On grief: Weekends aren't easy

11/17/2013 09:35:00 PM
NoteI wrote this post on October 20th, 6 weeks to the day day 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.


Weekends are the hardest.

During the week there's plenty of opportunity to get lost in the details of work, school pick-ups, meetings, ballet, making dinner and swim class.
The weekends are when it's tough.

They're when I reach for the phone to call her.
They're when I think about her all.of.the.time.

It's hard to finish things, these days.

I started crocheting a blanket and I'm about 5 colors in after changing colors every two rows... and I just can't quite bring myself to finish it.

Blogging has been tough, too. I feel like I'm filled with exactly everything that no one really wants to hear about. I mean, here I am, 6 or so weeks after my Mom died and all I want to write about is being angry, being sad, being unmotivated and being blah.

I've strayed away from reading, too. Immediately following her death, I read Max Lucado's, "God will Use this for Good: Surviving the Mess of Life." And it resonated so, so much. It was short --like brochure-short. And I read it again and again.

It says, "You'll get through this. It won't be painless. It won't be quick. But God will use this mess for good. In the meantime don't be foolish or naive. But don't despair either. With God's help you will get through this."

And I think that sums it up.

I have no desire to read more books about death and grieving. I don't care why bad things happen to good people and while I understand and respect the stages of grief, I know where I am right now and I don't want to read about acceptance because at this point in my life I ABSOLUTELY do not want to ACCEPT that she's gone, thankyouverymuch. Pass.

It's still so close...
...yet it's lightyears ago.

This is October.
She died in September.

It may sound strange, but I like knowing that this all happened just last month. Not the death part, obviously. But I like remembering the parts before September 9th because one of my biggest fears is that she will soon become jsut a memory.

A "was".

And I know it will happen because I've lost a parent before and now he's a "was."

He isn't an "is."

And I know that it inevitably works out like that... but to think that she's not coming back, that I can't see or talk to her again, it breaks my heart.

Today, I can still say, "I just talked to her last month."

I just hugged her in July.

Oh, the tears as I type this. 

I miss her so much.

We're going through a drama right now with my Mom's husband. I will get into the details after it's settled.

All I want to do is call her and say, "CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS MESS?"

But I can't. Because she's not here.

My sister and I are doing all that we can to behave in the manner in which would make her proud and the other day, my sweetheart of a husband said to me after a particularly tough and annoying day, "I'm proud of you. Your Mom would be proud."

He told me that the "fire" that was always in my Mom, the feisty-moral-do-things-the-RIGHT-way and stand-up-for-yourself-ness that she possessed was clearly passed down to Taryn and I.

He said, "And I'm proud of you. I'm proud of Taryn."

He went on to say that he wants whatever it is that my Mom instilled in us to also be instilled in our girls.

I smiled and tears filled my eyes because I want them to be strong and courageous and to work hard even when the odds are against them, too. Because their Nana did.

I told Craig, I'm not sure how I'm going to do it, but I will try my hardest so that they have the fire, too.

Maybe that's how she'll stay alive.

She's the pilot light within me.
She's a compass.
She's a conscience and an accountability.
Even in her death, and perhaps even more so because of her death, I want to make her proud.


--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.



  1. Weekends are most definitely the hardest. I never thought I'd dread Thanksgiving or Christmas either. I'm glad to know you have a good support network.

  2. oh, Ky. she would be SO proud of you, my friend. i know it with all my heart. i loved that small yet powerful max lucado passage; keep clinging to the words and messages that make sense for now and may all of the others fall away and not get in the way of you being who you are and doing what you have to do moment by moment.
    love you, Miss

  3. My heart hurts for you. I truly believe her fire is inside of you all. What a sweet husband you have.

    (Holidays are the hardest. I wish they weren't. But they are.)

  4. HUGS

    I feel C's words say it all and there is no doubt that your girls will have that spirit and fire and strength too.


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