Mattie sent this song to me in an e-mail just days before...
There have been many times that I have used the phrase "I cannot express" to express something. I cannot express how thankful I am. I cannot express how stupid I felt. I cannot express how shocked I was. Had I worked a little harder, I could have probably expressed those things. And, as a writer, I probably shouldn't be writing that "I cannot express" anything and should instead be reaching for the words. That said, I cannot express, I cannot convey, I cannot even understand how disconnected I feel from the passing of time. It has been six months to the day since we lost my mom and I cannot express how untrue that feels. It was days ago to me. A week at most. Truly, that's how it feels.
Truly.
I woke up and she was gone. Sitting next to me, she was gone. It could have been yesterday. It could have been this morning.
I've heard (and tried to study without much success) about time not being a real scientific concept. Something to do with quantum physics and a fourth dimension. I have no comprehension of it and I'm certainly not going to try to explain it, I can only say that six months have passed since that morning and I don't know how I spent those months; I'm not sure that time actually occurred.
I wish I could tell you otherwise. I know people want to see and hear that time has been doing its healing thing. I can see it in their eyes. Make this easier for me, their eyes beckon. Tell me you're okay.
"I'm okay," I say.
I am okay. I'm breathing. I'm waking up and getting through my days. But I am also living with a constant and sickening sadness in my gut that, were I not bearing it, would seem unbearable. All my sisters are too. Sometimes we just bear it on our knees. And since time has stopped, since its passing is no longer real, this feeling has not dissipated. In fact, and my sisters and I have discussed this, things seem to be getting harder. Probably because it's spring and that means she's everywhere. Every popping crocus, every saluting daffodil, every brilliant tulip---they are her. They are reminders of the joy that spread over her face as the world found color. They are the joy and color of her.
I'm not seeking sympathy or even understanding (I would have never understood this before losing someone to whom I was this close) but I just have to be honest about it, at least here. She was just beside me this morning. Just last night, as I did the night before she died, I told her, "Even though I'm grouchy sometimes, Mom, I love you so much." And I hugged her.
"Oh, my girl, I know that," she said and hugged me back. I know that.
We (Cherie, my mom and I) were watching a movie at the time, Little Women, and as the March girls greeted and hugged their Marmee, I began to cry and said I was sad that I wouldn't be able to hug her always. That's what got me to rise and cross the room and go to her and she said so tenderly, "Oh, you're sad to lose me," and held me tightly. Less than ten hours later, she was gone.
She hugged me back. I love you so much. My girl, I know that.
I know how lucky I am that I had that. I know all who loved her wanted that hug and I hope in writing about it, I am sharing even a piece of it...
I don't dream about her with any consistency. As much as I've tried to meditate on the thought of her, running my fingers through the tassels of her blanket as I fall asleep the way she used to do, I can't bring her to me whenever I choose. But last night, she came. In the dream I was in my parents' house and all of a sudden she walked into her kitchen, beaming with the warmest smile. I said, "Mom, what are you doing here?" and I ran and threw my body into hugging her. She hugged me back. I know I am lucky for this too.
You think you're out of tears and then there they are. Today, I was texting with my aunt who had knee surgery this morning and got sick from the pain meds. I said I wished I could be there to hold her hair, rub her back and hand her a tissue. This was my routine with my mom, I told her, and she wrote back and told me that she knew of this routine...that my mom had told her. Even those little things, my mom appreciated. The tissue. The colors.
"My Laura," my aunt reported that my mom had said. My girl.
And there they are. More tears. Colors.
I couldn't have loved my mom any more than I did and all I ever hope for is that she knew. Even now there's something in me that is trying to communicate with her, trying to say, I will never stop thinking of you, I will always love you...I'm still waiting for you to come back if you decide, you know, maybe you want to. It's absurd, really. Dan and I always laugh about how when the power goes out it's like our short-term memory malfunctions. You go to turn on the light...oh yeah, the power is out. So then you walk into the kitchen and throw a piece of bread into the toaster...oh yeah, the power is out. That's what losing my mom has been like. A hundred little moments during the day when I say to myself, oh yeah, she's gone.
And it's like those hundred little moments are really just one moment. I wake up, I look beside me and she's gone. Oh yeah, she's gone.
Today, six months later, and it's still, oh yeah, she's gone. Time hasn't happened. Nothing has changed. Nothing has changed since everything changed, I mean.
But when I have a dream like last night's I want to believe she's visiting me. That she wants to bring me comfort. That she knows I'm longing for her still. Knows that I would do anything to have her back. That I wish I had loved her harder. I wish I had said it more.
That I wish I had woken up earlier.
And she is trying to tell me, I know that.
Oh, my girl, I know that.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
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13 comments:
Speechless.......speechless.
xoxox
oh Lola that was me...Amy love you!
Laura you continue to awe me...I will be brought to tears over this one for a long while.. Your writing is so beautiful, so raw, it is peircing to the soul...Lots o love to you... Erin Rodrigues
Oh you did share...
"that hug and I hope in writing about it, I am sharing even a piece of it..."
Thanks for sharing Laur, beautiful.
..beautiful song too.
Love,
Mart
You are an incredible woman. Truly.
BFYFM
xoxo
Thanks y'all. This was one of those posts that gave me a mental hangover so I'm grateful for the feedback...and most of all for the love and support!
laura, what a beautifully written expression of your grief and sorrow. you truly have a special gift and a story to tell. Your words are poignant, heartbreaking, raw and honest. They resonate with anyone who has lost a mother no matter how much time has passed. Thank you
6 months... It indeed still feels like yesterday. How have we lived through half a year already without our bright big sun in the sky, whom we gravitated around our whole lives like the planets in the atmosphere?? So sad.
Lo- this piece was absolutely beautiful. Don't have a hangover from it... I am so glad you shared that, it brought forth the much needed cry that was waiting in the wings. *I love you so much*
Lo: don't ever have a mental hangover about being honest about your feelings. It's a choice to read the Spew....or, what I'd like to call, a gift. This made me weep...it was beautifully written. Thank you for so eloquently expressing all of our feelings. Love you!
cracked me wide open sweet Laura...thank you for sharing; sharing your heart and that hug. you continue to amaze me. love you
Laura,
You were silent here long enough, and now you have begun to give voice to your loss, pain and sorrow. You speak for all of us who miss Jeanne, and we are grateful. In sharing, the hurt becomes softer, and it becomes clear that your hurt and ours comes from the depth of our love.
The hole in your heart will always be there; you will learn to live with it; remember to keep loving.
Unbelievably touching! Sitting at my desk (yes I'm on the internet at work...shoot me!) crying! Love you Laura!
You just have to believe that those "dream visits" are just a really awesome gift- so cool. I sat down to read your blog- I haven't in such a long while... but "the boys" (Owen and Jeff) are watching a movie, and it is raining out, and I just finished making them cookies.. so I have a few moments of peace in the kitchen. Anyhow, I just keep on reading, catching up on your posts, and how things have been for you.
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