As the time draws nearer to February16th, I get
the memories of my mothers last day’s flooding back to me. The feelings take
over when I look back. Terror, fear, indescribable broken heartedness, & sadness.
I used to always think that once I lived through my husband’s
drug addiction that I was a rock, and nothing would ever break me again. I
lived those days knowing every one of them that I was wrong.
I imagine that this experience is a lot like what P.T.S.D.
must feel like. Being brought back to those memories like this takes a grip on
my heart and makes me grow so quiet. The deep desperation of the situation
makes me feel sick.
My mind plays back the days like movies.
- The minute I took my mothers hand alone in the ICU on that first Sunday with the uncertainty again of her survival heavy on my mind.
- Watching her sing Nancy Wilson in the dark, with my sister once out of the ICU.
- Staying up all night talking about nothing, about everything.
- Holding her hand in those final 2 days and silently praying for peace for her, for ourselves. We were so broken.
- The day I left the hospital for the last time with tears streaming down my face.
- Her memorial on the beach.
- All the places I have been, this year. I carried my mother in my heart like a weight of devastation that I could not let go.
In the beginning I was so angry at myself for carrying this
pain so heavy on my heart with me day in and day out; my own personal little
rain cloud, even on the sunny days to remind me of my mother’s absence. I felt
I should be stronger, I was disappointed in myself.
It was not until September that I realized I did not have to be
angry at myself anymore, and that it was ok to let a little of that pain go, it
didn’t mean I was forgetting her. I also realized it was ok to feel however I
was going to feel in any given moment; that it did not mean I was not strong.
Once I got that clarity, I was really able to live my life.
I got through my birthday, and the holiday’s far better then I ever anticipated.
It was only in the late nights in December that I had difficulty sleeping, so I
stayed up, baked and listened to music . I felt like she was there; like it was
our time to be together.
Trying to pull myself from the past, I instead now try to
divert my attention to the strides I really have made this year as a person, to
the total and complete experience, recognizing how far I have come.
On the other side of the worst part of the grief, I got to
see where I was going as a person, and how far I had come in these 12 months.
I stopped chasing the need to find proof of my mom’s existence
in every experience, and instead, I just experienced my life.
Looking back now, I think my mom’s greatest gift is this
enormous period of growth that the last days of her life, and her passing has
forced on me.
I may not be a million dollars richer, or even look like I
am much different on the outside, but I know I am. I know I am growing, & I
am grateful everyday that I am. I see amazing possibilities for me on the
horizon, and I welcome them.
I am still human and still have my times of sadness (like
right now) but, I know that I am ok, & my mom is with me wherever I am.
Looking back on myself at this time last year & to who I
am now, I am so proud. The path to being grateful for the lessons that the most
devastating experience of my life has given me has finally come full circle.
