A Grief Journey: I Know I Make You Uncomfortable

Today marks 26 days since my mom passed away.

Every time I count it up I feel odd. That number keeps getting so much larger. And I don't feel any better. If anything I know that I'm going to feel worse before I feel better. And that so totally sucks.

And I know that makes people uncomfortable.

People are quick to send out their sympathies and condolences when they first learn that a person passes away. For about a week afterwards, maybe a little more, the outpouring of love is felt. The cards, the packages, the babysitting offers, the meals, etc. Then the outpouring slows down to a trickle. Then the trickle turns into more of a drop every now and then.

Don't get me wrong. We have had a tremendous amount of support and love and I could not thank people more for what they have done for us. And I love every single person that has been there for us throughout this and those that will continue.

But after almost a month, people don't know what to say anymore, and I get that.

It's uncomfortable.

The thing that people don't conceptualize about a person going through grief, especially after a traumatic, sudden, unexpected loss, is that, to that person, their faith in tomorrow is almost diminished. Your life is uprooted in a way that you never expected. Your sense of security is all but depleted, except for the small hope that you have that lightning won't strike twice. That you won't be befallen to another tragedy so quickly after the last.

But, when in one moment you are having a conversation with your mom about her yard sale finds for the day to the next moment not even 24 hours later you are sitting in a funeral home picking out a casket for her, it definitely messes with your mind and your heart and your faith in tomorrow.

I don't know that I have fully digested what that means to me yet. I'm working on it.

A good friend of mine and I are getting together next week to write out our bucket lists. This is something that I have considered doing before, but I haven't because I know the likelihood of me doing anything on it is slim to none. But, I've had a change of heart.

My mom was only 51 years old. I am positive that there are things she wanted to do in her life that either due to circumstances or what have you, she wasn't able to do.

For instance, one I know for sure, was getting a tattoo. Only a few weeks prior to her death I said something about wanting to get a tattoo to her. She told me that she had always wanted one too but she was too old and she'd never really actually be able to do it. I told her I was so petrified of needles I probably would never do it because I couldn't think of anything that meant enough to me to get permanently inked onto my body. But if we did, if we could ever get up the courage, we should totally get matching dragonflies.

My mom loved dragonflies. I am not actually sure what their significance was to her. They were different, I think. She liked collecting things and for the past few years those were her thing. She had shirts with them on it, antique pins, garden decorations, I even made her a purse with them on it.

So a day or so after she passed, I decided I wanted a tattoo. So I got one. The Wednesday before the funeral I got a tiny dragonfly tattoo on the inside of my left wrist. It was the perfect way to commemorate her and live life a little. Do something I always wanted to do but hadn't had the guts to do.

Losing her so quickly made me want to do the things that I want to do. Live with no regrets and do things that make me happy. Do things to make memories and leave some kind of awesome legacy for Griffin and any other future kids I have.

At the same time, I find myself being extra cautious. Taking more time than I need to in reality to make a turn in the car, making sure not a car is in sight, for instance. I don't feel like taking chances, even if they aren't actually risky chances. I couldn't bear to put my family through another loss. I can't bear to lose another person that I love so dearly.

I am so very cautious. And scared. I want everyone to know how much I love them. I don't want to go to bed angry at anyone. I want people to know how much they are loved.

Nothing will make you feel more like a child again than losing your mom. It has changed me. I'm not sure in what ways yet, but I know that my very core feels different. It has changed me as a daughter, as a sister, as a wife, as a mother, as a friend, as a person in general. I can't pinpoint it yet, the exact changes. But I know that I have and I know that those changes will reveal themselves as time goes on.

And I know that makes people uncomfortable.

What do you say 26 days later to someone who tragically lost their mother? Who still sometimes sees her lying on the floor of the bathroom before she falls asleep at night. Who is overwhelmed with so many life choices that sometimes it's hard to pinpoint where to start. Who varies from feeling very strong and protective of everyone she loves to feeling like she could crumble at any second despite everyone who loves her and supports her.

More than likely, you probably don't say much. And if you do say something you say that you love them and you're there and you'll listen to the same thing you've heard them say yet again because part of processing loss is repeating it until you believe it I think. Just be there and don't push me to feel better. I will laugh again. I already do every now and then. I will be happy again without feeling guilty. I will find joy in the little things more than I already can muster. I will do all of the things that a normal person does.

But on my own timeline and not just to make other people feel more comfortable.

As much as I know that my life will go on, that my mom would want me to be happy, that I have a lot of people that love me, that I have a great family, and that I will do things that will continually make my mom proud, there is a part of me that doesn't want to believe or do any of those things.

Why?

Because I loved my mom. Because she was my best friend despite the common mother/daughter battles. Because I miss her. Because I really don't know what I'm going to do without her.

And because I'm slowly realizing that she's gone.

A Grief Journey: The Beginning of Denial

   Grief: keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

I'd say that definition sounds about right. And then when you look up the cycle of grief, you see that it starts with denial, turns into anger, bargaining, depression, guilt, obsession, and finally acceptance. I'm sure there are variations to the cycle and I'm sure people probably even hit certain points at different times. I like this cycle because it has extreme points, and it's honest, and it makes sense to me. 

I'd say I'm in the denial stage. I'd commit to that actually. I am in full on denial that 17 days ago, my mom suddenly and tragically and unexpectedly left this Earth. 

17 days feels more like 17 years and yet at the same time, I feel like I just saw her yesterday. The most surreal feeling was being at the funeral home on a Sunday at 4 pm planning her funeral, when at 4 pm Saturday, the day before, 24 hours prior, she was showing me the things that she got for Griffin at yard sales and she was perfectly fine. 

Try to process that. 

Best of luck. 

I still haven't.

Don't proceed with the next part of this post if you don't want details on what happened exactly. It's cathartic for me to talk about it, but it's not necessarily cathartic for everyone to read. 

I will never forget that day. May 23, 2015. The day that my world fell apart. 

Mom had gone to yard sales with my dad in the morning. She wasn't particularly happy. She cried a bit before they left. Who knows what it was about. I was so over the back and forth fights and disagreements that when she came over and rested her head on my shoulder, I gave her a hug, told her I loved her, and looked at her and shook my head. Sometimes you want so badly for people to want to be happy, but you can't make them make choices that lead to that...so you just have to be loving, but not be involved. It causes too much pain. It makes you feel too responsible.

They came home around 3/3:30 in the afternoon with a ton of treasures for Griffin and a ton of junk that probably wasn't needed...but it was free...so who could pass it up? (I could have, but ya know, to each their own) We chatted a bit. Then Mom said she felt sick. She got into her pj's and threw up a few times. Zach (my brother) and I had done yard work all morning so we were relaxing. I was on my phone playing some dumb game. Zach was on his computer. Griffin was up from his nap and watching a movie. I went out to go get a drink from the kitchen and heard my mom say "I just want to lay down! My chest hurts, I don't feel good"

That was the last thing I'll have ever heard her say. I wish I had known that vomiting was a sign of cardiac distress in women. But how would I have known? And even if I had known, would I have necessarily thought that?

All the rest seems like a blur. I remember hearing my dad scream for help. My first thought was, Mom is diabetic. She's been a Type 1 diabetic since she was 8 years old. If she was vomiting, there was a good chance that her sugar was very low. Possibly low enough to need her glucagon shot. She had fallen apparently up against the bathroom door and Dad couldn't get the door open. Her head was right in the way of the door to open. She wasn't responding to his pleas for her to say something or move. I yelled that I would call 911. I swear it felt like it took a year for the cops and ambulance to show up. In the mean time, my dad and brother were trying to get the door off the hinges. I started getting panicked. I don't know why exactly. It seemed odd to me that she was so unresponsive. It seemed different. 

They got the door off the hinges and I just heard them both yelling, my dad and my brother. Asking me if I could do CPR. I had been certified a long time ago and I couldn't remember how to do it. I couldn't think. The 911 operator told me that I needed to go check on her until the ambulance got there. 

I went into the bathroom and I saw her. Just lying there. Eyes glazed over. Not breathing. I started screaming hysterically. And I couldn't stop. What the hell was happening?! The 911 operator kept telling me to breath. To calm down. How could I calm down? She looked lifeless. I knew that. I didn't understand what was going on. Then I heard him tell me that I needed to do chest compressions. He'd count with me so I could do them at the right pace. I kept telling him I couldn't while I sat there and stared at her. Then I tried to focus. Maybe if I could do chest compressions until the ambulance got there, maybe I could save her. Maybe she'd take a breath, they'd get her fixed up at the hospital, she'd come home, and I could yell at her later for whatever had happened and for scaring us like that. 

1...2...3 

"Jackie you're not going fast enough, count with me"

1.2.3.4.5.6. Through my tears I tried to count along with him. I felt her chest come back up beneath my hands. It didn't feel right. She didn't look right. What was I really seeing?

My neighbor came over, said something about knowing CPR. I couldn't stop crying. I got up and let him take over. The police came. The ambulance came. People rushed through my house and I sat on the front steps. And screamed. Like a crazy person. Trying to keep it together. Another neighbor came over and got Griffin.

I walked out our gate and into our front yard. My neighbor's wife came over. They brought mom out onto the porch. She was hooked up to a breathing machine and had something hooked up to her chest. 

"Look! They're still working on her! Maybe she's okay. If they thought she couldn't be okay then they wouldn't still be working on her."

Right. Yes. That makes sense. Maybe they got her started back up. Maybe she's fine. Oh I'm so angry at her for scaring me like that but I'll worry about that later.

We got to the hospital after they took mom by ambulance. I was in a daze. I don't actually remember getting there. But I remember being shuffled into a small room off to the side when we did get there. I've seen enough movies and TV shows to know that wasn't a good sign.

I sat down. A doctor and a nurse came in.

"I'm so sorry...we did everything we could...she had a heart attack..." and then I didn't hear anything else she said. 

No. No. No. NO. This is not happening. She was fine. She didn't have any heart problems. What is going on!? I was just talking to her a few hours ago...

My brother and I sat with her for about 6 hours in the hospital room that night. I fixed her hair. It was so muffed up and she would have been so pissed to be in public like that. I rubbed her arm. I just stared at her for so long. My brother and I sat across from each other on both sides of her. Crying when someone new would come in...talking to each other to try to process what we were seeing. Was our Mom seriously gone? We went through the whole time line with the nurse of the day. We concluded that it was so quick that she didn't have time to feel pain. She didn't have time to call for help. It was so quick and such a massive heart attack.

1:30 in the morning rolled around and we both wanted to go home but we didn't want to leave her. I told Zach that this was our last moment to be with her by herself so that we needed to say what we wanted to say to her. We told her how much we loved her, how we were sorry for being pissy with her sometimes. How even if she didn't think she was the perfect mom, she was. She was beautiful. We'd miss her so much. 

I kissed her forehead. She felt so cold. I couldn't stop crying.

This is where grief begins. 

Denial. 

I saw her. 

I know the truth. 

But I can't accept it. Not yet. 

She's going to come strolling through the door and I'm going to be endlessly mad at her. For scaring me so bad. For testing my love for her. But I will hug her so tight and tell her how much I love her anyway.

Except that...I know that's not realistic. And I know that won't happen.

Even if it's what I wish with my entire heart.

My mom always told me that I was a beautiful writer. She encouraged me so much with it. I feel the need to document my journey through this horrible grief process. To be totally raw with emotion and tell you exactly what I'm feeling at the time that I'm feeling it. Even if those feelings change over time. My hope is to be able to help others that I wish never had to go through this pain, get through it.