Remember the old Roadrunner cartoons, where the huge anvil comes out of the sky and lands on top of the Cayote’s head? That’s how I felt yesterday.
I’m having an ok day. Just doing laundry, cleaning etc. Then it hits me. Out of nowhere. A huge bomb of grief. It’s been 19 days since my Mother died. I was pretty sure I had finished grieving. If you have followed my blog you will know that I have grieved that relationship for many years. But this year, the last time, I went to see her in person, she was not happy that I was there.
Yes, she was ill. She was mentally and physically ill my whole life. I tried my whole life to stop expecting it to change. Still, somewhere in the back of my mind, I had hope, or a belief that it could and would change.
I felt like as we both got older, that the relationship would turn into a friendship. I dreamed of us taking trips and laughing together. I dreamed of us sharing our grandchildren. I dreamed of us sharing holidays.
Anyway, in my attempt to “normalize” my day, I got ready for work and got in the car and headed to my job at 1381. This job is my “fun” job and typically, even if I’m feeling really crappy, I’ll be fine after getting there and getting busy. So, I’m driving and breathing, breathing, breathing. One tear and then two. I panicked. Why can’t I stop this? I can always cut off my crying. I pulled into the parking lot and sat still. Trying to recognize the grief and tell myself it was ok. But the more I tried to stop it the harder it became to control it.
I never did make it into work. I sat in my car for almost an hour before I was able to compose myself enough to drive. I learned after my brother’s death, not to drive when you are crying. I totaled my car five days after my brother died because I was crying and couldn’t see the car stop in front of me.
Working is where I get my self-esteem and a small dose of respect for myself. So naturally, after not making it in the building, I’m feeling more and more guilty as the minutes pass.
I finally had to leave. There was no way I could pull myself together enough to walk into a store meeting and have everyone looking at me.
I was texting my life coach (my angel- Teresa) and sent a panic email to Ms. A. Teresa was helping me breathe and try to bring it back into perspective.
In the past, when I have felt this amount of pain, I would walk. Or Run. Sometimes I would walk for hours. To nowhere. Sometimes in the rain. It made me feel alive and in control to get away from what was hurting me. (Usually it was my ex-husband). In the past year, I have spent hours just driving or wandering around in other cities, trying to get away from the pain.
I’m not good at just sitting with it. I’m not good at feeling the heartache. One of the things that I did realize a few weeks ago is that all of the things that I thought made me healthy were really pushing me farther and farther away from my own heart.
I was reading a few weeks ago about how strong men in the Bible lamented before the Lord. I had to think about why Christ (the one who controls all things in the universe) would allow them to feel this way. So, I looked it up in the dictionary. To “lament” means “to feel or express sorrow or regret for”. Or “to mourn for or over”. I guess if it’s ok for strong men to cry, then surely it’s ok for me right?
The saddest part of it all is that she is gone, and we can’t ever fix what was broken. It ended the same way it has always been.
I don’t doubt that she loved me. In her own way, she loved us all. I don’t doubt that I loved her. But I wanted to feel valued. I wanted to feel important. I wanted to “feel” loved. I now I can’t and won’t.
When I was at her bed side, and she was on life support, I asked her if we could both leave that day with a peace.
She was NEVER at peace. She always had her inner demons. She always had her depression. She always had her physical illnesses.
Anyway, I cried until about 2 am last night. I was still crying off and on today and trying to concentrate at work. I wish I didn’t know how this story ends. But I do. I can’t re-write it. I can’t get the book edited. No refunds. Do not pass Go. Do not collect $200.00.
Until next time – I am being MJ every day.