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valarltdToday was Mom's Birthday.
Facebook helpfully reminded me of this fact first thing this morning. And I got misty.
I found the card I bought in September. Staples was going out, selling all its cards, beautiful expensive Hallmark, for $1 each. I bought Dad's, since his birthday is in September. I bought Mom's, an act of faith that I would need it.
Grief is a strange beast. It's less great black bear of devouring, and more a slinking Gila monster. It lurks around odd corners, and bites men when I don't expect it. And unlike a rat, which would just bite, the grief gets in and gnaws.
It hit me last week at the doctor. I wanted to call Mom and ask about something going on with Oli. It hit me Friday on my way to work. I wanted to call, see if she was having a beautiful sunny day, with 60 degree weather, see if she was feeling well enough to enjoy it. It hit me when a friend came down with an allergic rash.
Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. Slink and chomp.
She's been gone just right at 40 days. (OK, 38) She'd have something Biblical to say about that, and I'd remind her that it was an idiom, like our phrase "a couple weeks" which means anything from 10 to 18 days.
Mom never really got grief. She was very much the "don't cry because things are better for that person now." I am not crying for her. I'm crying because there is a big chunk missing out of my life and the raw edges of the wound just got jabbed.
It's all okay. I'll be fine. But my constant companion is still lurking and waiting to gnaw on me a little more.
Facebook helpfully reminded me of this fact first thing this morning. And I got misty.
I found the card I bought in September. Staples was going out, selling all its cards, beautiful expensive Hallmark, for $1 each. I bought Dad's, since his birthday is in September. I bought Mom's, an act of faith that I would need it.
Grief is a strange beast. It's less great black bear of devouring, and more a slinking Gila monster. It lurks around odd corners, and bites men when I don't expect it. And unlike a rat, which would just bite, the grief gets in and gnaws.
It hit me last week at the doctor. I wanted to call Mom and ask about something going on with Oli. It hit me Friday on my way to work. I wanted to call, see if she was having a beautiful sunny day, with 60 degree weather, see if she was feeling well enough to enjoy it. It hit me when a friend came down with an allergic rash.
Gnaw. Gnaw. Gnaw. Slink and chomp.
She's been gone just right at 40 days. (OK, 38) She'd have something Biblical to say about that, and I'd remind her that it was an idiom, like our phrase "a couple weeks" which means anything from 10 to 18 days.
Mom never really got grief. She was very much the "don't cry because things are better for that person now." I am not crying for her. I'm crying because there is a big chunk missing out of my life and the raw edges of the wound just got jabbed.
It's all okay. I'll be fine. But my constant companion is still lurking and waiting to gnaw on me a little more.
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no subject
Date: 2015-01-23 01:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2015-01-23 06:00 am (UTC)Its been a little over a year since my mom has been gone. Those raw edges are still sore. It surly doesn't take much to open the wound up just a little. It has gotten better though. I am so glad I had her with me for the last year of her life. We made many new memories. I will cherish them for the rest of my life.
The D-Man Checks In
Date: 2015-01-23 03:57 pm (UTC)Sometimes... Just being held says everything in times and places when & where words would all but surely fail.
no subject
Date: 2015-01-23 08:44 pm (UTC)*hugs*.