The Two-Week Mark.

Not to turn my snarky, sarcastic blog into a sad place, but I’m not particularly funny lately. Unless I’m making some inappropriate joke at an inappropriate moment to make the sad people around me laugh.

The two-week mark is strange. Because when your 67-year-old, healthy, sassy mother’s heart suddenly stops beating for no good reason, people around you are still in shock as well. They can’t imagine what you’re going through. But the two-week mark is also the time when you’re expected to get back to the routine. Back to work. Back to normal. Well – the new normal.

So, I have this to report: I’m trying. I’m working. I’m hanging out with my friends. I’m taking the dogs for walks to the lake with my dad. I’m watching The Big Bang Theory reruns while making dinner and wasting time playing Candy Crush on my phone. And I have the uncontrolled fits of crying down to once a day. Usually.

The problem is that as the shock wore off, reality set in. And reality kinda sucks. My mom has left this void that is like a hole I keep tripping on. A dozen times a day. Every time I think of something I should tell her. Or something I need to ask her. Or something I want to gripe about. Or a decision I have to make. Or advice I need. Or if anything goods happens. Or anything bad. Or anything at all.

December 23rd, the day we were burying my mom, my parents’ sweet little dog died. (Cue the Depeche Mode, right? I don’t want to start any blasphemous rumors, but I think that God’s got a sick sense of humor?) Anyway, their older dog that followed my mom everywhere? Still alive. The younger one? Died, inexplicably, that morning. My father was devastated. But in his state, it was more like icing on a cupcake (because heartbreak when you’re already heartbroken and tears when you were crying anyway…seem to get washed away in the flood). So after the tragic morning at the cemetery, we all went over to my dad’s that afternoon to bury the dog in the backyard. And I made inappropriate jokes. And people laughed.

And then we went through all the motions of celebrating Christmas Eve and Christmas Day like good little soldiers. Cause that’s what you do.

So, I’ll undoubtedly keep tripping on the void like an uncoordinated, three-legged dog. But, as I said to my dad Saturday, on our way back from picking out my mom’s grave stone, it only hurts this much because we had it so good. And that sure makes it hard to complain.

Erin and Mom

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  20 comments for “The Two-Week Mark.

  1. December 30, 2014 at 12:42 am

    oh hon! you get to complain every bit. You only get one mom and I am truly sorry for your loss! Cyber hugs sent your way!

  2. December 30, 2014 at 2:42 am

    God. Life kicks hard. I’m sorry for your loss. 😦

  3. December 30, 2014 at 4:56 am

    feel for ya kid

  4. December 30, 2014 at 5:30 am

    All I know is you get to grief as long as you need. I told my wife that all the time when her mom died. If you need to cry, go ahead and cry. Other people can just deal. I don’t know what it is like to lose a parent and I imagine it is pretty tough.

    • December 30, 2014 at 4:06 pm

      Thank you. Yes, my husband tells me that when I apologize for acting like a crazy person – that I don’t get to apologize – it just is what it is. Ain’t that the truth.

  5. December 30, 2014 at 9:53 am

    I’m very sorry for your loss.

  6. feverdreams
    December 30, 2014 at 1:00 pm

    I am so sorry for your loss! And also happy for you that you had it so good. I hope you can keep on grieving without guilt about how your grieving shows itself. Much support being sent to you over the air. (Also, your post was beautiful).

    • December 30, 2014 at 4:04 pm

      Thank you. That’s very sweet.

  7. December 30, 2014 at 2:24 pm

    My heart breaks for you. I love reading your blog and laughing at your sharp sense of humor, and I feel like a know a piece of you…at least, the piece you choose to share with the people of the internet. And I just want to hug that piece until the hurt stops.

    I know this sounds silly, but I’m pretty much in love with Sara Bareilles’ music and one of her lyrics really helped when I had the obligatory duty of getting back into a routine after losing my sister. “And so it goes. One foot after the other ’til black and white begin to color in.” And it did slowly color back in, with every girls night, with every comic con, with every hug from a friend. I hope it colors back in for you too. -Calliopunk

    • December 30, 2014 at 4:13 pm

      This is just beautiful. And I think of your post about your sister often…the way you were able to be so funny and sweet at the same time. That’s my goal, but I’m not there yet 😉 And I love Sara Bareilles, too 🙂

  8. December 30, 2014 at 3:08 pm

    There are no words for this…..I can’t imagine the emptiness I know you must be wading through right now. I know it will never ever be something you “heal”, but I know you will get better at handling it and there is a future waiting that your mother prepared you to live. Sending big hugs your way.

  9. December 30, 2014 at 11:47 pm

    Great blog girlie. I feel your pain. Lost my mom Oct 8. It isn’t easy. You just learn to live with it and cherish those special memories. Thinking of you my friend. Sending Big Hugs and much love.

    Erin Simone😘

    • December 30, 2014 at 11:54 pm

      I know you did 😦 Thanks for the ❤ sweetie. It is greatly appreciated.

  10. January 7, 2015 at 5:27 am

    I love you.

    I love all of you.

    I’m so sorry.

    I miss her dearly.

    I too, have wanted to call her so many times, about so many things – big, but mostly small.

    To name just one – when I was putting Paula away (the reindeer), she wouldn’t fit in Amy’s room (the space underneath the stairs). I looked at her and thought, “It’s all because of your big ol’ antlers!” I then looked more carefully and pulled them off! Holy crap! I can pop them off!?! With the release of the perfectly tied red and green bow, our Paula reindeer suddenly transformed from Christmas decoration to an all year deer decoration.

    I happen to be on the phone with my dad this entire time (yes! while carrying Paula down many flights of stairs. You partook, so you understand this great feet) My excitement fizzled as I told my dad, “these are the moments I wish I could call to ask if she knew the antlers came off dad.” My next thought was, “Of course she knew the antlers came off!! She’s PAULA!! Of course SHE KNEW. She may have been waiting to tell me? Who knows. All I know is – we would have had a very exciting, fast talking conversation about the beautiful transformation of her gift.

    And then… I was still. And… I smiled at the thought. She knows. She’s watching me. She’s seeing all of this.

    And I felt peace ❤️

    • January 7, 2015 at 5:50 am

      Well, Jen, since I was lucky enough to have been out shopping for that gift with her the day before she died, I can tell you that she did NOT realize that they came off but she would have been soooo excited to find out that they did. And she would have loved that phone call from you telling her about it. So I will be excited for her ❤

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