the same for me, and for two, it is tiny. Needless to say, she stayed there, I did not. I was my moms only daughter, she was my best friend, and I feel like I have nothing left of her except distant memories.

I guess this was pretty down... its just how I have been feeling lately. Lyndsey, I hope you don't get mad about the funeral and wake stuff, its hard for me to explain, and I am sorry for your loss and I don't mean to diminish it by what I wrote, I just have my own personal horribleness going on in my head and I needed to write it out, try to sort it out...

A Different Person

Are you a different person from the one you were before your mom died? It is such a strange feeling, but I know I am forever changed and I can't really describe it. Some people don't like the "new me", but I am trying not to take that to heart. I'm still hurting... still grieving... and I don't think the transformation of myself is anywhere near complete. I am trying to do positive things with the hand I was dealt... I am trying to raise awareness about heart disease in women, trying to learn from my mom's life now that I can truly look at it and analyze it. She lived with heart, she followed her instincts and knew exactly who she was no matter what. In my opinion, living that kind of life requires a great deal of courage and strength. I am trying to appreciate life, trying to do things I want to do instead of putting them off until some unknown day in the future (which may not be given to us). I want to write things down, if for nothing else but for my daughter to have something of me, something to show her who I was as a person, a woman, a mother. I am trying to be positive, but I feel like I am failing miserably at it. Trying to stop assuming people are dead if I can't get in touch with them, lol. I'm trying to be true to myself, even though I don't really know who that is anymore. And occasionally, I just break down and act like a little girl, I just want my mom. She would know what to do. She would talk to me, she would make me laugh. My god, it feels like it has been so long since I have really laughed, laughed and not felt that tug of sadness beneath it. Ugh. Just having that kind of weekend I guess. And seeing my step father falling to pieces makes me even more sad, and it makes me wonder if that's why I haven't been dreaming of her... maybe she is watching over him for now, since he seems to be doing the worst of all of us. (rightfully so considering he also lost his son this year.) The book I am reading says that in times of great pain you have two choices, you can lay down and go to sleep (just give up basically and be numb and let whatever happens happen) or you can keep pushing through the pain to a "re-awakening" of sorts. I am tired, but I'm trying not to just go to sleep. I'm sorry this is so depressing!

Okay, on a positive note, Abby is just the cutest and always makes me smile, especially when she puts on music and does little made up contemporary dances around the kitchen. And tomorrow I am going to the cemetery to bring flowers, and that will be positive as long as it doesn't rain. :) And, I get to see Lyndsey tomorrow night, and hopefully will have a laugh or two.

Random thoughts...

Today was Abaigeal's first dance recital. I can't really describe the feeling of pride I felt watching her go out on stage... it was just an amazing feeling, and it made me think differently about how our moms must have felt about us so many times throughout our lives. It wasn't until well after that I started to feel as if it was a little bittersweet. My mom would not have missed this for anything. She would have just loved seeing Abby out there dancing. I hate that I can't share any of this with her anymore... And people say that she was there in spirit... but I have no clue how I feel about that. I used to be so sure that there was something after death, and always thought that if it was someone really close to you then you would be able to feel them around you in some way. I haven't had that experience at all. I haven't even had a dream about her in so long now. I have had to suppress some of my anger when everyone else says they can feel them around... why would she be around them and not me?
And then I got that book, "feathers brush my heart", have you read it Ellie? I feel like such a cynic when I read it that I just had to stop. Some of the stories were just making me mad, I mean I have had a few experiences where I wonder... maybe... but then I don't know if I am looking too much into it. And how do you not get mad at me or resent the fact that I got almost ten more years with my mom then you got with yours? In these stories most of the moms were like 90 when they died and I found myself just getting stuck on that and feeling really frustrated. I know that is horrible, I know it hurts no matter how old you are, but if I'm honest, it bothers me sometimes. :/
But, anyway, Abaigeal was amazing, and I don't think I have smiled so big in a long time.

Response to Ellie's Post...

Wow, lately I have had trouble being positive, so I hope this helps.

In life, she gave me family values. I have never really met another family as close as ours. My brothers, dad, grandparents, aunts and uncles are all so close. I can't imagine surviving losing her without them. She taught me that when you love family it means unconditionally. My brother has struggled with addiction for so many years now, but she never gave up on him, and she never ever stopped loving him. It helps me to think of that when I make mistakes or do things I don't think she would be proud of. I know in my heart she would always love me no matter what.

She gave me the need to always smile, and laugh freely. It feels like it has been awhile since I have really laughed, but I do have a bit of a reputation for always having a smile on my face. And I can't ever forget her sense of humor.

I am not sure, but I think in a way she gave me some of her creativity. I am no where even close to her artistic ability, but I think I am somewhat creative with quilting and different ways.

For better or worse, she for sure gave me her stubbornness. She always thought she was right, and well, I am guilty of that too. She was passionate about her beliefs, and if she believed something was true, good luck trying to argue that with her. Haha, I feel bad for her husbands, and for mine.

She gave me her looks. Everyone has always commented about how we look alike, and what a gift that is now. I think she had more of the beauty and uniqueness that made her striking, but I know I resemble her in certain ways.

She used to love planning things, and wow was she good at it. I also love to plan things, but I am probably not quite as good at it as she was (maybe with time :)

She was passionate about her career in the same way that I am in mine. I could always hear her enthusiasm when she talked about what she did and I think people can sense that in me too.

She always lived with passion, she was accurately described as a "hopeless romantic". In some ways, I think I am too.

And the last thing, most important thing she showed me while she was alive, though I am not learning from it until now, is to follow your heart; be who you are and be comfortable with that; go after what you want no matter what people think; set goals and chase them; believe in yourself. That is kind of long, but I look at her life, she was always so confident, she knew who she was and you either loved her or hated her, and she didn't care which. She loved who she was and that was all that mattered. She always followed her heart no matter what that meant. She explored her passions, took photography classes, painting classes, went back to school after being a stay at home mom for 14 years, found a career she loved and did everything she could to learn more. She also left my dad because she was still in love with her first husband. It was an incredibly hard thing for her to do, it meant losing our house, divorce with 4 kids, and her whole family was completely unsupportive. But she said she loved him, and she couldn't go her entire life and ignore it. I respect her for that, it took a lot of courage. And then, before she died she had been talking about leaving him because of various problems they were having. I remember saying to her, "you know you will probably lose your house and everything..." and she said "what would you rather do, lose everything and be happy or keep everything and be miserable?" I feel like that is so profound and requires so much courage, something I'm not sure I have. I hope I can learn from how she lived and learn how to love who I am, and learn how to listen to my heart over everything else.

And, she taught me how to be a good mom. She was amazing at it. It gives me a great model and something to strive for.

My god Ellie, I miss her, you have me sobbing. That's all I can do for now. Thank you for making me do it though. :)

How I got here

I am starting a blog in response to a girl I can now call my friend, and who I have looked at as a mentor of sorts during these past difficult and painful months. Ellie started a blog called "Motherloss" (Can you tell I didn't know what to call mine?) to connect women who have lost thier moms, and to allow everyone to share their stories. Here is mine...

I am coming up on my 27th birthday next month, to be immediately followed 4 days later with the one year anniversary of my mom's death. Since I am a chronic over thinker, I have realized that my mom has not seen me since I was 25. Only a matter of days really, I saw her 3 days before I turned 26 on my daughter's birthday, and it ended up being the last time I ever saw her alive. It is strange to think of all the big days ahead this year, harder to believe that it has now almost been an entire year, and harder yet to believe I am still alive and surviving it. Perhaps I should back up.

Growing up, I remember how much I looked up to my mom. She was gorgeous, and she was the most organized, artistic, creative, funny and loving person I knew at the time. (and strangely, still is. I have no idea how she did it.) I have always been attached to her. My grandmother told me that when I was three my parents wanted a night out together, but that I stubbornly sat staring out the window and crying until she came back. I look at that now and think maybe it hasn't changed much, except that no matter how long I cry and stare out the window, she can't come back to me anymore. As I grew up, I had an older brother, and later two younger brothers. I remember wanting a sister so badly, I even wrote angrily to my brother Shane that he ruined my chance at a sister, haha. But as I grew up, I didn't need to have a sister, because my mother was like a sister to me and I doubt I would have wanted to share that kind of mother daughter bond with anyone else. My mom was great at making us feel special, making us feel like we were the favorite. She took a painting class with my brother, and she took a ceramics class with me. She would let me stay up late to watch our favorite show on t.v. every night (Law and Order) and I always felt included whether it was a big group of adults or just me and her. Even as a teenage girl, my rebellion was directed toward my dad instead of my mom (I have no idea why, my dad is and was a sweetheart and did not deserve my brattiness). I went off to college and came home for dinner and laundry fairly frequently, and we talked on the phone all the time. We even worked at the same place when I was in college so we shared a locker at work and brought each other lunch or left little notes for each other. When I decided to move to Rochester she was of course supportive, and it is only now when I look back at different cards she sent me do I see how often they say she misses me and is lonely without me around. I was busy moving forward with my life but we still talked everyday, sometimes for hours, sometimes more then once. We took a vacation one year just me, her and my grandmother. We had planned to do more of them but never got the chance. Basically, what I am saying is that she was so much more then a mother to me. She was the sister I never had, and the best friend I can never replace.

This past summer of 2009 was mostly cool and rainy during June and July. My mom came out to see me for Abby's 2nd birthday part on July 25th. We laughed and joked about how we were both fighting with our husbands (men!) but mostly I was so busy playing hostess I didn't get to spend too much time with her. It started raining around dinner time and the party died down fast but she came inside with my Dad and my Aunt and Uncle and the five of us stood in the kitchen, talking and laughing. God, I can remember what she was wearing and how beautiful her smile was, I can remember the exact spot she stood in. Then she had to leave, and I was annoyed that she was going so early so I didn't get up to give her a hug. I just assumed I would see her the next day. Well, I didn't get to see her the next day, and she ended up going back to Albany. We talked a on the phone during the week, but truthfully that week is blurry now. On Friday night, my brother Shane and his girlfriend Ericka came out to stay here, we were going to go to the Rennaissance Festival on saturday. They camped out in the backyard and my younger and older brother were here too, Mikie had been living in Rochester and James had stayed the week and planned to go home with Shane. Looking back I think about how odd it was that everyone stayed here at my house, how we were all together that morning.

The next morning started what I guess I can now call the beginning of a second part of my life. I feel like I have the life I had before she died, and the life after. I am two different people.
I won't get into all of the specifics, though I certainly could. They are crystal clear in my mind. The phone call, what was said, where I was standing, the looks on my brother's faces, my dad's voice when I called, the car ride, etc etc. Very long story made short, my mom died from a heart attack at age 47. I was, and still am, devastated.

For people who have lived with grief, I am sure you can relate to this, but the experience is so incredibly painful and so unique, that it is easy to quickly find yourself feeling very alone. It doesn't take long for the cards or phone calls to stop. It isn't hard to get angry with the people still here for not understanding. It doesn't take much before you feel uncomfortable talking to people about it, afraid that you are not doing it correctly, not conforming to the societal needs and expectations of losing someone and then moving on. I can honestly say I have had some of the darkest thoughts of my life in those months after losing my mom, and I can say that I am grateful for a few specific people who have perhaps at times saved me, or at least saved my sanity.

One of the things that has helped tremendously, and the reason I am writing this blog to begin with is the Motherloss group I found on Facebook. It gets to a point where you feel like people are silently screaming at you to get over it, to stop being so over dramatic, that it was only your mother anyway, and it is normal to lose our parents. Thankfully, those attitudes are non-existant in this group of women who have all in some way or another walked in each other's shoes. It has been an outlet for support and understanding that I am overwhelmingly thankful for.

Now, as I am 10 months out, all I can do is keep trying. Losing her has made me re evaluate, or maybe even evaulate for the first time who I am and what I want out of this life, and those are answers I am still working on.