Not a new year, no, but another anniversary. Three years ago, in the coming small hours of the morning, my Mother died. I just read my blog from last year, dated a year ago tomorrow, talking about my feelings and actions around this day.
I am not as emotional this year. I had a mini-meltdown after a glass of wine on Tuesday, which made me want to drive my truck into the frozen lake that night on the way home from work. I had a little teariness just now when talking to Mr. GF, who called just as I was reading last year’s post.
I recall going to a grief seminar put on by Hospice about a year after my dad died. As I was sitting there, among a roomful of people, listening, I had the most intense urge just to put my head down on the table and go to sleep. It was remarkable. I realized then that that feeling, that intense exhaustion, is one way that your core expresses grief. It doesn’t know what else to do with such a powerful, painful feeling.
That incredible tiredness is what I am feeling today, have been feeling since I got home from dropping Kelsea off at school. Now, I watch the clock, count ahead two hours for North Carolina time, and remember what I was doing three years ago at this hour. She was very close to fading for the last time. I had asked the Hospice chaplin to speak with her, to help her resolve something that was keeping her from letting go, and I think just around now, they were talking. I was never privy to that conversation, but whatever Jodi said worked.
I could so have used my Mother’s support this past year. It has been a year of loss, sorrow, confusion, self-doubt, with some moments of bliss and hope. She would have been there for me every step of the way and talked me through some of my own muddlements. I know people say “Oh, she’s still with you. She’s always with you.” It’s true, she is, in a way, but she has moved on, as she was so excited about doing, and she knows I need to stand on my own without her. So I can feel her watching, but not helping. She trusts me to rely on my own strength, as she always did. That strength was one of her finest legacies. She had it. She taught me to have it.
But tonight, I am as tired as she was this night three years ago.
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December 12, 2009 at 11:49 am
misfitmistress
well, i was going to say “she is still with you and was with you this year” until i read the last paragraph of your post. lol. isnt it amazing how grief can take over all parts of our lives?
i understand what you mean when you talk about letting someone know its OK to let go… i experienced this with my grandfather in august 2008. he passed away from stage 4 lung cancer which all happened rather quickly… we were in AZ for my cousin’s wedding in june… he had “pneumonia” (improperly diagnosed) in july… and then i watched him take his last breath at the end of august. as morbid as it sounds, its really interesting and almost peaceful to watch our loved ones pass… his condition turned from OK to super severe so quickly that he died without knowing he had cancer… but getting back to my point… the day he died we knew he was showing the signs that hospice told us would happen… he was on morphine… unresponsive (but as you know, he could still hear us)… but he didnt pass until the day fulled of phone calls from people all over the country to say goodbye… he didnt pass until shortly after the yankees lost their game (my boyfriend was reading him the score as it was updating- my grandpa liked to pretend he hated the yankees but he really liked them)… around 9.45 at night he let go. to be there was incredible… life changing actually.
like you and your mother, i miss him very much… i, too, wish he had been here for this extremely difficult year for me. while i would have never told him about my affair… there were a lot of big moments i had this year without him- i bought a house in the village he grew up in and loved so much, i had major accomplishments in my career they he would have celebrated with me… and as much as we know they are still with us, we know that they arent… that our lives are forever changed without them… just like when relationships, like your marriage or my affair, ended… it was as if someone died… our lives are never the same. the interesting thing is- despite the fact that i would have never told my grandpa about my affair… do you know what day he picked to die? Rs birthday… we were still together at that point, too. in retrospect, i think it was a sign… a sign of disapproval… a sign of moving on and getting out.
getting older is hard… and, unfortunately, losing lose we love remind of us of the preciousness of life and the love we have for those who truly matter.
i hope you are entering a wonderful holiday season and you are able to experience lots of fun holiday traditions with your daughter!
ps- i love the picture of your mother on the beach… its classic seasweetie material 🙂
December 13, 2009 at 6:20 pm
E-bro
I miss your Mom too, and I LOVE this picture of her. She was completely clear in her honesty and integrity, and a mystery at the same time.
Rest in peace and rise in peace, Joyce.
December 15, 2009 at 3:18 pm
E-bro
Comment from “E-bro” above was from Bubba Sue on E-Bro’s email.