Feeling More Today

Today, for some reason, I’m crying.  I started this morning in the car on the way to school.  A Jason Mraz song was on, not sure what it was called but it was a sweet romantic type song.  And then one of my favs – Life is Better With You by Michael Franti came on and as soon as it started, the tears came.  I don’t know why they did, but they did and they didn’t stop.  I don’t know if I was having a “I am so lucky” moment or if I’m just an emotional mess right now so anything even remotely emotional makes me weep openly (very possible).  Between my sister’s birthday tomorrow, the impending ending of my cat on Saturday, having to prep my 2 year old for the loss of the cat – who she went to find last night to show him her flashlight (I can’t explain how much it broke my heart to have her look at me and go “kitty!” and run out of the room to go find him, knowing that in a few days he will most likely be gone), I just have too many emotions to deal with right now and no way to really deal with all of it.  How do I handle feeling horrible for my sister, feeling my own grief for her over the loss of our mom that she will feel tomorrow, the anxiety I feel over possibly putting my cat the sleep and the associated grief and pain with that, the anxiety I feel over dealing with my daughter and her first real loss (she really didn’t understand my mom’s passing, although I try to remind her of my mom and explain to her why she’s no longer here).  I have no idea what the f I’m doing right now, which is frightening in and of itself.  The only stable situation I have right now is my job, and my relationship which is affected by all of my stuff so I don’t know if “stable” is a good word to describe any relationship I’m involved in at the moment.

I’ve felt overwhelmed quite a bit these last 5+ months, which I suppose is natural but still, it sucks.  No one likes being overwhelmed; this control freak hates it more than I can put into words.  I hate that I can’t help my sister get through this weekend without pain.  I hate that I won’t be able to help my daughter make sense of losing the kitty that she loves and will miss every day for who knows how long.  I hate that I can’t stop crying.  I hate that I already feel this higher level of grief, knowing that the six month anniversary of her passing is next week.  I don’t know why I feel “more” knowing that it’s been six months; it shouldn’t matter how long it’s been, but for some reason it does.  I guess there’s this part of me that just doesn’t want time to move on because the further away we are from that date, the longer she’s been gone, the fuzzier the memories will become.  I already can’t remember things about her, I don’t want to lose more as time goes on. Today, if I’m afraid of anything, it’s losing my mom more and more as time goes on.  Each time I have difficulty remember something about her, it’s as if I’ve lost her all over again.  I don’t know if this emotional cycle will ever end, but if it does, I will welcome that ending with open arms.

Hesitation

Today, I hesitate to pick up the phone and make a call that I don’t want to make.   To some extent, I feel like it’s January all over again and I’m the one saying “we’re keeping her alive for ourselves, not for her, and that’s not fair”.  I am currently faced with the decision to put my cat to sleep, and it’s one that I don’t want to make.  I know that some of you may be looking at this thinking “you have GOT to be kidding me, did she compare her mother’s death to her cat???”.  Yeah, I kind of did.  I was the one that kept saying she wasn’t going to get any better, I was the one that ordered the morphine.  Now, I have to keep reminding myself that he isn’t going to get any better – he went completely blind about a week and a half ago and is now peeing and pooping all over my bedroom, and he’s only eating some days (probably the days he can find his food).  But I’ve had him for 14 years; I got him when I was still married.  He was my first baby.  He used to greet me at the door, sleep next to me, cuddle with me on the couch when there was no one else to cuddle with.  Even after I had the baby, I would bring her into the house in her car seat, set her on the floor in the kitchen and he would come in and sniff her and check her out while I was feeding him.  Those days are gone now, though.  He stays in bed except to eat and poop/pee.  He doesn’t play anymore, he purrs when I pet him which is a good sign but he was always a happy and friendly cat so that doesn’t surprise me much. He’s lost so much weight that he’s skeletal at this point, I think.  And it kills me to know how hurt and sad my daughter will be when he’s gone; she sings this song about who will be home when we get home from school and he is in it every time. There are nights that the first word out of her mouth as we walk in the door is “KITTY”.  Sometimes she’s afraid of him, but I think that’s just a fear of the unknown – she doesn’t really get what he is.  I know she’ll still look for him and not fully understand why he isn’t there anymore.  I have to figure out how to explain it to her both before and after, so it’s not so confusing that her confusion makes the sadness worse. 

I feel bad for him, and although I know that this is most likely the right decision, I can’t bring myself to do it.  I hate the idea that, yet again, I will be the one to look at a medical professional and give the okay to administer the drugs that will ultimately kill someone that I love.  And yet again, this is another individual – for lack of a better word –  that I have to sit next to watch pass away.  Well, technically no one says I have to but he deserves it, no one and no animal should die alone if they were important to someone. I’m sure that it will be a faster process than with my mom, but still.   I hate that I have to  be the one to do it, but again, there is no one else to do it.  No one else was strong enough to do it with my mom, and there really is no one this time because he’s my cat – I had him before my boyfriend was in the picture.  So it has to be me.  And making this call is the first step.  I have to take him in to be seen by the doctor, who will do some blood tests and I’ll know in a few minutes if there’s anything big medically that’s causing the problems.  In my head, I know that whatever it is cannot be fixed, but in my heart I am praying it can be because I just don’t want my cat to be dead and I don’t want to be the one to do it.  There have been times that he’s gotten me SO mad; he’s stood outside my daughter’s door at 6am on a Saturday crying so I would get out of bed and feed him.  At those times, I’ve thought to myself ‘GOD sometimes I wish he would just die in his sleep”.  Yeah, I have thought that type of thing when I was at my worst; I’m not proud of it at all.  But no matter how mad I’ve been, I still don’t really want him to die. He’s been a good companion, and he tolerates my daughter better than I ever thought he would.  I wish that I could do more for him at this point than this, but I don’t think I can. There comes a point when there’s just nothing else that can be done but to let them go and be at peace.  It’s the right thing for him, no matter how much it sucks for me.

I will pick up the phone and dial the number, make the appointment, but I might need to eat a cookie or two before I can bring myself to do it.

Another Birthday

I wish that time would stop, just for a little bit. My daughter is getting bigger by the moment, milestone after milestone. My dad gets older, day by day there's always another thing - a doctors appointment, a procedure to have done. And now, my sister. Her birthday is July 4th and I know how she's feeling, even if we don't talk about it. The phone call that won't come, the snarky comments about how old we all are, the dinner cooked commemorating the day. All of it just makes the day painful and it's hard to consider it a joyful event.

I know what this is like, the first birthday without our Mom.  There will be no phone call, and I know I already mentioned it but that was the hardest part for me; there will be silence and memories and tears. At least that’s how my birthday was.  Her husband doesn’t know what to do; in the past he’s done things that he thinks are helpful but actually aren’t – he’s not the brightest light in the sign – so I’m almost happy that he hasn’t gone and planned some big party or something like that.  Months ago, before my birthday came and went, I thought a party would be great.  She’s turning 50, that’s a big deal!  But now, I don’t know what’s right or wrong and I think she needs to say what she wants – whether she just knows that she wants to stay home and relax, pretend it’s not her birthday or she wants to get together with all of us and celebrate.  I would be happy to do either, whatever she wants.  On my birthday, she texted me.  She didn’t call, and I understood why.  My Dad did, but I understood why he did that, too.  Thankfully, she has to work on her actual birthday so I’m hoping that distracts her from it at least for some of the day. My mom would have called her at night though, so I know when the clock hits a certain time, and her phone doesn’t ring, her heart will break just a little bit more. I know mine did at 12:23pm when my phone was silent.

Slapped by Scott Stapp

It’s funny how sometimes, I’m just going about my day and doing regular things and suddenly BAM I get stopped in my tracks, even if only for a moment.  Today, I ventured out to the food store during my lunch hour.  I always have the radio on in the car – I am addicted to satellite radio – so on the way back to the office (the huge 3 minute or so drive) a Creed song comes on.  And I hear the line “how quickly life can turn around in an instant” and my eyes filled with tears before the lyric was even totally out of Scott Stapp’s mouth.  I’ve always been moved by music, no matter what the genre or song I can relate to a lot of what’s out there.  But this just bitch-slapped me hard-core and I couldn’t believe how one simple line hit me as hard as it did.  And even as I sit here now, I want to continue to cry because I connect with those words on such a deep and painful level right now.  My entire life changed, my center shifted, when my mom died; even though I was prepared for it, I knew it was coming, my life changed and I don’t know if I’ll ever get it back to the way it was.  I don’t think I’ve been the same person since we found out she was sick; everything changed the day I saw her walk through the door of the doctor’s office.   I don’t know if I’ll get back to that person I was; I hope that I can find my way back because the person I am right now is snappish, has very little patience and sometimes just wants to be left alone so desperately that I go in the bathroom and cry my eyes out into a towel so no one can hear me.  I had those types of moments before, just like everyone else, but they seem to be happening a lot more often these past few months and it would make me happy to see them gone.

How do you find yourself again when a piece of who you are and a piece of your history just ups and leaves your life forever?  How do you feel like you aren’t walking around in your transformed life like it’s a bad V-8 commercial?  How do you get back to being okay all the time, instead of whatever this is.

My Brain is a Defiant Child

My mom’s death has impacted all of us, each in its different way.  My sister and I  think that the impact on my dad is pretty deep; it appears that he’s now more aware of his own mortality and, I think, he feels like his days are numbered.  He says things now like “if anything should happen” a lot; my sister said that anytime he brings up meeting with the bank or his financial advisor he says it.  I think it stems from two things – he thought he was going to go first, and he didn’t so now he’s thinking “any day now”; I also think that there might be a part of him that hopes he’s next sooner than later.  And that part sucks mostly because I don’t know how I could take it if my dad died within months of my mom – I think my sanity would be compromised for sure.  He doesn’t want to be alone.  He’s been with my mom since he was 16; they lived across the street from each other until they were married and they remained married for just shy of 59 years.  He’s sick, he’s constantly at doctor appointments and every few months he goes into the hospital to have the artery in his arm opened up for his dialysis treatment.  He’s on who knows how many medications, he has a pacemaker, walks with a cane and he’s going to be 81 in a few weeks.  And his wife died.  And so did his son.  It’s a lot for someone to take and maybe, somewhere deep in his mind is the thought that he’s okay if he goes next and if he goes soon.  He sits in the house every night, alone.  I can’t think that he enjoys that silence, due to how it came about. 

I saw him today; I’m lucky enough to work close by so we can have lunch from time to time.  He said that, at some point, my sister and I need to go through my mom’s things – specifically her jewelry.  My mom was a bit of a jewelry whore, she really was and I don’t think she would deny it.  She loved diamonds – LOVED them.  When my sister got engaged (both times) she commented on  how small the diamond was and she really wasn’t happy that my sister accepted the rings – I believe she called the first one a “diamond chip”; she was pleased with the size of mine at just about a carat.  Anything under a carat wasn’t worth it as far as she was concerned. She had a lot of jewelry;  there was a time when she was a frequent Home Shopping Network fanatic and ordered from there at least once every week or so.  Some of her stuff isn’t worth anything monetarily but all of it has some type of value. Whether it’s the ring she waited months to come back into rotation on HSN, or the ring she got on her 16^th birthday from either her mother or her grandmother, it all has value.  There are things that I gave her, or that my sister gave her, that we’ll probably just divvy up according to the purchaser.  Other stuff, I guess we’ll see.  I am reluctant to do it.  Very reluctant.  There is still a part of my brain that thinks she’s still alive.  And it’s easy to do since I never talked to her on the phone; well, never is a strong word.  It was rare that I talked to her on the phone.  And since I hardly ever go to the house these days, it’s easy to pretend that she’s just not around or that she’s reluctant to get in the car or on the phone.  That part of my brain is like a defiant 2 year old who won’t put down the iPad to go to bed (sorry, recent experience with that); it yells NO and thrashes about when told it can’t have what it wants.  I know how to handle a 2 year old in that mode, but my brain, I’m not so sure.

Keeping up relationships

It's not easy doing this grieving thing and keeping my relationship on track. I've been a total bitch some days; sometimes for a lot longer than just a day. It's definitely taken a toll on us and who we are as a couple. He can't feel emotionally connected to me if I'm always distant. I can't feel emotionally close to him when all I'm doing is crying on the inside, yearning for solitude. But that s how I am sometimes, and it sucks. I don't feel like I can control it, which is also really hard for me since I'm a total control freak. I feel bad that he's stuck watching me on this journey. I can't take him with me on it, I wouldn't want to even if I could. But still. How do you stay happy and connected and maintain your relationship when you've lost a loved one? It's hard work, I will say that much.

Sometimes I'm a Bitch

I tried really hard – really hard – to not be a total byatch this weekend, and I think I failed miserably overall.  I snapped at Rob and at Emily for stupid reasons; I had an attitude the size of a small country and no matter how hard or what I tried, it wouldn’t totally go away.  I tried deep breathing, I tried to remember WHY I was being so snappy and I tried to image what my mom would say if I had an attitude with her (there was cursing involved and I think she would have said something like ‘get a clue’ or ‘hello!!’), I even tried to distract myself with other things like going for a walk and feeding ducks in the yard.  But nothing worked, it was like I was on auto-pilot and had forgotten the code to get back into control.

As I sat with Emily at bedtime last night, I cried.  I cried in the dark, quietly so she couldn’t hear me.  I cried because I’m just that sad, still.  I miss my mom and I missed her this weekend. She should have been sitting on the couch between my sister and my dad, watching as Emily “ooooo”ed over the surprise gifts she got for her birthday.  She should have been given a party hat as Emily passed them out and decided what color everyone should have (I think my mom would have gotten purple).  She should have been there to see how happy she was to see everyone; she should have heard her say “baba” to my dad when she tried to get his attention.  But she wasn’t there, or at least it didn’t feel like she was; no amount of wishing will bring her back in the physical form, I wish she could have shown up in whatever form she’s in now, though.  I’ve read accounts and I’ve seen the stories on TV – when someone in spirit is near you, you feel cold and you get goose bumps.  There were no bumps of the goose variety yesterday; there never are.  Almost six months and nothing.  I thought she would be with my daughter on her birthday, and maybe she was, but she wasn’t with me that day and she wasn’t with us this weekend – and if she was, I didn’t know it.

Sometimes I do truly feel like she hates me, or at least doesn’t care about me now that she’s gone.  And I’ve said it before – it’s one thing to feel that way when your mother is alive, it’s a whole other thing when she’s dead.  In death, she cares even less about me – at least that’s how it feels; she had stopped speaking to me before she died, she was mad at me, and I’m pretty sure she blames me for her going into the hospital so she most likely doesn’t want to be around me.  I get that, if she would be with anyone it would be my dad, but still.  I thought she would somehow be around for my birthday, for my daughter’s birthday.  But nothing.  I miss her more than I thought I would, more than I thought I could, and it doesn’t seem to matter.  No amount of crying or bitchiness or snappishness changes the fact that she’s gone and she’s not coming back in any way, shape or form apparently.  I thought that her threat of haunting us would have come to fruition by now, but now it just feels like a bunch of smoke blown up my behind for all those years.  All I hope for, every day, is that where ever she is she is happy and healthy and with people that she loves.  Everyone deserves that, even her and even if she does hate me.  I just want her to be happy.