No matter how difficult or complicated my relationship with mom was, she wasn't completely heartless.
I remember the day her mom died, and as I arrived at the hospital, when mom saw me in the hallway, she flung her arms around my neck and hugged me and we both sobbed.
Here I am grieving, a lot more intensely than I anticipated, sitting at my desk in my vacant office, sobbing almost to the point of hyperventilation as I type this, wishing to be comforted by my mom, in the way that mothers know how, even as broken as she was, the one person I want to comfort me right now is her.
When dad died, I felt like my world exploded--and yet in many ways it had not; however, now that mom has transitioned elsewhere in the ether, I feel like the last dregs of illusions that remained regarding "family," have dissipated along with her.
In so many ways I feel as if she had two distinct personalities--perhaps even more than that. I lived with the highs and lows of her being charming and hilarious, to emotionally and verbally destructive. I saw the bright eyed woman who was quick with a laugh steadily ebb away to a dull eyed woman withdrawing from us and the world around her. Pushing us away, and clinging and pulling us towards her, almost simultaneously.
I wish I got my shit together twenty-two years ago after my divorce. I wish I were stronger and had better coping skills. I wish I could have helped her more--I was too busy being distracted by reacting and insulating and licking my wounds. I wish I saved more of her voicemails than I did, but glad I managed to save the last couple years' birthday messages, and her Christmas message this year, and a message sometime after her birthday in March telling me it was a good one.
I resented the dynamic. I wished we could have had a healthier relationship. Perhaps it was better than I thought it was? I'm trying not to entertain too much self doubt. We both were adults. She participated in this too.
All that time I was pushing her away, and now all I want is to pull her back in for another hug, and feel the soft warm fat on her arms surround me.
Eighty-five days since the shut down and I've been working remotely. Forty-seven days since my last conversation with her--the same day her older sister died seventy-two years earlier. Thirty-seven days since she took her last breath.
And now I sob.
I remember the day her mom died, and as I arrived at the hospital, when mom saw me in the hallway, she flung her arms around my neck and hugged me and we both sobbed.
Here I am grieving, a lot more intensely than I anticipated, sitting at my desk in my vacant office, sobbing almost to the point of hyperventilation as I type this, wishing to be comforted by my mom, in the way that mothers know how, even as broken as she was, the one person I want to comfort me right now is her.
When dad died, I felt like my world exploded--and yet in many ways it had not; however, now that mom has transitioned elsewhere in the ether, I feel like the last dregs of illusions that remained regarding "family," have dissipated along with her.
In so many ways I feel as if she had two distinct personalities--perhaps even more than that. I lived with the highs and lows of her being charming and hilarious, to emotionally and verbally destructive. I saw the bright eyed woman who was quick with a laugh steadily ebb away to a dull eyed woman withdrawing from us and the world around her. Pushing us away, and clinging and pulling us towards her, almost simultaneously.
I wish I got my shit together twenty-two years ago after my divorce. I wish I were stronger and had better coping skills. I wish I could have helped her more--I was too busy being distracted by reacting and insulating and licking my wounds. I wish I saved more of her voicemails than I did, but glad I managed to save the last couple years' birthday messages, and her Christmas message this year, and a message sometime after her birthday in March telling me it was a good one.
I resented the dynamic. I wished we could have had a healthier relationship. Perhaps it was better than I thought it was? I'm trying not to entertain too much self doubt. We both were adults. She participated in this too.
All that time I was pushing her away, and now all I want is to pull her back in for another hug, and feel the soft warm fat on her arms surround me.
Eighty-five days since the shut down and I've been working remotely. Forty-seven days since my last conversation with her--the same day her older sister died seventy-two years earlier. Thirty-seven days since she took her last breath.
And now I sob.
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