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.
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.
I did a google search for dragonfly tattoos and came across your blog post. It took my breath away. I lost my own mother at about your age, when I was a young wife and mother. It's been 33 years ago now. I'm the age she was when she died and I want to get a dragonfly tattoo to honor her. I guess it's been a year now since your mom died. Not long, but an eternity at the same time. Peace to you as you continue your journey.
ReplyDeleteHi Jane! Thank you so much for your reply! I am sorry I never saw this until now. Thank you so much for your kind words and I am so sorry for your loss. Did you get a tattoo?? It is such a sweet reminder of her to me, I am so glad that I got it.
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