Two Weeks
It’s been two weeks now since my mom died. Two weeks. It’s hard for me to believe sometimes. Everyone wants to know how I’m doing, everyone wants to help me get through this. Which I appreciate. I want to get through this, too.
Two weeks ago, I felt hollow, I sobbed rather than cried, and I wasn’t sure that having Maya had been a good idea, since someday, when I die, she would have to go through this horrible pain. To quote a quote within The Year of Magical Thinking, that immediate grief feels like
“sensations of somatic distress occurring in waves lasting from twenty minutes to an hour at a time, a feeling of tightness in the throat, choking with shortness of breath, need for sighing, and an empty feeling in the abdomen, lack of muscular power, and an intense subjective distress described as tension or mental pain.”*
But now, here I am, and it’s two weeks later. Two weeks. Two weeks without my mother. I’ve always thought that a girl needs her mother, no matter how old that girl may be, and the loss of your mother would be one of the most difficult in the world. I was right. This is difficult. I love my mother, and we were close. I miss her horribly. It’s like an undercurrent in my brain, a backbeat to my thoughts and feelings and reactions. I’m working, or watching tv, or walking the dog, or talking to Ted or Maya or a friend, and behind it all, every stupid moment, there’s a tiny voice telling me, as though I could possibly forget, “Your mother’s dead. Your mother’s dead. Your mother’s dead.” But at least I can get through a conversation now. I can ignore the voice enough to concentrate on what someone is telling me. I can contribute, at least a little bit. Sometimes I can laugh and smile and actually feel happy (though that voice is still there, reminding me).
My Grandma, who has buried two husbands and three children, tells me that it gets easier. That it hurts a LOT for a while, and while that pain never goes away completely, it does become more bearable as time goes by. I can see that process already. Because while it’s not easy, and I don’t expect that it will be for a long while yet, it’s already easier than it was two weeks ago.
You know, I miss my mom horribly, and I’ve long thought that to live in a world without her in it would be horribly difficult. But in a way, I had already been doing that, since she had her heart attack in February. At least since the surgery. Because while of course she was still my mother, she had changed SO MUCH. She had lost 95% of her sense of humor. She often was too tired to talk. She was in a lot of pain. She was often bossy and grumpy and miserable. She had lost interest in reading. She told me, the last time I saw her, that she didn’t know who this person was inside her body, but it wasn’t her. And that scared her. She wanted so much to feel like herself again. Wanted to enjoy her life and go to the farmers’ market with Kate and enjoy the California sunshine, after the years of Juneau clouds. And seeing her like that for so long, seeing her not be herself, I think that was a kind of cushion for me. I got used to her being gone, in a way, before she left me.
That cushion reminds me that she didn’t like being that way. That she wasn’t happy. She did not see happiness as out of reach, she wanted to get back to it, but she was so far away from the possibility of finding it…so far. So while the thought of living without her was impossible, in a way, I felt like I had been doing so for months already. With little glimpses and glimmers of the mom I know and love, pushed down and suppressed by depression and pain.
Two weeks. Two weeks and several months. It still hurts so much. I still cry. I’m crying right now. But I don’t sob as often, and I’m starting to realize that I will get through this, and that she would want me to be OK.
*Eric Lindemann, chief of psychiatry at Massachusetts General Hospital in the 1940s, from interviews with family members of those killed in the 1942 Coconut Grove fire.
18 Comments
Starshine
Oh, Julie, I’m so sorry for your loss. It is a big loss. (((Hugs)))
When I asked my husband about losing his father, he told me that the hole is always there, but the edges around it heal and become less raw. In a way, I find that comforting, because even though the hole represents the loss of our loved ones, its enduring presence gives testimony to how much those people meant to us. They meant so much that their absence from our lives now will never go unnoticed. It won’t hurt as much, but we will always love and miss them. I don’t think I’d want it any other way.
As far as my own grieving is going, I cry every day. I’m fine one hour, the next, I’m in tears, and the next, I’m back to normal…it’s almost like letting steam out of a pressure cooker–releasing pressure in increments. I’m just having to accept that it’s not that I have moments of sadness–it’s that I’M SAD. I’m very sad, and I will be for as long as the sadness lasts. I know that it will get easier as time goes by, and that the sun will start to come out. But for now, I’m just sad, and that’s the way it is for this season.
I hope my sharing helps. It has helped me tremendously to read about your grieving process. It’s just comforting to realize that the things I’m feeling are normal, and that others in similar situations are feeling them, too.
I don’t think our friendship/finding each other in the blogosphere 2.5 years ago was a random cooincidence. It seems providential, given that we can be a comfort to each other now as we are simultaneously grieving the loss of parents.
Sending you love and friendship,
Tracy
J
“…it’s not that I have moments of sadness–it’s that I’M SAD. I’m very sad, and I will be for as long as the sadness lasts.”
Tracy, you hit the nail right on the head there. Sometimes when I’m taking out the garbage or something, and I realize that I’m walking around outside with such a sad face, I feel like I should lighten up a bit, in case someone sees me. But this is natural, and it’s OK to be sad.
And you’re right…having you going through this at the same time DOES help, as strange as that may seem. I’m so sorry for your loss, but I’m glad of your sharing to help me through my own loss. Thank you for being there for me. 🙂
Shelliza
Wow, just as I was about to click on the link to your blog, I was thinking that it’s probably about two weeks now since you lost your mom and here you were posting about it.
Hang in there. I’m glad you know that so many people care about you. You’ll get better with every day, I’m sure.
apathy lounge
Just. So. Sorry.
Nance
So many are with you.
Angie
I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. The old saying of ‘one day at a time’ is the only thing I can think of.
Hang in there and know we are thinking of you.
Take care.
Rain
It will be a hard summer for you. We expect our parents to die before us but your mom died ahead of her time. She died when you had hopes for more time with her after she moved closer. Grieving is normal and trying to be strong or ‘get over it’ too soon will just cover it up. It’s healthier that you grieve. Hopefully you will have more good moments than bad, then good days than bad and it will ease. Not having a parent though is a lifelong missing. Death itself is such a mystery and when those close to us go, it leaves us scrambling for meaning and how to deal with the fact that someone was always there and then isn’t. It’s good you have places and friends where you can express your feelings. I think that helps.
Autumn's Mom
I drove my mom out to my place yesterday and she said how hard it was to come back to the place where she lived with my step dad. She was sad. After 7 years, it’s still there. It will always be there. But it is bearable. 🙁
Lalunas
Time is your best friend. Love and family and friends will hold your hand thru this.
Linda Atkins
Just saying hello and that I am thinking of you.
V-Grrrl
My parents both suffered from serious health issues compounded by injuries they sustained in a car accident. I lost them piece by piece over a period of years. So yes, when they were actually gone, it was different. I had been saying goodbye to them for such a long time, grieving their loss long before they died. The hardest moment: realizing I’d never pick up the phone and hear my mom’s voice again.
Barbara
I did not intend to comment but after reading your post again and reading the last comment I couldn’t not as I sit here with tears. For me it has been almost 8 years since my Mum died and there are still days-not nearly as many as years ago-but still days that I go for the phone to call my Mum. I do miss her but it doesn’t ‘hurt’ like it did. Know that you are not alone. Remember to be kind to yourself as you move through your grief.
Peace!
Wanderlust Scarlett
Jules, I’ve been gone too long, I didn’t know your mom passed away. I’m so very sorry to know this sad news.
Your grandma is right, time does heal… but time is a funny thing, and there’s no way to know how long it will take.
Wish I could fix you some hot tea, hold your hand or give you a hug.
You will make it through this, you will be happy again.
And she will always live in your heart.
Big hugs,
Scarlett & Viaggiatore
Amy
J, I’m so sorry to hear about your mom. I’ve been out of town and just now getting back into things so I missed it. I can’t imagine how difficult this must be for you. I’m thinking of you.
MsMamma
I worry about SF in this way as well. Yet, from reading this post(and I do not want this to sound corny in anyway), even though your mom is no longer physically here, she is REALLY present. She will always be present in everything you do. That is her legacy. XO
Bellezza
I can’t imagine the pain. Well, actually, yes I do IMAGINE it because I’m so close to my mother. I guess I mean, I don’t know how one bears it. Except, we bear what we have to, and it isn’t always easy. I bought The Year of Magical Thinking, and also C.S. Lewis’ The Problem With Pain, and A Grief Observed because I think we need all the tools we can to help us through these times. I don’t know you, but I will pray for your strength and comfort.
amuirin
I think you’re very strong and very brave. And your mom’s love doesn’t leave you, as long as you walk this earth. Ever.
Jimmy
I like the way Msmamma put it! Ditto!