on grief: 8 weeks.

NoteI wrote this post on November 4th, 8 weeks after my Mom died. I've been sharing parts of this process on my blog, but in order to protect myself, I am sharing them several weeks or so after I wrote them. I want to be able to look back at these posts and see how I've grown...  Besides, the emotion seems less sharp and raw a couple of weeks later? Maybe? I think this is my way of gaining perspective. So, ignore scattered thoughts. Ignore poor grammar and punctuation. These words were a pure stream of emotion.

::

11.4.2013

Today is 8 weeks.
My Mom has been dead for 8 weeks.
Just two months ago, which sounds like an eternity, she woke up, put her makeup on, got in her car, and never got out.

I still can't believe that she died in her car.
I still can't believe how the accident happened. And I wonder if I ever will.
A friend today wrote on my blog something to the effect that "closure" is elusive; it's just a misinformed concept that somewhere along the way we all thought up. I agree. I concur. I stand up, raise my arms in the air and say, "Amen."

There is no closure when someone you love dies. There is no "it's ok now" when the first person who ever loved me is gone.

::

Today I found myself doing what I do on Mondays: re-tracing. "She was in her car driving at this time." Or, "She was dead by this time... and I didn't know it." I hate Mondays.

And I find myself repeating the word, "dead" in my head because I may subconsciouly think that the more times I say it the more it'll make sense. It'll finally register. Like when you're at the grocery store and the cashier moves a can or a a box of something over the scanner several times waiting for it to finally beep and go through. Then, she finally gives up and dials it in.

I keep trying to scan over the reality of the situation but my brain won't accept it. Then I have to manually dial it in: "She's gone, Kylee. Gone."

::

I was thinking about her arms today. I was thinking about her skin. In July, when we were in Ohio, she asked me to help her do her hair. Her blonde, wispy hair was thinning - it had been for years. Unfortunately, not due to age but due to malnutrition and the effects of her kidney failure and her body starving. She liked to make her hair look fuller, naturally. She asked me to curl the back of her hair, and I did. And I hurried through it because I'm not a hair dresser. I don't even pay attention to the back of my own head.

I remember I daintly held her baby-fine hair in my hand. What I would give right now to touch her hair again.
I cry as I type this because I just want to touch her. I want to feel the warmth of her skin against mine. 
I want her to say, "Kylee, you know I love you so much" just ONE more time and this time, when she says it in the middle of a shopping trip at Target, I won't say, "Ok, enough, Mom... enough... I heard you!"

I'd let her hold me longer. And I'd hold her back.

::

It's not fair.

None of this is fair. 

::

During the week I stay busy. I work full-time, I have my girls to pick up from school, ballet and swim class, and then homework and dinner and baths and storytime... but it's the weekends. Oh, the weekends are so hard. 

I want to talk to her. I want to tell her what's going on.

I want to hear what she thinks. 

::

It's hard not to feel like an outsider. I look around and so many people still have their Moms. I'm the only one out of my cousins who has two dead parents. I'm the only one of my friends. I feel jealous of their situations. I know that for a few weeks following the death of my Mom they held their own moms closer; they didn't get so easily frustrated or angry with her, maybe. But then time marched on and life settles back into the old way... the same 'old, same 'old. 

But it's not that way for me. It's not that way for Taryn. I would give anything to settle into the same 'ole, same 'old... at least for a few more months or years. I want to stop time, reverse it. Enjoy it.

But I know in my heart that it wasn't meant to be that way. She was only supposed to live until she was 59. I guess.

I can't believe it, but I guess.

::

I worry about the future. I worry about how someone so REAL, so much a part of WHO I AM is going to live on... My girls are going to grow up and say, "Yeah, my Mom's mom... she died when I was really young. I really don't remember her." Meanwhile, I cry and should, my heart flooding with tears, "But you SHOULD have known her. YOU GUYS, she was so cool. She was so funny. And strong. And witty. And creative. And incredible... "

But maybe I'll be able to look at them and show them... "You're this way, because of your Grandma."

I hope they grow up feeling like they know her. I really, with all my heart, do.

::

Oh my heart. 
I cry and I sob as I write this becauase it just hurts.
The tears continue to flood my eyes and then it stops. And then it starts again. And the hole is still there.

I hate today. 
I hate eight weeks.
I hate all of this.

::

It's hours later, and I'm still sitting in the same chair. Still crying. I'm pretty certain I've cried all my makeup off.
Sometimes it feels as if the tears just won't stop.

Photobucket


--The Story of Loss. On Losing my Mom.
September 9, 2013  ::  The day I found out ::  Post here.
September 16, 2013  ::  It's One Week today  ::  Post here.
September 25, 2013  :: The Call  ::  Post here.
September 30, 2013  ::  Slivers of Sunlight  ::  Post here.
October 6, 2013  ::  That first week.Those first days :: Post here.
October 14, 2013  ::  14 days after  ::  Post here.
October 20, 2013  ::  I found a treasure  ::  Post here.
November 4, 2013  ::  She's been gone for 4 weeks  :: Post here.
November 13, 2013  ::  I smile and drive and cry and smile and cry  :: Post here.
November 17, 2013  ::  Weekends aren't easy  :: Post here.
November 26, 2013  ::  The holidays, the firsts  ::  Post here.

4 comments:

  1. Ky, I love you. I'm sorry. I feel so useless. I wish I could do something, ANYTHING. I love you, friend.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Oh friend, thank you. You know, today? I'm ok. I'm purposely writing these and then sharing them weeks later because it gives me perspective. And, honestly? It makes me feel better knowing that I'm doing better... today.

      Still, these were my feelings. And I remember the night I wrote this. I just stayed up and cried and cried and cried.

      And that's ok. Because she deserves my tears and because we all need to feel our feelings.

      I love you and I am SO THANKFUL that you've been such a good friend to me. Truly.

      Delete
  2. this was a hard one for me to read friend, in a good way (is that possible?). i also like that you're writing then publishing a bit later, so as to give yourself that perspective; i'm sure every little bit helps. but this one made my heart hurt with yours; i wish with all that i have that she'd be back here on earth with you.
    love you, Miss

    ReplyDelete
  3. Oh Kylee.

    Things said in this post just really make me think. One more hug. One more conversation. Sigh.

    And there is no doubt in my mind her spirit will live on through you and that your girls WILL remember her, maybe not in the physical way, but in what she has passed down to you and you (without even knowing all the time) are passing on to them. Those things that made your mom who she is, that spirit inside her...those can never be taken away from you and your girls will remember her through that.

    HUGS to you.

    ReplyDelete

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