Cloud of Uncertainty

Today was a busy day at work; we have an important meeting tomorrow with a new group of business partners so today will be nuts.  The day before is always crazy – last minute changes to PowerPoint presentations, last minute changes to hand-outs, new hand-outs being created and copied, last minute questions about process that need to be worked out, yada yada.  It’s all a lot of work in a very short amount of time.

I’m thankful, sometimes, for days like this.  It keeps my mind busy and focused on something other than the not so warm and fuzzy stuff – the Easter dinner/impending would-be 80^th birthday for my mom, my impending birthday that I will be celebrating without her.  Rob wants to be with his family the week after Easter – which I understand since he doesn’t see all of them often at all –  and I don’t know if I’m up to it; he offered to take the baby and go on his own so I can be alone but I don’t know if that’s the right decision either.  I think he will go with or without me, which kind of makes me angry and I feel kind of unsupported by that fact.  But still, I apparently have a decision to make. Do I stay home, all by myself and deal with the left-over feelings from that weekend or do I go, be surrounded by people and probably (for at least some of the time) put on a happy face and pretend that I’m okay when all I want to do is sit by myself and cry. All the while also trying to come to terms with the fact that she won’t be here for my birthday the following weekend, which is also something I am trying desperately to not think about.  I don’t know what the right answer is and I’m afraid that no matter how much I think and this and look at it from every which angle I can think of, I won’t come up with the right answer. 

The uncertainty that this has caused in my life was unexpected; I didn’t think that something as simple as a family vacation would come into question just because my mom is no longer here.  Other things – like whether or not to celebrate her birthday – seem normal to contemplate, but not this.  I didn’t see this one coming.  We were supposed to go to Florida in February but it was postponed and his family completely understood; I’m very lucky that his family is so wonderful to me and have welcomed my family into theirs (his sister and her husband came to the wake and sent beautiful white roses, too).  I think that there is a part of me that’s afraid to go. Afraid to see his mom, have her look at me and ask me how I am, knowing that there is a high likelihood of my breaking into tears as soon as the question is even posed.  I am tired of crying.  I know that it’s part of the process and that, if I don’t, I will end up breaking down into a messy puddle somewhere TOTALLY unexpected and inappropriate like the middle of the food store when I see her favorite ice cream or at a table at Cracker Barrel where she insisted they didn’t make ‘real’ chicken and dumplings.  But I’m tired of feeling this way – tomorrow it will be two months – I feel this overwhelming sadness sometimes that is just too much to bare and I wish I could make it go away more than I wish to hide under my desk and cry. Which is quite a bit some days.

Just Wine

This morning, after my shower, I started thinking about Easter. My dad is very religious; we all went to catholic school, my sister and I went for 12 years. He goes to church every Sunday and was so active in the parish in my hometown that they threw him a dinner at a hotel ballroom when my parents moved away. That was where my mom's funeral was; our pastor said more than once that it wasn't how he wanted to welcome us home but it was still good to have us there and it would always be our home.

I feel that way, to some extent about my parents' house. They moved from my childhood home about six or seven years ago. That house will always be home to me. But at holidays, going to their house always felt like going home. We were all together, we sat around the table and shared a meal and then sat around and talked until it was  time for coffee and cake. My dad is Italian so our dinner traditions are very much his. Dinner in the afternoon. Coffee and cake and conversation the rest of the time. Thankfully we don't do the seven courses or anything like that, but I digress.

But now, it's different. We haven't sat around that table together since Christmas. We all have our assigned seats; no idea how they came about but I always sit in the same place, as does my sister. And now, next to both of us at the opposite head of the table from my dad will be an empty chair. A chair that is big, was always too big for my mother's small frame; a chair that will look overwhelmingly big on Easter and probably every holiday thereafter.

My dad has decided that he wants us to have dinner at the house that day. I'll do whatever he wants, no matter how hard it it for me. My sister feels the same although she's said she really doesn't want to do it.  She said to me "how am I going to go through her birthday and then cook in the woman's kitchen the very ext day?"  My mom was very protective of her kitchen, especially when she cooked. We usually weren't allowed into the room when she was cooking. If you dared to enter, it better be purposeful and quick and God help you if you got in her way. But this year there will be none of that. None of he threats to take away our dinners or to walk out and let us cook it on our own. That's all gone now. And I will miss every bit of it.

I'm not sure how I'll get through it and I don't expect any of us to do a stellar job that weekend. I want to celebrate her birthday; I think she would have wanted us to and I want to honor her with that.  I want to be happy that weekend, like we usually are when we're all together. But I know that it won't be all wine and roses. Probably just wine. She would have wanted it that way, too.

Surviving Conversations

It might be hard to believe but I don't like to talk about my mom being gone. I write this blog to help get certain things out of my head; it helps me to process what all of these thoughts and feelings mean. But yesterday I took the plunge and started the conversation. Surprisingly enough, I didn't drown.

I don't really know how the conversation started, I guess that's inconsequential. I told him what it felt like as best I could. It feels like she doesn't exist, that's what I said. Because I don't know how else to say it. I also said that I didn't know how my sister was; we talked about our dace all the time but never how we were doing. My sister is a lot like my dad - doesn't really talk about how she feels unless it's necessary. That conversation prompted one with her which I think was necessary.

When she and I spoke that night, I said things like "I don't know how you feel but this is what's going on with me...." Which got her to tell me how she was. Turns out we're pretty much on the same page.
She stays away from people as much as she can on her bad days and she doesn't know what to say when someone says "so how are you doing". I know there are days when I'm tempted to tell people the truth, but I refrain from that conversation with coworkers and other casual acquaintances. We both even struggle to find the right words for when someone asks about our dad. I don't think anyone really wants to hear the reality of how he is. It hits too close to home. How many of us would turn his story into their own - for their own parent, for themselves. I know that I tend to personalize the stories of others, especially when they're relate able like I think this is. We aren't the first family to go through this. We won't be the last. You just never think you'll be that family that everyone feels sorry for. Being the center of that type of attention isn't something even the biggest attention whore would revel in.

Waiting to Hear

For some reason, I decided to listen to a YouTube video by James Van Praag; he’s a fairly famous psychic.  I don’t necessarily believe in the whole spirit communication/after-life communication stuff that he and other psychics like John what’s-his-name from NY practice.  I don’t know if there is something after this.  But I will say that there’s been some odd stuff that has happened to me over the past almost five years since my best friend died.  Songs come on the radio when I need them to – when I need to feel like she’s still with me, she’s still supporting me and she knows that I need her or that I’m missing her more than usual…they just come out of nowhere. And it’s not just random radio stuff, it happens on my iPod all the time.  Just this morning, I was thinking about my mom and wondering if her and Donna had met up and I turned on my music to find THE song from college that always makes me think of her.  It’s the first one that came up; another one came up right after that.  I can’ chalk that up to coincidence.  A few years ago, I was driving my dad to see the heart surgeon, thinking that we would get horrible news, I thought to myself “I don’t want to do this” and that song from college came on the radio.  It’s from the 90s, it’s not a popular song; I chalk that up to her being there when I needed her most.

There was one time that I think I actually heard her voice, which was the strangest thing in the world but also most amazing thing.  I was in the car, on my way to physical therapy and I said something to her out loud – what it was, I don’t remember – but through the speakers in my car I heard a woman’s voice say “yea”.  I know it was her.  Who else could it have been in the middle of song??  It wasn’t my phone, I didn’t have my Bluetooth on, it was her.  I have no other explanation for it.  Some of you may be reading this and thinking “okay, this chick is nuts” and maybe I am, but I find a lot of comfort in feeling that she’s still here and she knows how much she’s missed and loved.  Losing her was like losing a sister; it was the most traumatic loss I had experienced until my mom.  So those little things that might sound crazy, but they help me to cling onto hope and sanity.

So during this YouTube video interview thing, the psychic says that in his experience, when a death is difficult – the person has struggled with an illness for a long time, dementia/cancer, it takes them longer to reach out to their loved ones here than if someone passed quickly with no energy diminishing illness prior to their passing; the sicker they were, the longer it takes for them to recharge after they pass.  My mom was sick for a very long time, we just didn’t know it.  She probably had that tumor on her kidney for at least a year, possibly more.  I hope that this is why I don’t feel like she’s here at all; I felt like she left her body before she died and I don’t feel her here now.  But hopefully I will soon.  This Saturday it will be 8 weeks; two months on the 11^th.  I wait and hope and pray every day for that moment when I know that she’s here and that she’s okay.  Even as I write those words, my eyes fill up with tears.  I hate feeling like she’s just gone; I have a hard time remembering her face because to me, in my head and in my heart, she’s just gone. I can’t explain what it feels like to one day know that she’s there, and the next to just not feel her anymore.  I found a picture on my phone last night of her with my daughter and it made me so sad because I couldn’t remember what she looked like in my mind.  I don’t want to forget my mom, especially not so quickly.  When/if she does come around, I just want to know that she’s okay and she’s happy and she can see us. I want her to know that we’re okay, my dad is okay, and that my daughter is amazing and wonderful and growing every day and can say more words now than at Christmas when she saw her last.  I just want to know that she’s here because right now, I feel such a void….it sucks.  More than I could ever put into words.  There’s no way to describe this feeling.  It’s a vacant feeling when I think of her – I can’t remember her face exactly, I don’t feel her, it feels like she’s been gone for so long and it’s only been 8 weeks.  I hope to hear her soon.  

My Head Is a Scary Place

Some days I just hate being needed. At home, at work, everywhere in my entire life. I just hate it.  This morning, my toddler work up before 4am.  Rob had to go to the gym around 4:30 (yes, he ‘had’ to go…lucky him).  She was awake and asleep until around 5 when I finally had enough and went into her room. She was sitting in the middle of her crib, asking where her Curious George was. He was right next to her.  Did she want to go back to sleep?  Uh uh.  She wanted “up”; she went to watch Sesame Street and color and play with stickers.  I had to change her diaper, get her breakfast, make myself coffee (which ended up making me sick – hi, coffee on an empty stomach is just a bad idea for me and I should have known better), take a shower, keep her entertained while I was in the shower…blah blah blah.  So since before4am, I have been needed.  I needed to give certain information to her teacher when I dropped her off at school, I had to go to a meeting at 9am, I have to answer emails and questions….I am needed all over the place and I really don’t want to be.

Since my mom died, I’ve had days that make me feel like I can barely take care of myself…let alone anyone else; saying this out loud has become a bit of a routine for me as of late.  Rob kept asking me to rub his back; he loves when he can sit on the floor in front of the couch and I sit on the couch and rub his shoulders.  He’s always loved it and it’s been 11 or 12 years for us now.  But I stopped when my mom got sick.  I hated feeling like I was taking care of yet another person; I was taking care of my dad, my sister, trying to take care of myself and taking care of my daughter – enough was enough.  And it got to the point when I had to tell him why I stopped; he wouldn’t stop bothering me about it.  “I need a back rub….if someone loved me they would rub my shoulders for me….can you rub my shoulders tonight….” On and on and on until one day I asked if he knew why I wasn’t doing it anymore.  I told him that I can barely take care of myself some days so I really don’t want to take care of yet another person at the end of my day most days.  He finally stopped asking, although it’s recently started up again.  This whole mourning thing takes the wind right out of you; I am exhausted most days. I feel like I have been up three times with a crying infant most days because it’s just that hard to do.  It’s hard to work full-time, be a mom, be a partner, be a regular generally non-dysfunctional person, and mourn the death of your mom all at the same time.  I wish there was a way to prep for this – a course, a webinar, something.  But there isn’t; and I guess I wouldn’t have had time for it anyway.

I was talking to someone the other day who, in response to me saying “well I have bad days and good days” said – “Michele, you’ve been through a trauma, you have to give yourself time to get through that and process it”. For the first time, I thought “someone gets it”.  (That person was my boss; I am very lucky to work for someone who just gets me and what I go through professionally and personally.) My mom didn’t just die.  I found out 19 days before she died that she was sick – just sick, no diagnosis, nothing more than “there’s nodules on her lung and possibly a tumor on her kidney”.  I found out five days before she died that she was terminal.  I sat and watched a part of my family die with her over those days and weeks; a piece of our history, a piece of our traditions and a piece of our planned future died with her. I can’t just wake up and be okay. I can’t just go about any piece of my life without any sort of fall-out from that.  It took me at least 8 months to recover from that accident with a drunk driver; there were physical scars from that and they might totally heal one day.  I think emotional scars take longer to heal and some will never totally heal, but hopefully they’ll get a little less noticeable as time goes on.  I don’t want to be this emotionally ugly for very long.  It sucks worse in my head than it will ever suck for anyone else around me.

Doesn't Matter What Kind of Mom She Was

Today is a sad day.  It could be because my mom’s sweatshirts are sitting next to my bed, and I saw them as I grabbed the blanket to toss on the bed for the cat this morning.  It could be that, as I was doing my hair and I was hanging my head upside down, I was remembering what those days in the hospital were like.  It could be that yesterday was a sad day and it’s just continued on into today.  It could be that it’s Monday and it’s snowing.  Who knows.

 

But I’m trying to not be sad today, and I don’t know if that’s a good idea or not but I’m trying.  There’s this whole thing about  not suppressing your grief and emotions but, the fact of the matter is that I can’t sit at my desk and cry all day. That’s just not an option.  And I can’t not be at work today –although it did snow, there’s not enough snow out there to warrant not being here.  I think being here is better than not.  At least that’s my thought at 10:06am.

 

God I miss her.  I really just miss her.  And we didn’t have the best relationship on the planet, but I have learned that it doesn’t matter.  She was still my  mom.  For all of her flaws and craziness (which there was a fair amount of) she was still my mom. She was still the woman that bitched and moaned about EVERYTHING (if I heard her complain one more time about her electric stove I think I would have screamed…yeah, I said that after every major holiday), she was still the first grandparent to hold my daughter, she was still the one that helped me zip up my wedding gown, she was still the one that bought my silence as a child by getting me Carvel sundaes when she went to buy her weekly bottle of scotch, she was still the one that walked me to band practice and back once a week when I was in 4^th grade, she was still my mom.  And I miss her.  I’ll always miss how she called me “Sweetheart” and I’ll never forget the sound of her voice on the phone the day after my car accident, when my dad put the phone down and said “Michele’s on the phone, she got into an accident and her car got totaled last night”.  She may not have been the best, but she was my mom and I will always miss her.  I just hope that one day, it doesn’t hurt as much and it doesn’t make me feel as empty as I feel at this very moment.  It’s amazing how losing your mom, even one that was like her, makes you suddenly feel all alone in the world – especially when it’s a sad day.

Getting a New Wardrobe

Apparently, when your mother dies, you get to inherit her clothing.  At least that's what's happening to me.  My dad came over yesterday to spend time with my daughter, and he brought me the sweatshirts my mom had from my college - one was emblazed MOM across the front, clearly stating that she had a child that went to that school.  She was so happy to have that one, and wore it for years.  It's stained, possibly beyond anything my laundry skills can fix, but I know I'll keep it forever.

I now have my mother's clothes, and her coffee creamer in my house. I don't know if I'm supposed to find comfort in either or not.  I'm happy my father didn't throw these things out, but I don't know if I'm ready to have her stuff in my house like this.  It just makes it more real, more painful.  I'm not ready to open my closet and see her clothing sitting there, because she's not here.  Just not ready.

Yesterday, my dad said that he wants to get one of those flower vase things that are stuck to the front wall of the mausoleum, that way he can give my mom flowers for her birthday; he always bought her carnations.  She would have been eighty this year, and my sister and I were going to throw her a big party. She never had one and said time after time after time....after time...that she wanted one.  Easter is the day after her birthday this year, something she always hated because we would have dinner for the holiday not her birthday.  Although I may not necessarily miss her bitching about it, there will be something missing because I won't hear anything like "well it's just another year that some religious holiday is more important than my birthday...". Nothing will ever be more important than her birthday now, which is ironic.  The day that you celebrate her birth is now more important since she's gone.