Today marks 12 weeks. I thought, perhaps, my next post would not be about my mom. Well, I am happy to say that this post, much like my life, is not all about losing my mom.
So here’s what I’ve learned in the last 12 weeks:
- I like lists. They require little cohesion and no organization at all.
- There is a very fine, at times imperceptible, line between “grieving” and “crazy.”
- You don’t really get it – not really – until it’s you.
- I’m stronger than I thought. I lost the one person I talked to more, shared more, listened to more, relied on more, leaned on more than any other person in the world. And I’m okay. Despite my previous concerns, I wasn’t swallowed by the hole she left in the world.
- I like cemeteries. You can cry all you want and no one looks at you twice. Cause you’re in a cemetery.
- Death is arbitrary. My mom wasn’t even two weeks past her 67th birthday, she had low blood pressure, low cholesterol, ate healthy, didn’t smoke, rarely drank, got all her mammograms, colonoscopies, physicals, etc., stayed active, and took her vitamins. And she was literally gone in a matter of seconds. Be healthy so that you can feel good while you’re here – but all the healthy living in the world isn’t going to grant you longevity if it isn’t in the cards.
- The dead apparently do not haunt by request. No matter how much you wish for a visit.
- Apparently I don’t need to share every thought that ever pops into my head with someone. I used to have someone I told everything to. Now, I probably share 50% of those thoughts. Which, I guess, means I have a lot of insignificant thoughts. Or just no one that finds significance in them.
- Even on dark days, wine makes me happy.
- Getting my eye makeup tattooed on a year and a half ago was a sound investment.
Ahhhh, lessons you wish you hadn’t learned and yet lessons that are showing just a glimmer of hope that you are stronger than you thought (but probably as strong as your mother knew you were) and that you are going to be okay…..not the same, but that there is a you in there that will still go forward…..
You always seem to know exactly what to say ❤
My heart. It reaches out to you. Grieve away, I may join your crying in a cemetery because I never thought of that. A place where nobody wonders why you cry. Remember 9-11 and the good ol’ days when people just cried all the time and strangers stopped and consoled each other? It was always considered normal to break down just because we couldn’t decide between paper or plastic and had a melt-down. It was ok.
So cry away, and drink wine. And then dance until you convince your heart it’s ok to move on and be happy again.
All good advice. I guess another thing I’ve learned is that you can’t beat grief, or out-think it, or out-run, you just have to ride it out. Wine makes that easier 😉
All very very true, and enlightening to keep in mind. 🙂 Sorry for your loss.
So many truths…
Exactly what you said about two steps forward – one step back. ❤
The grief dance, like the tango—only not at all ; )
It’s as if I could have written this myself, the only difference is that I lost a father to whom I didn’t speak that much and that I do feel as if I’m drowning in the hole left in this world. Life is suddenly extremely hard. Wine can’t help and I am not ok. For some reason I cry less at the cemetery than I do at home when no-one sees me, for me it’s as if he were still here and as if I’m still waiting for him to come back. It’s been six months and I’m only now figuring out that the great majority of what I did, said or not said was completely wrong. I blew up pretty much everything, and there is no second chance to fix it. No closure, no peace. I still have mom, but things are not the same any more. Thank you for the like for my cemetery flowers and I’m so sorry for your mom. Take care, Tanja
Oh Tanja. I’m not always okay. Wine doesn’t always help. Our situations weren’t exactly the same but there is something in the sameness that makes us feel less alone. When it’s a surprise, there is no perfect goodbye. No regret-free life. But we did better than we thought we did and they knew more than we thought they did.
I think we have the same list of life lessons. I too lost my mom…the one person that I could count on to talk to and to listen for as long as i needed her too. Next month marks the 7th year of her passing. Although I still long for her presence I smile because I realize that she’s still here alive in heart and memory. But just so you know, I’ve been contemplating #12. I’m just nervous to look eternally surprised.
That’s why you just do eyeliner…I wouldn’t trust them with the eyebrows 😉