The thing about grief...

The thing about grief is that it's never-ending. People who don't know, will tell you it gets easier. People who do know will sit in silence while you express your fears, your guilt, the constant hum of their missing presence in your life.

My only advice?
Ignore the ones who don't know.
While it is nice to have someone acknowledge your pain, it's also often more harmful than good (Oh, you 'know' how close we were? Well, I 'know' that you don't!).

My dad said yesterday that it's time for him to move on.

Move on...
What does that mean? How come he can... after 30 years... and I can't? Susie told me she 'moved on' after three months. I know my brother hasn't. I know I haven't.

The thing about grief is that it's okay not to move on. I've forgiven myself for my selfishness over this situation. I have wonderful friends who let me have my release. They let me tell the whole story. Because it hurts to hold it in. And they understand. It's an exchange. Something we do for each other.

The thing about grief is that often, people laud you for having a family to lean on. What they don't understand is that you don't want to make it hard for your family. You don't want others to feel the stress of your situation. I'd rather hold it in than see my brother cry or hurt.

The thing about grief is that you need to take your time. My sister looks at me strangely when I speak of therapy appointments and anxiety and stress and situational depression. She lost a mother as well. But I lost a close friend a week before my mother to a vicious cancer that was unrelenting. I lost a grandfather figure (one I loved more than my own flesh and blood grandfathers) two years before. I lost a baby - one I was so excited to welcome to the world. One that I wouldn't abort, that I wouldn't feel years of guilt about. One that would know my love. I lost my faith.

So yes, it will take me a while to grieve for all my losses.  But the thing about grief is that it is okay.

Omnipresent...

I really, really, really hope that my mom can't see or know what I'm up to.
I know what everyone says. "Oh, she'll be with you always."
Um, I hope not. Is she with me in the bathroom? Does she watch me be 'intimate' with Anthony?
I'm blushing... profusely! at the thought.

Does she know that I once loved a girl more than I've ever loved a boy?
Does she know that I won't be as close to 'them' because of their gossip about me?
Does she know that I wrote off about twenty friends, including my 'bestie' -
All because I would rather have a few close ones than the inquiring questions of
Fake, processed, and self-absorbed beasts?

I wonder... does she approve? Did she know all along?
Does she know I have higher hopes than working all of my life?
That when I see women with Tiffany bracelets and yachts, I think, that will be me?
I hope not. If she knows my thoughts... she knows how truly self-centered I am.
And that's not how she raised me.

Defining.

It's really difficult.
People don't understand that her death - it defines me. When I introduce myself to people, I want to say, 'Hello, my name is Mary. 25 years old, Virgo. Motherless, as of 10 months ago.'

This isn't something that is a 'tragedy'. It's not something to 'get over'. This was cancer. And the disease, it's still there. It's weaving its way through my thoughts daily. I hate it. I hate it. 


I saw a woman at the store today. She looked just like my mom. I hate her. I hate her for having the same hair cut as my mom. For being the same height. For wearing glasses. For making me fall apart inside in public. For causing the familiar throbbing burn in the back of my throat.

How do you explain these things... to people who haven't lost a mother? To people who are defined by career or by parties or by Jesus or by smiles?

How do you explain the sleepless nights. The anger. The medication that just makes me feel crazier.
I MISS MY MOM.
I miss her so damn much.
I miss her smell. I miss her voice. I miss her hugs. I miss her silence. I miss her when I watch the same TV shows that she watched. I miss her yelling at me. I miss the way she cooked. I miss seeing her by the stove. I miss her cute mom pants. I miss her soft hands and perfect nails. I miss her smile. I miss her crooked teeth. I miss her, I miss her, I miss her.  It's not fair.

I feel like I can wake up tomorrow, and have a voicemail waiting from her. I feel like putting the cement block over her grave was premature. What if Jesus cured her and she is stuck in the coffin?

Irrational thoughts. But they're there. They haunt me.
It's just... really difficult.