One month has passed since my world changed. Yes, I’m writing about the death of my mother once again. This blog provides a type of therapy and it’s needed these days. I honestly do not want attention, I only hope that in some small way it helps someone else that is struggling. May they know they are not alone, may they find hope in God, and may they reach out if help is needed.
The past couple days have been quite difficult for me, I have felt the depression coming on, and the sense of loss very present. The moments of just sitting and staring blank at the wall across the room or only half hearing what someone is saying. There weren’t too many tears on these days but more numbness. It’s progressing.
Progressing to the point that I want to just not have to deal with anything that has to do with the passing of my mother. I am ignoring the items in my garage to go through, wishing away the messages about my mother’s estate between us siblings, and the reality of the fact that she isn’t in her recliner in her home on a daily basis.
That’s where I am for the moment. I don’t feel guilty, I just feel I need a break. Yet when I try to take a break or walk away things happen that bring the reality to the forefront. It’s no ones fault, it’s just this way in life.
As I walked through a store today I noticed they had Christmas items out. The thought crossed my mind of how we always do an ornament game at Christmas at my mothers. Mom had no problem stealing your ornament if she thought it was the best one. That used to bug me, now I wish she was here to do it this coming holiday season.
As I washed the dishes a few days ago that I brought home from her house I did it in a quiet manner alone. I wondered if there were dishes from my kitchen that my daughters would see and recall memories from childhood like my siblings and I did. The yellow bowls, yellow and white platter, and the green glass bowl just to name a few were the ones for me.
The friend or acquaintance that means well and asks the same question I have to others many times myself. “How are you?” For just a slight moment I think, “I wonder if they really want to know?” Then I normally tell them I’m fine or getting by!
It’s not the end of the world that my mother died. It’s not. But it still hurts, it still makes me feel sad, even when I know the truth. The truth that this life on earth is not what we are promised. That eternal life will bring me more peace and happiness than I could ever imagine and both my parents once again.
So, for now. Just know that I’m not myself, even if I am trying hard to be just that. For when I’m going through the day at a steady pace, odds are I would like to crawl into my bed and pull the covers up over my head. This too shall pass.
Grace is a gift,