My friend Brook gave me permission to blog about this, so here I go.
We spent about 45 minutes on the phone this evening, and she tells me right before we finish the conversation that the entire time she's been trying to pick a booger out of her nose. And since her nails aren't long enough, she can't get it out.
Brook, you rock...
My friend Brook, the photographer extradionaire, took these pictures back in 1999, when I was a very drunk bridesmaid in my sister's first wedding. Brook actually held these pictures hostage until I watched the Gilmore Girls season premiere Tuesday night & emailed her a full review. By the way, Brook's blog & website are featured links here. You should check out her work, she's a great photographer & has managed to put up with me since I was like 14 or 15. That's a long time to put up w/ me, just so you know!
I am ridiculously skinny in these pictures, not because I'm into starving myself, this was before I finally hit puberty the second time when I was like 22 or 23, like before I finally got an ass. I can't believe I was ever that tiny, I look like I'm about to fall over & die or something. Of course I think the waif look was cool back then. Anyhoo, I'll shut up now...
How do people manage to get on with it after losing someone? Will I ever stop replaying memories of the last few weeks of Mum’s life in my head? Staying with her in the hospital, especially her last 48 hours, was by far the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Watching someone die is such a powerful yet disturbing experience – I could feel the life just drain out of her in her in those last few moments. A little voice in my head was screaming at me to run out of the room, but I knew I needed to be there for her. Then her jaw twitched a bit and there was no more. Mum was finally free, and you could sense her soul filling the room.
The week Mum died, I fell into the deepest depression I’d ever experienced. After a few days, it was bothering me how down I was so much that it was making me more depressed. I kept thinking “I’ve got to snap out of this…I can’t lose it, I just can’t…” I couldn’t think straight, I couldn’t function on a normal level, I couldn’t sleep or eat.
At least now I’m out of the wallowing, non-functioning phase. Now I’m just struck by random moments of emotional breakdown. A perfect example would be last Tuesday. I was cooking myself some lunch after school and just burst into tears. For Christ’s sake, I got totally farklempt over mashed potatoes & a turkey pita. It was totally ridiculous. Thank goodness my friend Brook is understanding and will put up with me rambling & whining for extended periods of time on the phone. I probably kept her on for over an hour. I almost cried twice on the way to work last week. I passed a funeral home Friday evening and immediately got a visual of Mum in her casket. It’s like everything & anything will remind me of her & the fact she’s gone.
Since she died, some have told me time will heal. Usually these are people who haven’t experienced the death of someone that close to them. People that have faced it have said I never will.
What if I don’t have time on my side? I cannot stand being an emotional mess. I have so many demands between school, work, and family; and so many perfectionist ideals I force upon myself, and I feel like I can’t fall apart, I’ve got to be strong for my brother & sister. I know that it’s okay if I do fall apart, it’s almost to be expected after what I’ve been through, but I just can’t let myself.
I’ve got to try to be strong.
On Saturday I went to Mum's grave for the first time since she was buried. I wasn't able to bring myself to go before now.
When Mum first passed, I was having a hard time dealing with the aftermath of her hospital stay. Especially the last 48 hours she was alive. I guess the only thing I could compare it to is when you see something really violent or disturbing, like a movie or something, and those scenes keep replaying in your mind over & over. I kept thinking about how on Thursday evening when I went to visit her (the day before she began her respiratory arrest), she kept asking me what time I would return the next day. I told her right after work, as usual, but she kept asking for specifics. She told me about these men that came into the room and that they were hanging off the ceiling, watching her. “I told them I was still alive & that they shouldn’t be here ‘till I was about to die…” Did she know that her time was up? More importantly, did she finally accept it? I guess she must have, because when they tried to give her oxygen that Friday, she jumped out of bed, pulled out all of her various tubes & needles and said “I’m done, no more…”
Over the last week I've been moving into the "missing" phase of the grieving process. The void of not having my mother here is becoming more & more apparent to me. It's like that aspect has been removed a few degrees from my consciousness. I can't just call & yack with her anymore, I can't have my once a week visit with her, she won't be there when I graduate, she won't be there for me if (big if) I ever do get married or have children. Everyone keeps saying that in a way she will be there, and I’ve felt her presence very strongly several times, but it's just not the same.
