Wednesday, October 26, 2011

My Mother, Myself, Part 2

In my last post, My Mother, Myself , I wrote about sharing my birthday with my mom, who was in the hospital with cancer. Mum passed away 10 days later. It was quiet and peaceful, a slowing down and stopping. She had been in the hospital for a month.

Mum died on Monday, October 17th, we held a memorial get-together for her on Friday, October 21st, at the senior's home where she had volunteered for the last 18 years of her life, my sisters and I and our families got together on Saturday, October 22nd to sprinkle Mum's ashes in Longue Sault, at a pretty spot on the bank of the St. Lawrence river, and then I went home.

I confess to having spent a few days trying not to think about Mum. Sunday was a hard day, and somewhere inside of me I decided that come Monday, I was going to be the Kelly that goes to school, that makes food for her family and cleans and needs to study for a history test this week. Not, the Kelly who's mum just died. Just for a few days. Still, I bought frames for Mum's pictures and put them up in prominent places where I tried, mostly unsuccessfully, not to look too hard at them. And I talked about Mum incessantly because as much as my brain may want to shut itself off, my tongue seems to be attached to my heart.

The problem is, this is uncharted territory. It's uncharted, not just because I have never had to deal with a loss this significant before, but also because each one of us is a unique being, with our own thoughts and feelings, our individual inner workings. When my sisters and I talk about what we are going through, we do share some similar experiences, but at the same our relationships with Mum were different and so our experiences in dealing with her death will be different.

So, how am I doing? I don't know. I think about Mum a lot. Every night I wrap myself up in a quilt that Mum gave me, and fall asleep holding on to a piece of black corral hanging on a chain around my neck. I feel anxious frequently, because I sense that my ability to deal with conflict is greatly (and hopefully temporarily) diminished. I am tired. A lot. It's the kind of tired that sleep doesn't relieve. I cry at unexpected and odd times, like in the post office or in history class. I find myself feeling irritated easily, which is probably connected to the fatigue and the anxiety. I have a hard time concentrating. Last week's history notes are a jumble of half finished sentences that I would start but not remember how to finish. And I want to take care of people. It seems that mourning my Mum has kicked my maternal instincts into over-drive.

On Saturday night, I found myself laughing hysterically at the antics of a comedian on the television. Then I was sobbing like a heart-broken child.

I guess that's how I am doing.

I want to take this time time express my deepest gratitude for all the kind words and thoughts that have been sent my way, and also for the prayers from my brothers and sisters in the faith. I pray that some day, you will know how much of a blessing and gift you truly are. I am a grateful woman. Thank you.

No comments:

My Zimbio