Sunday, March 1, 2009

Going On

It's funny how life forces you to go on. Whether you actually want to or not.

There's always so much to do ... work, kids, house, work, laundry, kids, cook. Did I mention work?

That somehow, one way or another, you find yourself putting one foot in front of the other. Whether or not you really mean to. Whether or not you really want to. Whether or not you even realize it. You just find yourself doing it.

That doesn't mean that there aren't moments ... moments that sometimes stretch into hours, even days ... where you move as if your body is weighted down by hundred pound weights. Where your mind is not much more than a fog. Your stomach a rock. A lump in your throat. Tears in your eyes. It can hurt so bad. So bad that I can't even convey to you how bad so bad is.

There's a huge piece of me missing. A huge hole, almost less a hole in my life than in my heart, my soul. It's just ... gone. With nothing, absolutely nothing, to replace it.

And yet, somehow, like I said, I find myself doing what I do, living my life (so-called), every day. The majority of people around me would, I think, hardly even recognize that anything was wrong. Because I don't walk around in tears (usually), I do smile and laugh and chat, just like always. And most of the time when I smile and laugh and chat, it's not forced. It's not fake. It's me.

But those other times, oh God, those other times. How truly, deeply, painfully it hurts.

I don't want to accept that Mom is gone, you see. Because, in my mind, to accept that she is gone is to ... accept.

To accept that she will no longer be a party of my daily existence, a part of my life and my children's lives. It would be to move on. And that, that is the last thing in the world I want to do.

And yet, somehow, almost inexplicably, I find myself still going on.

I will slog my way through my never-ending, always-changing to-do-list. I will get through filing Mom's income tax return. And ours. I will attend numerous school meetings, set up a RDSP for the Blue Jay, make phone calls, pay bills, slog through paperwork and tend to all the things, both big and small, that always tend to pop up. And I will work. And work. And work.

And through it all, at times, I will move as if my body is weighted down by hundred pound weights, my mind will be not much more than a fog. my stomach will be a rock and there will be a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. And a hole in my heart.

But other days, the sun will shine, my kids will laugh and I will be (almost) happy and content. Because my Mom is missing. And even on the best of days, almost is as good as it gets.

Update: I never realized until after I posted this but ... three months today. To the day. I miss you, Mom. Something tells me I always will.

4 comments:

tam said...

oh MMC, my heart breaks for you. I'd like to say that this too shall pass, but I can't. I wish there was something I could do for you. Is there someone you can talk to, to help you work it through?

much love my friend.
tam
xo

MissBirdlegs in AL said...

Hi, Michelle - I'm so sorry you're having to go through this. From experience, I have to say that you'll ALWAYS miss her, it just tends to become more bearable eventually. There's really no advice, wisdom or comfort that anyone can give that truly helps, but know that you're not alone in this sorrow. While your head says that she's better off, your heart says, 'but I'm not'. I (and others) understand. Love & Hugs,

MMC said...

Thanks, Miss Birdlegs. I appreciate it. Thanks to you, too, Tam. In my saner moments, I know that I will, somehow, get through this. And in the meantime, I joined a Griefshare (Christian support) group this week. It goes for 13 weeks. So I will see where that takes me, I suppose. I think in some tiny, miniscule way the blog helps too ... just putting it out there.

MissBirdlegs in AL said...

Yes, voicing (or writing) your misery does somehow help. I hope the support group is helpful for you and think maybe it will be. Luckily, at the time Mother died, I was living near my sister (my only sibling) for the first time in years & we nearly talked (& cried) ourselves to death but it was helpful in the long run. When Daddy died, they lived in AL and I lived in CA. It was really hard to fly back to CA and leave the family and other than a sweet neighbor who had met him, but didn't really know him, I didn't have that talking outlet. I also had a job and young kids. There wasn't much time to grieve. It's such a cliche, but time really does help. I'll keep you in my prayers.