I was standing designing library signs on the computer. All of a sudden I burst into tears. Well not really burst, no one knew I was crying, but I felt like I had burst.
It started with my eyes stinging and then some deep breathes and face getting all scrunched up. I realized at that point it was too late to keep it under wraps and I went into the office and shut the door. The office was dark, but one wall is all windows that face the library. I positioned myself between the door and the wall in a shadow so no one could see me falling apart.
I stood for a couple of minutes silently with tears running down my cheeks. Inside my brain was battling was this really necessary for me to be crying in the first place and how much further and animated was this about to go?
While I was pulling a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe my eyes I began to sob. Sobbing is heart breaking even for the person doing it. When I was young I would let it all hang out and make as much noise as I felt necessary. Now days I hardly ever cry, but when I do it is as quietly and reserved as I can manage.
Silently sobbing, my chest heaving and drying my eyes lasted a few more minutes until I felt I could move on and begin to recover. I put my glasses back on trying to disguise some of the red face. It’s always my red nose and lips that give me away.
I preach to everyone that a good cry is usually beneficial. It wasn’t today. It was horribly emotional and physically painful.
I haven’t written in a while because I have been completely up to my neck in getting a divorce. It’s really happening this time. My sweet narcissist husband started his old tricks last night of twisting my words and making veiled threats. I was doing really well until I realized that he still has hold of me in a PTSD sort of way. I fell into his trap and said a few things I had sworn I would not say as to not make things worse than they already are. I was supposed to be laying low and silently suffering the way I had learned to after years of this treatment. I’m still kicking myself for not being able to hang on to my cutting words.
It was feeling overwhelmed today and not having anyone to talk to about it is what set me into tears. I realized that I wanted to talk to my mom. She was good for that. She listened to me for years about him and always made me feel tough and fiery. She didn’t give great advice, but she listened and was completely on my side.
For the first time in almost two years I missed her. Two years since I’ve talked to her. It hit me hard that she is dead. And realizing I needed her for that made me start thinking of the other things I miss. Honestly, I just feel like hell today.
You know what I did today? I drank wine out of a mug so my son wouldn’t question me. It was 12:30 in the afternoon. I was feeling so depressed that I thought it might help. It was that second mug that finally put a dent in it.
I realize that the trauma of my mother dying is making me depressed. Very understandable. This may be the most normal reaction I’ve ever had to anything.
I have to get my act together. I think it’s the three weeks on overdrive trying to make her feel comfortable, help my family and come to grips with her dying. Now with nothing left to do I feel like I’ve fallen off the edge of a cliff. That’s when the depression set in.
It’s “normal”, but when have I ever been normal?
No more wallowing for me.
I’ve got a mountain of laundry to do. The kitchen is a health hazard and my appearance has a lot to be desired. I think I’ve worn the same three outfits for the last two weeks. I cancelled my hair appointment and my legs are hairy. Allison needs her mother back and Tristan should be able to ask me how I’m doing without me turning into a crying mess. The dog hasn’t been walked, I haven’t gone to work in two weeks and my Christmas tree is still up.
I am still in shock, but isn’t it time to physically rise up and start participating in my life again?
Hmm, no, not yet, not today.
Please excuse me if I my post is incoherent. I’m half-drunk with the wine I’ve been drinking since 10pm. I didn’t start out planning to get drunk. I was just trying to wait out my family in order to get some peace and quiet.
Oldest visiting daughter, Emily, went to bed at 10pm. Allison, the youngest, wanted to stay up until midnight. I let her stay up. Just as the ball dropped my husband came home!
After discussing the recent death of my mother, he wanted to know why there wasn’t a funeral. She didn’t want one.
He wanted to know why there wasn’t an obituary. She didn’t want one.
Why don’t I print up some photos and have them at the “Memorial”? She didn’t want that.
It’s hard enough trying to wrap my mind around what has happened in the last two weeks let alone try to experience it with someone who doesn’t understand the nuances and complications of my mother’s and my relationship.
It’s actually pretty simple to me, I loved her and I miss her already.
My mum died yesterday. I saw her body and the realization fell on me. She’s really not here anymore. I feel scared. That’s the last feeling I thought I’d feel. I’m a grown woman with a family of my own and I’m scared my mother isn’t here anymore. What if I need her?
When I talk to my dad it feels like he is trying to protect me from the truth. I know he knows what it may be, but says it’s not smart to speculate, so he doesn’t tell me. He must understand how impossible it is for the human brain not to speculate when only given bits and pieces of information, not enough to form a complete picture. I know he is speculating, against his will, but he is speculating.
We were supposed to know last Tuesday and then on Thursday. All I have to rely on are quick cryptic text messages from my dad as the information trickles in from the medical professionals. In the meantime we are all looking up symptoms on WebMD and the Mayo Clinic website. Speculating.
Friday she ended up in the hospital, but was released and is now convalescing on my dad’s couch.
Monday. That is the day the labs come back.
Scared? Sad? My head is spinning, maybe I am just stunned. My mother used to be as strong as a horse physically. I never thought of her as old. My dad said he used to refer to her as an ant, carrying more than her body weight. Now she is so small and thin. Her hair is snow white and her skin is almost see through.
Our relationship has always been quite on and off. I had an old post that said how much it hurt when she stopped sending me birthday cards, but lately she has been trying so, of course, I welcomed her back with open arms.
I’m afraid she may have waited too long to come back and now she’ll be gone again.