Don’t worry. It gets sarcastic.
When I was 14, my mom lost her mother. My mom’s mom was her BFF, was only 63, and inexplicably died of a heart attack without a single warning sign. (I know! Right?) We were all close and I was sad to lose my grandma, but it paled in comparison to watching my mother suffer through such a debilitating loss. And then she proceeded to miss her mom every day for nearly 29 years. Until history effing repeated itself and started this whole messed up cycle again. What kind of bullshit is that? I would like to think that, had my mom had a choice in the matter, she would have adamantly rejected any scenario that would put me through what she went through. Yet here we are. And I’m kinda pissed.
What stage of grief is “anger” again? I’m guessing it falls somewhere between the “WTF?” stage and the “Well, that was a bunch of bullshit” stage. (Note: I have not properly researched the traditional stages of grief but I’m pretty sure mine could catch on.)
Anyway. I’ve also had darling and well-intentioned friends and family tell me that something good comes out of everything, no matter how bad. But my family was already close, I already appreciated every day and didn’t take people for granted (thanks to the aforementioned Grandma) and I was friggin’ strong enough already. Not sure I’ll ever see a silver lining to this shitty little cloud. We’ll call this the “Don’t give me any of that ‘personal growth’ crap” stage.
In other news, I think I’m training Steve not to use the word “need” with me because when he makes the mistake of asking me if “I need anything,” I inevitably answer “yeah, I *need* my mom.” And this leads to the “I should probably try to stop making the people around me uncomfortable” stage. I’m not to this stage yet.
I am, however, simultaneously in the “It’s 10 a.m. on a Saturday and that is clearly late enough for wine” stage and the “I swear to God, if I don’t stop crying, I’m going to sew my tear ducts closed” stage.
And this. This definitely has to be one of the stages. 
Because Mexican food is always good.
Erin Lyon 
Often there’s what other people say in an attempt to make you feel better, and then there’s real life. Such a huge gap in between. Guh. Your honesty is refreshing, Erin. The loss of your mother is never something that should sit well with you.
Thanks, Tony. Supposedly there’s some light at the end of this tunnel. Maybe I’ll get there eventually.
A burrito of saddness…..what an apt description. I’m so sorry for what you have to deal with….I understand your feelings of being strong enough, already appreciating, and not needing this to help your family get closer. Sometimes bad stuff just happens to good people and all we can do is try and pick up the pieces and keep moving, battered, broken, and empty as we are. I am glad you’re writing…it’s powerful, and honest, and really hits home.
Thank you. I’m not a burrito of sadness *every* day. Some days I’m more like a tamale 😉
Ahhh…well, even moving up the food chain is progress of a kind! We’ll take what we can get in this instance. You’re doing just fine, not your happiest of course, but you’re going to wade through all this…I know you are.
Ha Ha! I love the little one! A burrito of sadness. We used to make an Avi-ritto after every bath – these can kind of go hand in hand ; ) ; )
Very true. And I love all the pictures of Avi-rittos 😉
It totally sucks and no one can make you feel better. But eventually it starts to lessen to tolerable.
I’m definitely looking forward to tolerable!
Maybe it doesn’t matter anyway as we all have different stages when dealing with things in life, but I still play the broken tune of those officials ones related to grief back and forward in my head- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I think I am less angry now and more depressed, but every single day I get hit by at least one strike of denial. I don’t want this to be happening, no way. Yet it can’t be more true than it is. What I hate the most is when somebody approaches me, gives me a good look and asks – well considering what happened… how are you? What’s the point of such a question, I think it’s quite clear that I feel just about as crapy as I look like… or simply put, how do they think I feel? It’s only now at 38 that I’m truly learning how fragile and insecure life is. There is no more solid ground under my feet, no protection, no alternative. That’s how I feel.
I get that. No matter how close you were, they were our foundation. Our security. From children, they are certain. No one knows what to say. I think I struggle more with the people that want to act like I’m better… Pretend everything is normal. I’m 3 months out. And I’m heartbroken. I guess I would prefer people to say “Given everything, how are you?” rather than acting like I’m normal. Like my life will ever be normal. But I went in search of other heartbroken people and there is comfort in knowing others are struggling just like you. One of my fellow bloggers said “we were the saddest club ever but at least we have each other.” I get that. I hope you can find some comfort in it too.