Grieving Differently

The grieving process is really different this time than it was when Dad died.

Part of me feels like I should be sadder. Don't get me wrong, I'm very sad. It's easy to cry. I'm not anywhere close to 100% but...I'm not as wrecked as I was when Dad died. And I feel badly about that. Or maybe more accurately part of me feels like I should feel badly about that. Like shouldn't I be in a ball in a corner unable to do anything at all because now both of them are gone?

But I'm not.

I'm really doing pretty well for having lost Mom two weeks ago. Except for the nagging feeling that I shouldn't be doing this well.

Though I know why. I lost Mom in stages. Even longer than just the two weeks where we were waiting for the day. I lost her in stages over the years.

When the cancer first came I was the first one to notice a change in her personality. But I didn't realize it at the time. It wasn't until she had a really steep shift that it became apparent something was wrong. But once that happened I was able to look back and say...oh...of course. This was where it started.

See, Mom and Dad and Jeff had come to Oregon to visit. They didn't come often. We didn't see them nearly as much as we saw Brent's folks and so I had cleared out as much time as I could from my schedule to make sure I was available to do things with them. It was during the stretch where I was working multiple jobs so it wasn't as easy as it would be now. But I did it. Cleared it away, made sure I was free everyday they were here.

And Mom wanted to spend almost the whole time with her old roommate who lived in the area.

I was really hurt. And pissed. Seriously? You don't want to see your daughter or your grandson because you are too busy with your old roommate from your 20s?

One night we were going to have dinner together and it ended up being me and C waiting for a half hour in a restaurant for everyone to show up. Brent had gotten stuck at work and was going to get there as soon as he could, but Mom and Dad and Jeff were just late. My mother is never late. She drummed it in my head for years that being late was just rude. Dad was former military and late isn't a thing you do in the military so he was never late. Anyone who knows us now knows that Brent and I are very very rarely late. There has to be something major for us to be late. So as I sat there with C waiting and waiting and waiting I kept wondering if something had gone wrong? Was there an accident? Had they gotten lost? What was going on? Then they got there and Mom was really casual about it. "I just wasn't in a hurry to get here."

Excuse me? What the fuck was that?

Later when we found out that the cancer was causing a build up in calcium in her bloodstream causing personality shifts it made more sense. Part of the personality shift was basically early onset dementia. Her past was much more clear than her present. Belva, the roommate from her 20s really was someone she remembered more than me. I understood it. But it didn't stop it from having really hurt.

And it didn't help me completely get over it.

Because as her cancer came back, as her dementia started to set in after Dad died, I lost her in pieces again.

She started by not answering her phone all the time. And never checking her messages. So I had to wait for her to call to talk with her. She would call once a month, then once every two months, then holidays, and eventually she stopped calling at all. For awhile I could text my sister and ask her to have Mom call me. Then even that stopped working. And I get it, I really do, she was having a hard time hearing phone conversations, and following them, so she didn't like talking on the phone, so she stopped.

That's why we went home this Spring. She didn't want to talk on the phone. She wasn't able to travel anymore. I really thought this was the last year so we went home to see her. And I put my foot down about it. See, the last couple of trips back I would tell her what dates we were going to be there and let her know however much she wanted to see me to let me know. I would lock in her time first then fill in with friends and Brent's mother next. And she would say, dinner on this day. And that was it. Really? You just want one meal with me? No more than that? Okay.

Two visits ago I just showed up at the house to make her spend some time with me. Which sounds harsh, I know, but it's true. Because after we would leave she would tell my sister that she was mad that I spent all sorts of time with Brent's mother and only one meal with her. Sigh. My mother was a challenge all of my life, but the past few years have been really tricky. Age. The cancer. Slight dementia. It all added up to being complicated.

So this last visit I let her pick her time. Then I told her how about these times as well? So we saw her every day that we were back, at least for a little bit. She didn't like being taken off of her schedule so we just added ourselves to her normal activities. It was good to see her, but she was already fading away from the current world at that point. She was living even more in the past so I got to hear a few stories about her and Dad from the beginning of their relationship that I had never heard before. When you get new information about your parents as young people it's really nice.

And she also talked about how she was going to die soon. Which I've mentioned before was not all that shocking of a conversation to have with her. She's always been pretty nonchalant about dying. Part of it was her religious belief. See dying isn't a bad thing in her faith, it's the time you get to go to heaven and spend your days there. She also had already lost three children by the time I was born so death was a part of our family. Someday we were going to die, go to heaven, and be reunited with Marsha, Marcia and Mark. It was just understood. Nothing to worry about, or fear, it was coming and that was great. And then when Dad died? Being casual about dying someday became, I think, a wish for it to happen sooner rather than later.

She missed Dad every single day. She really wanted to be reunited with him. She was done.

And I think that's why it doesn't hurt in the same way. It hurts. I am sad. I'm not 100% at all. But when Dad died I grieved for him and I ached for my mother. My loss was mine, but hers? Hers was horrific. She was lost without him. Halved. Because you never thought of Mom without Dad or Dad without Mom. Marshall and Ruby. Ruby and Marshall. Mom and Dad. How are your folks doing? Your parents were always so great. People just referred to them as a unit. Because they really were.

Now?

I'm sad. I will miss the world that held my mother in it. But a big part of me is relieved. I'm so glad she's not missing him anymore. I'm so glad that pain is over. That she doesn't have to face a world where he is a memory to her instead of alive and well and with her.

The grief is different this time.

I lost her in stages.

She lost everything all at once.

I miss her. But I'm so glad she's not hurting and lonely anymore.

It makes it different than when Dad died. I'm not carrying my pain and the pain of knowing she hurts as well anymore. It's just my own pain. And that's always easier to deal with.

Not 100%. It still hurts. Just differently.