This Post Is Not About My Mom.

That’s a total lie and, frankly, the title should have been a dead giveaway so if you fell for it, you really have no one to blame but yourself.

So while staring at the ceiling this morning at about 1 a.m., I thought of an analogy for the workings of my brain these days. On a side note, I’m not sure why I feel the need to keep coming up with analogies…it’s not as though people are baffled by my situation and are only able to comprehend through my clever analogies. That being said, you know you love them.

Okay, here it is. Prepare for enlightenment.

It’s like I’m in a movie theater. And there is a movie playing all the time, day and night, on a loop. And we’re talking IMAX screen and Dolby Digital 5.1 sound. And the movie is about losing her. And missing her. And about how I feel like half a person most of the time now. And about how I don’t know how to regrow the part of me that was her. Ouch, that got sad fast. You get the point. Moving on.

Movie

So, I live here now. In the theater. And when I’m having a conversation, or cooking, or watching TV, or reading, or driving, the movie never stops playing. And the wonderful people in my life talk to me about trivial things and make me laugh and I am distracted. As much as anyone would be…if they were in a theater with an IMAX screen and Dolby surround playing a movie that was a cross between Beaches, Steel Magnolias, Saving Private Ryan and the end of The Green Mile. But I love these distractions and do my best to tune out the movie. But the point, I guess, is that it’s always playing and I never actually leave the theater.

Eventually, I hope to get to the point where I don’t live here, but simply visit on holidays…and birthdays…and milestones.

But right now? The movie never stops. And I never leave the theater.

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  18 comments for “This Post Is Not About My Mom.

  1. January 30, 2015 at 12:27 pm

    Diabetic, PTSD war friends that eventually get electrocuted? That would be a downer of a movie. Oscar-worthy, but a downer. Hope you find a way to get out of the theater and just rent that movie from time to time.

    • January 30, 2015 at 12:34 pm

      Hahaha. Thanks for the mash-up, Jonas 😉

      • January 30, 2015 at 12:39 pm

        Our tie to analogies is epic. Hope the good memories outweigh the circumstance.

      • January 30, 2015 at 12:44 pm

        And I am an analogy machine these days. 20% of all my sentences start with, “you know what it’s like? It’s like…” For no good reason, whatsoever 😉 Thanks, Jonas.

      • January 30, 2015 at 12:51 pm

        Personally I love them. Heck, I have a couple of books full of them 😉

  2. January 30, 2015 at 1:42 pm

    Reblogged this on Letters To My Mother and commented:
    Erin recently lost her mother. Her post resonated with me so much I had to re-blog it.

  3. Kimberly
    January 30, 2015 at 8:06 pm

    My grandmother died when I was pregnant with my first daughter.I woke up every morning thinking about my grandma and I cried – everyday. I wondered how long I would/could cry.
    One morning I woke up and didn’t think about her. When I realized what had happened, I cried harder.
    My daughter turned 21 this month. I’m in tears as I write this.
    I don’t know what you are going through. My heart breaks for the pain you are in. You write to beautifully about your mom.
    I want you to know, if you ever figure it all out, there are plenty of us waiting around to hear.
    I know I rambled, and for that I’m sorry.
    You are in my prayers.

    • January 31, 2015 at 8:58 am

      Thank you, Kim. That is very sweet. I told a friend yesterday that I’m so up and down I’m like a crazy person. She said, “you’re not crazy – you’re grieving” and I said, “I have realized there is really no difference between the two.” 😉 In a space of 10 minutes I can (and often do) go from crying to laughing. But I seem to do well on days that I post here, so thank you for reading.

  4. January 31, 2015 at 5:48 am

    What a beautiful movie that looks to be! And what a wonderful tribute to your mother that you are struggling so much without her right now…..but from the looks of those “stills” up there, I can see your mother made a strong daughter…filled with her love and borne of her strength. You’re never going to be the same, but I know that there is far too much of your mother in you to not work yourself through this and carry on her story and finish your own. I’m sorry you won’t have your mother’s physical presence to share it all with. I know that’s got to be the worst thing ever. But I know your mother is smiling down on you from where she is and will help you through these dark days right now…..a mother never stops loving and healing her children……physically present or not. Might I suggest starting a journal of writings of things you’d like to share with your mother as they happen? I think perhaps with writings like yours it might be such a good avenue to your mind if you just had a place where you still felt you could “communicate” to her what you want her to know. It might be a good way to get out some of the inevitable anger I know you must have right now and also maybe clarify to yourself a little of what you’re missing….Just an idea….I know there are no easy answers to getting yourself through this onslaught of emotions..

    • January 31, 2015 at 9:29 am

      Thank you so much. All good ideas. I’ve been talking to my husband a lot…about all the things I used to tell my mom that seem pointless to tell anyone else. My mom had a unique way of caring not just about the big stuff in your life, but the minutiae as well. I can tell my husband some news in one sentence and he’ll be happy. My mom and I could talk about the same news and be excited and repeat ourselves for 45 minutes until we’d talked about every little facet of something. I have wonderful people in my life but no one that wouldn’t want to strangle me if I told them every detail. I knew we were really close. As it turns out, once she was gone, I had no idea how huge a part she played in every single event in my day to day life. Basically, I was being optimistic when I called myself a “3-legged dog” because I definitely feel like I’m missing more than just ONE limb. Thank you for always reading and commenting 🙂

    • January 31, 2015 at 9:31 am

      Also – wanted you to know that I read your comment like four times already 😉

      • January 31, 2015 at 11:29 am

        I can only imagine how hard this is. I have a relationship with my mom just like yours with your mom. My mom is on a trip right now and after a week I’m fit to burst with all the things I NEED to tell her. So I’m making a document as I go along that I’ll send to her when she’s back. I find that after I’ve written it out, I feel MUCH better even though she still has no idea on any of it. Anyway, I didn’t tell you my real idea but since you were so receptive to the idea I did tell you, I’m going to tell you now. Sit back…this is a long tale. A few years ago, I had a friend who lost her young son to cancer. I really struggled trying to think of ANYthing I could do to help her. I came across a book one day called AngelCatcher (I can’t remember the exact name). But basically, the book was for her to write down her memories of her son while they were still fresh in her mind, not only the good things, but all things. This book was full of prompts like, “I remember when you….” or “The day you were born..” or “One night we talked about…” and “Do you remember when..” etc. All so she could remember even the small things in the years to come. I thought it was such a great idea…to work through some of the pain and capture those moments that she might forget as time went on. So thinking on this, my idea for you was to write things down now and compile them into some sort of book that later you can bind and share with your children and grandchildren. Things you liked most about your mother, things you didn’t like, special things she did for you and how they helped you. Later, for each child/grandchild you can share the book, but before you bind it for each one, you can add to that just for them the things you think your mother would most enjoy about them and what they’re doing. Just an idea. But I’m glad to know it helps to have someone interested and listening. I think you’re living my greatest fear right now and I am very very glad to be the ear that’s here for you through this….or at least one of them!

  5. January 31, 2015 at 3:41 pm

    Makes perfect sense. I love you, and think of all of you more than I can tell. I dreamed of us/her this morning. So vivid, so telling of what’s going on.

    I miss her. As I say that I’m reminded – I pinned something last week, which is more appropriate. I’ll send it to you.

    • February 4, 2015 at 2:05 pm

      I wish I had a vivid dream of her. Unfortunately the only really vivid one was sort of unsettling. Although did you see the picture I send you a few days ago? Over a YEAR ago, I *accidentally* took a screen shot of my phone when she was calling me. I’d never seen the picture and had no idea I’d accidentally taken it. It’s been on my phone for well over a year and I *never* saw it…until last week. That felt meaningful. My dad took the picture and put it as his wallpaper on his phone 😦

  6. February 13, 2015 at 4:24 pm

    I never got a picture??? Where did you send it? I think it’s definitely meaningful : )

    After Aviana died, I had straight up nightmares for… I think about 2-3 months. Every little detail, awful. I would wake up so upset, often times with a headache and in tears. I questioned my counselor – if I was so proactive in causing her the least pain, was unbelievably meticulous in nature through the whole process, and I am at peace during the day, what the HELL is up with this. She explained and while I understood, I was still pissed about having to be dragged through by night.

    I guess it’s all part of the process. A process of purging, and in the end (whenever that is, probably the end- end. Ha ha) we’re much healthier for it.

    Part of what my counselor did tell me was – it’s fine, as long as the dreams get better… and they did.

    • February 13, 2015 at 4:42 pm

      Oh my gosh. I got a new phone and it looks like it only transferred over your old number. Will you text me so that I have your new number again? I guess this explains why you didn’t reply to my last couple texts 😉

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