four. february 5, 2016

after my mom first passed away last march, a colleague handed me four booklets for dealing with grief that her husband had gotten after the loss of his parent. I thanked her. when I got home that night I opened Book 1 and read the first page and a half or so. after reading a sentence that said the pain might last for two years--or maybe it was five years--I tossed the book aside and thought, "forget this." and that's pretty much how I've dealt with my so-called grief since.

forget this.

I don't want any of this to be real.

I can picture my house, not my current grown-up house with my husband, dog, and kids, but my house...the one I grew up in with my mom and my dad, and I can SEE my mom there. she is standing in front of the stove stirring chili. she is putting make-up on in the bathroom. she is making her bed. she is looking at the new rug she bought and laid in front of the kitchen sink wondering if I like it or not, or if she should return it to kohls.

she's still there.

I mean, I can see her. her clothes are still there. her purse is still at the  end of her bed. her blue watch is still lying in her bathroom. her mary kay is still on the counter.

she's still there. could be there at anytime. I can still SEE her.

we're getting scarily and dangerously close to the anniversary of when the helicopter flew her to the hospital in Milwaukee and I sat in that green chair at the foot of her bed for two weeks, waiting.

two days ago I skimmed through Book 1 and Book 2 and started Book 3 until my kids called me away to play mancala.

one line said it was normal to go through this period of unreality. choosing to live in this false reality because it's safer and doesn't hurt, but that it will make the hurt way worse later.

so I get it. I get this. I do. i'm aware. but i'm going to stay in my unreality yet.

i'm not ready for it to be real.

within the past few weeks I've felt that reality sneaking up on me. I've had that near panic attack that it's going to hit, but I've been able to hold it off.

the Book also said that it'll be worse at night. in the quiet and dark of the middle of the night and that's true. that's when I can cry it out because that's when the worst of the breathless reality sets in for a few moments that she's really gone. like really, really gone ...like FOREVER. like the rest of my whole adult life. for all of my kids' future accomplishments. for in the morning when I want to call her or when i'm sick or my kids are or when i'm pushing my cart through the grocery store and there's not a chance in hell i'll run into her when I turn the corner. she's not at kohl's and she won't be at my son's first communion or graduation or birthday or wedding.

I went to the doctor tonight. I've been putting it off for months. thought i'd licked that months-long cold turned sinus infection. but I've been going deaf since sunday with plugged ears and finally gave in and went to the doctor.

it's been a long, long time since I last visited so I had to go through a whole health history.

"tell me about your parents. how is their health? any history of high blood pressure? cholesterol? anxiety?"

I don't cry. ever.

I cried in front of that poor girl in front of her laptop at the doctor's office.

"sorry. my mom died last year."

she handed me a box of Kleenex.

my mom had had a plugged ear for a year before she died. my plugged ear this week drove me crazy physically and mentally.

I have an ear infection. growing up I had so many ear infections, and always my mom slept by me as I ridiculously banged the wall in pain. she drove me to the doctor countless times in the middle of the night.

today I wanted to call her to laugh with her over the fact that i'm an adult and still I have an ear infection.

but I can't.

I called my dad. he bought a new van this morning.

he told me how he cried and shook buying a new van without her.

I don't even have any closure to end this post with.

miss you, Mom.