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.
Allison has been in kind of a funk lately. It’s her age, summer is too long, etc., etc. I have (as is my way) been trying to fix the situation. I get criticism from Allison that this is a “fault” of mine and sometimes she just wants to talk. Point taken and so I usually stay silent. Staying silent in the moment is one thing I can handle, but not trying to come up with a fix as soon as we stop having the conversation is another thing.
I have so many ideas and projects I want to do the list is ridiculously long. I would have to hire an assistant to complete all of the fun things I want to do. So in looking for something for Allison to pass the time, one thing I came upon was a great app called Stylebook. It’s where you take photos of all your clothes and make your outfits for a whole week! She was not interested. I showed her how she can change photographs to really anything with Photoshop. Not interested. I told her about a new Nintendo game app where you have to find the Pokeman in real time, kind of like a treasure hunt. Not interested.
Enter Tristan, my 20 year old son. I mentioned to him I had told Allison about the Nintendo app, but she was not interested. I said it must have been the way I had explained it. A few minutes later Tristan left and went into the living room where Allison was and this is what I heard:
“Hey, Allison, this game is superdope……”
I guess it is all in the delivery.
Gosh, I just realized how much my blog has taken a turn for the dark and depressing.
Remember the nonsense posts of Breaking Records, Dancing Queen, The Creamer and Wine Diet and Pretty Boy Crushes to name a few?
They were the posts of the good old days when I was only battling my bi-polar condition and medication. I wasn’t level enough to have handled my mom’s dying at that time. I certainly couldn’t have faced up to my abusive marriage and actually planning to leave instead of just fantasizing about it.
There must have been such a pile up of things that could only happened while I am well enough to deal with them. It must be God’s way of giving me only what I can handle.
Not to worry, I’ll get my old posts back as soon as my life stops “playing catch up”.
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?
I am crocheting and thinking. I crochet a dish cloth for my sister once every three or four years. This one is a reddish pinkish color. I contemplate whether it is a tomato or real red while my mother lies dying in her hospital bed. All I have done the last three days is think. I stare and think.
Someone said to me the other day when they found out that my mother was dying,
“Well, we all have to go through it don’t we?”
“No, “we” don’t”, I thought, “You have know idea how I am feeling. My mother isn’t like yours. She is amazing, smart, funny, interesting. She makes you feel like you are the only one in the world that matters.”
I’ve been like this all week. Anything someone says I take it as a personal affront. Everything is just trivial now. Bills, work, going the speed limit, laundry.
Does everyone feel like this when their mother dies? I had no idea. I was always sympathetic, but I had no idea it was so debilitating emotionally. The sadness is almost overwhelming.
All those “never agains” just keep piling up in the back of my mind.