Wouldn't it be nice if grief went in a straight line? Like if the Kübler-Ross model were an actual thing? I know, it's supposed to be in how you deal with devastating health news, but we (societal we) have tended to apply it to grief as a whole. And it's a really nice thought, first this, then that, then the next and eventually we are finished and ta da we've dealt with our grief.
Last weekend Brent and I went to Michigan for the home opener of the college football season. It was a good trip overall. The Wolverines won (Go Blue!), the rain held off until Sunday, we had Dimo's and bought some cool new stuff from the MDen. The flights were a little late, but they were smooth and this time of year they can be a bit rough so that was great. On Monday I talked to C on the phone and Brent said that it did wonders for my mood. And it did. He and I talked about his work and something cool he was doing there and the Steven Universe movie that was being released that day, and our trip to Disneyworld in February and barely touched on grief at all. It was really nice.
Tuesday was a pretty normal day. Reviewed my weekly list of things I wanted and needed to get done and made sure I was covered with the extra weekend day. Spent a large part of the day watching Dorian to make sure that it really was going to miss Melbourne for the most part. Then looking at the future track to see if it was going to hit Virginia where the rest of the family is. Things were okay Tuesday.
Wednesday.
Oh Wednesday.
It started badly. I didn't sleep well overnight. Had really bad dreams when I was asleep. Chalked it up to the stress from worry about the storm. Your body releases all of those panic hormones and then they have to go someplace. So Wednesday I convinced Brent to sleep in instead of going to the gym. I was just beat. I didn't have it in me to even pretend I wanted to go walk a treadmill. Nope. Came home from dropping him off and...
Well I think I mentioned this before. When I did the big clothes sort in June I had saved the dress I wore to Dad's funeral with the thought that I would want it for Mom's. I bought that dress specifically for Dad's funeral, it's a perfectly lovely dress and very much my typical style so you would think I would have worn it again, but nope. Everytime I see it I think, "that's the dress I wore to Dad's funeral." So I decided that it would be a good idea to keep it for Mom's. And I just had a feeling that this was the year I would need it, so I kept it when I did the clothes sort.
But...I hadn't tried it on. No clue if it fit anymore. So as I was putting shoes away I thought to myself, "I should probably lose a few pounds to make sure that dress fits okay. If not Mom will have something to say about my weight."
Oh wait...
Then there was this article on how bad kids are at judging their place in the family, like everyone thinks they are the favorite child. And the really interesting thing is the child that isn't the favorite is the MOST convinced that they are. Then they had a little list of the questions they had asked for the study. Who is the favorite? Who is the biggest disappointment? Who is the most like me? And I thought, I'm clearly an outlier here because I would never had said I was the favorite, I would say that's Jeff. I'm in the top running for biggest disappointment for sure, and funny enough, for most like Mom. Which is probably what led to her disappointment...
And then the spiral started. My relationship with my mother was more complicated than my relationship with my father, as I suspect is often the case with mothers and daughters, so it makes sense that my grieving process will be as well. Remember a month ago when my sister let us all know that Mom was fading fast? How I was so confident that I didn't have any unresolved issues that needed dealt with before she passed. Well...apparently that's not exactly true.
I mean, it's true on one hand. I have dealt with all of our past issues. At least as much as I could. I've looked at them, I've processed them, I've logicked them out, I've looked at the emotional baggage they left. I've done the work so I could live with them. Which is really what we all have to do. But let me tell you, all of that work can be, if not undone, at least a little battered once your parent dies. And I even knew this. I've watched friends who had just awful parents reinvent them into pillars of the community and the heart of their household after they died. It was how they had to deal with it all. And when they aren't still alive to prove you wrong you can make them anything you want.
Now, I'm not saying, at all, that I had awful parents. I didn't. My parents were great in a lot of ways. And really were pillars of our community and Mom was clearly the heart of our household. But there were issues. There are always issues, but some of ours were fairly significant. And my relationship with my parents was very different than my siblings relationships with them. But over the years it's all been dealt with. Moved past as much as possible. Until Wednesday when my mind decided that the best way to spend the day was to relive every grievance and slight and wallow in the pain for a bit.
But I was so much better on Monday. It was so easy on Monday. What the fuck, Wednesday?
And then I thought about it some more. And you know what I did on Tuesday? In that list of things I needed to do this week? I wrote down the simple phrase, "Buy Plane Tickets." And it's not a simple to do item to buy the plane tickets to go home to your mother's funeral. Don't forget to pack all of your emotional baggage, you will be limited to one carry-on so pack tightly.
Brent ended up buying the tickets for me. And making the hotel reservations. And I tried on the dress. Even if I don't lose five pounds a little bit of shapewear and it will be fine. We do the best we can.
One month since I got the text saying that Mom was dying.
Doing the best that I can.
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