I woke up crying just now.
Two years ago, New Year’s Eve, I had the last “day” with my mother. She was vibrant, alive and quite happy. The family was together and we ate crab legs, took wonderful pictures, laughed at the kids, hugged and just loved each other. It’s been two years and it feels like yesterday. It feels so close to me, it’s as if time has not passed since that New Year’s Eve that was her last.
I feel like it’s been my last as well.
Someone came to my home a few months ago and said to my husband, “Why is the house a mess…she doesn’t even work?!” An unnamed loved one said to me “Other mom’s don’t seem to have this difficult of a time.” This week, a friend commented that my house looked like an obstacle course. Indeed, it does. Everything I’m attempting to do has obstacles. I am constantly “trying to clean.” I am always “trying to keep up.” I am forever trying to “get organized.” I told my brother, I think I realized that I’m just not good at keeping house. Which is a big bummer, because apparently this is part of my job requirement. I’ve been seeking ways to rationalize this inadequacy in being able to keep up with anything.
I think it’s the glasses I’m wearing.
I have been wearing these grief colored glasses for a long time now and the shade of grief they are seems to be getting darker. I am trying. I am really trying to be a good mother, a decent wife, a faithful friend….but I am failing at all of it. I can’t find a place to set down these glasses and it is making it really difficult to do anything. Anything. The pain of her loss is paralyzing me.
There have been two moments in my life that have changed me permanently. The first was the divorce of my parents. I remember waking up different. I remember thinking about that Jessica that existed yesterday, but is gone today. I was 16. I was forever different.
It has happened again. The Jessica that I knew before my mother died, is simply not there.
She is not here.
I’ve been trying to live normally. I’ve been trying to move on...having the third baby I wanted, producing shows, directing races, seeking counseling, praying to God, exercising, playing with my kids and even attempting to be a better friend to my husband, but trying to live normally is not really working well for me.
“It takes a lot of time,” friends keep saying. Sure it does. I know that, but a lot of time is too much time. I’m going to spend these years grieving with my children so young, I’m missing them. “Any grieving longer than 12 months is considered depression,” my doctor said to me. 12 months!? Really? I’m supposed to grieve for one year for my mother?
That cant be right.
“You just seem so angry about everything.” Another unnamed loved one has said.
Yes. Yes, I am. I am angry about everything. Damn near everything makes me angry.
Oh, I am trying. I really, really am. I am trying really hard to deal with what I’m feeling. I’m sure all of it is normal….to an extent. Grief is really something, I’ll tell you that. And I will tell you that, because that is who I am. I tell everything.
My heart is on my sleeve. I suppose that is one thing that has not changed.
