It's already September! My parents always said that when you reach a certain age time starts to move more quickly. I just took that as yet another one of their millions of unfounded beliefs, superstitions, or general ignorance. But I was wrong, because I have now reached that age. Days seem to either fly by or drip on incessantly like a leaky faucet next to your bedroom. Somehow they inevitably pass before I can accomplish a minute fraction of the things on my To Do List. In my mind, time balls up in a big clump, like Kiara's hair balls - almost inextricably tangled, but able to be teased with great effort and time. My ball of memories is now sliding downhill like an Olympic Slalom Skier.
It's been six months, tonight, since my mother died. I may have mentioned that, but probably not. It is not until now, and not without difficulty that I am finally able to write about it.
This is going to sound weird, but my mother's death has been one of the most awesome experiences of my life. I have never felt such extreme emotions for such a long and intense period of time. And I've had my share of negative experiences, most of which involved my mother, and not the least of which is growing up watching her get beaten and abused on a regular basis.
Yet, her dying process, her death and for weeks and months afterward, I dwelled in emotional pain so acute that it sometimes felt like ecstasy. Maybe I surpassed the limitations of grief and broke into a new dimension of emotion. All I know is that until recently, I was not so sure that wanted to live anymore. It was part exhaustion from the burdens of stress and sadness and partially survivor guilt. I could cry at any moment and cried at least once daily.
It's been six months, tonight, since my mother died. I may have mentioned that, but probably not. It is not until now, and not without difficulty that I am finally able to write about it.
This is going to sound weird, but my mother's death has been one of the most awesome experiences of my life. I have never felt such extreme emotions for such a long and intense period of time. And I've had my share of negative experiences, most of which involved my mother, and not the least of which is growing up watching her get beaten and abused on a regular basis.
Yet, her dying process, her death and for weeks and months afterward, I dwelled in emotional pain so acute that it sometimes felt like ecstasy. Maybe I surpassed the limitations of grief and broke into a new dimension of emotion. All I know is that until recently, I was not so sure that wanted to live anymore. It was part exhaustion from the burdens of stress and sadness and partially survivor guilt. I could cry at any moment and cried at least once daily.
Luckily most of my crying bouts took place in the privacy of my own car, alone. Yet, sometimes they broke out at inappropriate times, like while playing with the children, talking to clients, and in the IHOP that me and Mama ate at so many times. It happened during my wedding, at my father's 65th birthday party, when my niece was giving birth to her first daughter, the first few times I saw Mama's van again, when I first got my Smart car . . . all of the things that continue to happen in life that we would have talked about.
Tonight, on this sad occasion, I am crying again. I want to send out a HUGE "I love you Mama! We will be together again soon enough."
Tonight, on this sad occasion, I am crying again. I want to send out a HUGE "I love you Mama! We will be together again soon enough."
