It blows my mind that we haven't done a post here since January but, I love that our last post was mom's VERB post. It struck such a chord with so many people, I think it was right that it be there at the top for a while. But now, I'm back. Writing is therapeutic for me and, I have a lot of things on my mind so, consider yourself warned.
Today I want to talk about grief - about grieving. It has been 3 weeks (and 4 days) since mom died and I told Wyatt last week that I felt like maybe something was wrong with me, that maybe I wasn't grieving the way I should be. I felt like my heart wasn't broken enough, that my world wasn't shattered enough, and I felt a bit like an asshole for not curling up in the corner and crying all day, every day. I felt like my love for mom, our relationship, and her amazing-ness was/is worthy of absolute heartbreak and world-rocking sadness, but I didn't feel it, at least not to the extent that I thought I would or should. Now, don't get me wrong, I cried big ol' fat tears when she took her last breaths. I cried big ol' fat tears when I had to leave the Hospice Facility. Hell, I'm crying big ol' fat tears right now. But, my point is, more often than not, I'm happy. I'm laughing. I'm head-over-heels for my husband. I'm inspired by our kids growing up. I'm amazed by my sweet family and friends. I'm ok. And I was feeling guilty about that.
Then, Wyatt and some of my bests pointed out a few things to me:
1. We have been grieving for almost 2 years. We started grieving the minute we realized she wasn't tripping all the time because she just clumsy. We grieved when she was diagnosed with ALS. We grieved when she lost her ability to write. We grieved when she lost her ability to walk. We grieved when she lost her ability to talk.
We have grieved so many little losses and so many big losses over this time that yes, perhaps the "final" grieving stage may look and feel a little different than had we lost all of these things, and her, suddenly. We've talked often about which is worse, a sudden loss or a prolonged loss and there is no right answer - loss is loss and grief is grief no matter how long it takes.For those of us in the prolonged grief stage, we may feel some relief that she is free from the body that had stopped listening to her. We may feel some relief that we don't have to fear what the end looks like for her anymore. Relief is ok; I know she is relieved.
2. We gave it our all. From the moment she was diagnosed we poured every ounce of love that we had into her and she poured it right back into us. I think we've, for the most part, always lived that way but we really turned it up a notch these past 2 years. I know, without a doubt, that we left nothing on the table. Of course there will always be things I think of that I wonder if I said, little things I wish I had said, but, the big stuff, the stuff that really matters, she knew and she felt and I have complete confidence in that. She was loved. I was loved. We loved.
3. She was ready. Mom was always very clear about how she wanted to leave this world long before ALS ever came into our lives. When she was ready, she wanted us to let her go. More specifically, when she was ready, she wanted us to make sure that the covers weren't tucked too tightly around her feet, that her hair had some volume, and that she didn't have any whiskers on her chin, and then we could let her go. Mom was a do-er, and even though ALS stole most of her verbs, she DID until she couldn't any more and at that point, she was ready. We knew it in our hearts, we could see it in her eyes, and we knew it specifically because she told daddy she was. The amazing thing is that, she told us she was ready, and then waited long enough for all of us to get our last hugs and last words of love in before she left. She prepared us, as best anyone can, for this day and, once again, she went above and beyond.
So, no, my grief doesn't look like I thought it would and that's ok. It's there, I'm not in denial, I feel it, but I feel her more than that. I feel comforted and supported and loved by the people around me and by the people that knew her and loved her, too. I see her - in my kids, in butterflies that show up randomly, in pretty skies, in my dad. It's been 3 weeks and at the same time, it's only been 3 weeks. I know this could all change tomorrow and perhaps there will be days I spend crying in the corner... but I also know that if/when those days come, the next day I'll get up and I'll go VERB like my momma!
i.o. - Cat
