Writer write, you know...

I don't do guilt.

I've said it forever. I've written about it. I've talked about it. I'm not a wallower. I'm not a guilt ridden individual. Guilt is an actionable emotion. If you are feeling guilty that means you need to change. Either what you are doing or what you believe.

So...yeah...

I'm writing today.

I've talked about this before too. I feel the need to write. The drive to write. When I don't write my head gets a little fuzzy. Too full. I have to dump it all out and start over. If I don't write fiction my dreams get REALLY weird, and I'm just starting to see the edges of that creep in.

So....yeah...

I'm writing today.

And if I don't write I can't really tell people "I write" when they ask what I do with my endless supply of free time. And if I can't say that I write then I just have to say "I'm lazy and I do nothing but live off of Brent's labor" and that feels really lousy to say...

So....yeah...

I'm writing today.

I don't really have much to say. I'm honestly tired of writing about grief right now, part of the grieving process I know. That point where you just don't even want to think about it if you can help it. There have been some sorting of her things email exchanges and some arrangement for the funeral details and the getting used to using the past tense when talking about her. My mother was...which is super fucking hard to do. But...I don't want to write a whole piece on that right now. You're welcome for the break as well.

BUT...

It still fills my head with this low level buzz all the time. That looking the calendar thing that happens the first year, it's been this many days, it's been this many weeks, it's been this many months...so it sort of blocks other things.

BUT...

I really need to write to clear it out. I really want to write to free my head. I love to write to go someplace else. I write so I don't make everyone else around me as crazy as I feel inside my head.

So...yeah...

I'm writing today.

And after that mini brain dump here is a little fiction scene that popped in my head while I was listening to music upstairs. It was a rock song about strippers. I thought, how many rock songs about strippers are there? And then remembered the stretch in the late 80s, early 90s (?) where it seemed like it was a thing that rock stars needed to do to show they'd made it. Record an album, chart, win an MTV award, date a porn star... And now you've made it!

So anyway, it's not part of a bigger story, it's not really anything, it's just one of those things that happen in my head all of the time. Little conversations between people who don't exist...

Enjoy...

"Wait, you're breaking up with me because why?"

"Well, you know, you're a...well you're not exactly...you...."

"I'm a stripper?  Yeah, you knew that. And I'm not exactly what? Wife material? Who the fuck wants to be your wife?"

He looked stunned, "What do you mean you don't want to be my wife?"

"I mean, I. Don't. Want. To. Be. Your. Wife. Why in the world would I want to marry someone like you?"

"What do you mean someone like me?"

"Someone who gets on stage and prances around trying to make the people who paid money to watch him imagine what it would be like to sleep with him? Why would I want to marry someone like that? I mean, for fuck's sake, how many people have you had sex with in your life? And can you even remember their names?"

"Wait a second..."

"For what? For you to tell me what you do and what I do aren't the exact same fucking thing?"

"I make music! I'm an artist!"

"I dance. I'm an artist."

"You are a stripper!"

"You are barely three chords and never the truth!"

"I can't believe you feel that way about me!"

She just looked at him then. Cocked her head and gave him one of those half smiles. "Pretty fucking insulting isn't it?"




So yeah...I wrote.

Looking Glass...

Today has been a through the looking glass sort of day. One of those reminder days. Reminder of who you very well might have been, where you might have gone, what might have happened.

Driving home from the gym and the car in front of me (that pulled out into my lane off of the highway and forced me to slow down to start) was driving 10 MPH under the speed limit. So I switched lanes to pass him and then switched back in to that lane. Of course he had slowed me down that now I was off cycle from the lights and got caught at the red. Then when he caught up and turned right next to me he gave his horn a couple of fuck you blasts.

I hate car horns. Have I mentioned this? Brent knows this. Anyone who drives with me knows this. My parents never yelled at us growing up. So I am completely unprepared to deal with yelling. It makes me extremely tense. My fight or flight pegs right over to fight. Well, car horns are just yelling in a car. Unless you are yelling to get my attention for something dangerous don't do it. Honking to be an asshole is well...well it's rude and frankly it can be dangerous.

Because when he did the horn blasts to be an asshole about me being stuck at the red light after passing him, BECAUSE HE WAS GOING 10 MPH UNDER THE SPEED LIMIT, my top thought was, asshole...but the voice in the back of my head was, "You know...he just honked at you so clearly he wants your attention. There is no one coming in the right lane, you could turn and give it to him."

That voice in the back of my head used to be the front of my head voice. And I worked hard, years and years ago, to make it the back of head voice. But it's still a voice there. Friends recognize her as Bad Denise. And if I hadn't made those changes she would have been the front. And I wouldn't have been that calm. Because bad tempers that don't get taken care of, that you let keep going, well they don't tend to lessen, they tend to get worse. So by now I would have grown that bad temper into a monster one.

I didn't. I made the active choice not to. I worked hard at it.

But he didn't know that.

He had no idea who was driving the car he was just an asshole to. Don't do that. Don't be assholes to people when you have no idea who they are. I mean, don't be an asshole is generally good life advice, but that's for your own good person vibe. Don't be an asshole to someone you have no idea who they are? That's a safety lesson. Road rage is a real thing. It happens. And people who have tempers that they haven't, well, tempered? Those people take a little fuck you car horn and turn it into a Fuck me?? FUCK YOU! And it's on...

Safety first.

Then the next looking glass moment came. Someone posted something that I read and thought, I see what you are trying to say here, but man, you could have chosen about 20 other ways to say it. This way? This is the condescending way. Which rarely ever leads to anything other than a circle jerk of sanctimony. "oh yes, I agree"; "couldn't have said it better"; "oh those people are the worst."

Well no. No they aren't. I mean, I agree with you and I think you're the worst so clearly those people aren't.

And, trust me, I can be condescending at times. I do it on purpose when I'm really really pissed off. I want what I'm saying to be dripping with it. I want you feel it. I want you to understand how pissed off I am and by slowly talking down it gets the point across in a solid way. It's not nice. But it's not supposed to be. I'm past the point of convincing arguments when I do that and on to just reaffirming what I think about what you are saying. You don't have to tell me I'm being condescending at that point, like it will be a surprise to me, trust me, if you notice it, I'm doing it on purpose.

But this was one of those things that was supposed to show how one set of choices was "bad" and one was "good" when really they were just different. Actually both sets are very complicated. And the people who make those choices can tell you 101 reasons why they make them, either set. But you being an ass isn't going to change their mind.

So it was a looking glass moment that actually ties in with the first one. Years ago I made some conscious decisions on who I wanted to be. Where I wanted to go with my life. How I wanted to act. How I wanted to feel. How I wanted to make other people feel. And sometimes it's nice to get a reminder that I could have gone a different direction. I could have chosen other paths. I still could. But I don't.

Those voices are still in my head.

The ones that will beat the shit out of you, either literally or metaphorically.

They are still there.

Just on the other side of the looking glass.

Lucky for all of us they can only watch.

And in the case of Bad Denise offer social commentary.

Friday the 13th....

She rolled her eyes.

Again.

She couldn't believe he had even brought it up.

"Think about your life right up until this moment. What are the five worst things that have ever happened to you? Heartbreak, maybe a death in the family, a bad car accident. Seriously, think about it. Did ANY of them happen on Friday the 13th?"

She waited, but he didn't answer her.

"Okay, and now think again, why is Friday the 13th supposed to be such bad luck? Because if you think about it, that doesn't make sense either."

She waited again. He just stared at her so she went on.

"It's the combination of Friday being the day that Christ was crucified and there being 13 at the Last Supper. Twelve disciples and the man of the hour. So Christians decided that Friday the 13th was just super bad luck. BUT that doesn't make sense does it? I mean their entire belief system is based on the crucifixion and resurrection. IF there was no crucifixion, there would be no Christianity. And if there were no Last Supper you wouldn't have had all the last minute prophecy, you'll deny me three times before the cock crows, stuff that cemented him as the head guy, right?"

She was pacing now. Getting into her groove. She had been railing against this for years. You can't call it bad luck and also the basis of your entire religion. It just didn't make sense.

"Of course, there is also the theory that 13 is unlucky because Judas was the last to arrive and he was the one who betrayed Christ to the guards, but AGAIN, no betrayal, no crucifixion, no religion. And then there's a story in Norse mythology about Loki arriving 13th to a dinner and chaos ensuing, but he's Loki, chaos ensuing was kind of his thing. So you can't really count that can you?"

She looked back at him. He was just watching her pace.

"So you see, it's just ridiculous when people get all panicky about Friday the 13th. Oh it's so scary... Nonsense. That's like summer camp shit where we would scare ourselves saying Bloody Mary into the mirror. It's all in your head. Or all of our heads. We've made it a world wide scarefest. Ooooh ...Friday the 13th!"

She sat down on the bench in the garage and looked at him again. He stayed silent.

"So then, maybe, it's because we are all so careful on Friday the 13th that that's why it's not historically a bad day for anyone? Maybe if we were a little frightened of every day we would all be a little more cautious and careful and then every day would be safer. I mean, we'd all be paranoid all the time, but a little paranoia can be healthy, right?"

She laughed then. Thinking he would find the humor in that for sure. He didn't laugh.

"Whatever. Oh! And then there were the movies. But they are just movies. Halloween was technically much scarier. Or Nightmare On Elm Street. That was a screamer for sure! But nobody stopped celebrating Halloween, though, okay, Halloween is supposed to be scary, but still. There are still Elm Streets in every town right? But no, Friday the 13th is the scary one. The bad luck one, the problem one. And I hate it. I really do, it's all so trite."

She looked at her watch.

"So, now you know why I've kept you waiting. I just hate trite. And when I picked you up I honestly had forgotten it was Friday the 13th. Until you said something on the drive here. And see? Your faked paranoia didn't really even help you did it? You weren't really worried about it being Friday the 13th because you knew it's just silly superstitious stuff."

She held her wrist up so he could see the watch now too, "Almost midnight. Saturday here we come."

She held up the knife so he could see it, his face twitching behind the duct tape over his mouth.

"Nothing bad ever really happens on Friday the 13th but," She tapped her watch, "Now it's Saturday."

Looped....

You aren't the only one who thinks all I've been writing about lately is grief. I'm right there with you. Totally ready to move on and write something, anything else.

But grief is really demanding. It takes your time. It's so needy. Like as soon as you think, oh I'll do this cool thing, or you laugh at a really funny joke, or you realize you've gone hours without being sad the little whiny voice in the back of your head pipes up..."Your mother just died, it hasn't even been a month, do you really think this is appropriate?" And so you shut back down again.

Even when I wrote the last piece where I talked about how it's different, Mom dying vs. Dad dying, the voice in my head was like, "Yeah, but don't act like you're too okay with it, you can't be TOO okay with it, I mean your MOTHER just died."

Grief will get you coming and going.

When you are wrecked because of the loss it's one thing but when you are doing okay in spite of the loss the guilt will get you.

And as most of you know, I don't do guilt. Guilt is an actionable emotion. If you feel guilty about something that's your cue to do something else. To change what it is you are doing.

But what if what you are doing is moving forward even though your mother just died?

Then the guilt is much harder to deal with. Because, of course, you have to move forward, that's what happens when someone dies. They died. You didn't die. You have to move forward. Big or small losses it's the same. You have to keep moving forward. It's just easier or harder depending on the loss. But if it's your mother? Well, it shouldn't be easy right?

And it's not. It's really not. I mean, obviously, or I wouldn't have so much to deal with. So much I'm trying to deal with. Including the fact that I'm, in no small part, happy for her that she was finally able to let go. I wouldn't be waking up at 2 AM every night and having my brain switch on to not let me get back to sleep. Because I'm having crazy dreams when I'm asleep. The nightmares that are more dread than pure scare? Because my mother just died and my head is trying to wrap around everything that means. Including the fact that I'm happy for her that she did.

Because that can't be fucking normal can it?

But that's grief. Grief is not normal. Grief is a loop. We deal with the same things over and over again until it's done with us. And then it comes back and hits us again at surprise times. And in surprising ways.

When Dad died I wrote about how surprised I was by how much it hit me. I left home at 18. It's not like I had daily contact with Dad. At all. He wasn't a phone chatter and neither am I so we literally spoke once every few years when we would visit. I heard from Mom about Dad, not from Dad directly. So I honestly expected when he died to just acknowledge it and move on. But that's not what happened. My world rocked. Even though I wasn't in daily contact with him, I knew he was there. If I ever needed him he was there.

Now with Mom dying I'm surprised again by how okay I am with the idea of her being gone. I am sad for my brother and sister who were daily in her life. I am really worried about how lonely my brother is going to be without her. I am pretty sure her funeral could be the last time my siblings and I are in the same place at the same time. All of this should be and is really sad. But...my mother was so deeply lonely without my dad. My mother was ill. The cancer had come back and she was so tired of fighting it. My mother was starting to lose her mental sharpness, and my mother was one of the quickest wits I knew. She was so smart. So to lose her memory and her connectedness to the present? That had to be miserable. She also was really dependent on everyone around her, and it was making her a little frightened of the world in a way she had never been before.

I'm sure you are all shocked to hear that my mother was smart, independent, stubborn and more than a little willful... and that she was half of a whole.

My mother and I clashed on a lot of things, but like I said before, I think I could make a really solid argument for being the most like her. She left home when she married Dad. She believed that her marriage and her kids were her primary family. We visited Iowa, and after Grandpa died and they sold the farm Grandma came to visit us. But we weren't especially close to that side of the family other than that. She didn't like a lot of the ways her parents raised her so she actively changed them when she raised us. She had a really strong "do it myself" streak. And there are other things.

Now, I'm sure she would have rather I acted like her how she ended up, in keeping in New Mexico, keeping her faith, keeping her politics, but instead I acted like her how she was, I did the leave home, change everything, visit but don't get involved in the family back home drama. I learned it from watching her.

And don't ever get me wrong, I know she loved me anyway. And during the last political cycle she even said she would vote for me if I ran for office. Trust me, that's a big deal, because she knew full well I would never run as an R.

And these are the thoughts that keep looping through my head on repeat. Grieve more! Be sadder! Okay, now you're sad enough. Stop crying, we have things to do! No stay sad! Now you've gone too far into the 'fine' zone! Here think about that time when...and you'll never ever get closure on that, even though you THOUGHT you had dealt with it all years ago. Now we will revisit! Are you sad again? Good! You should be, your mother just died! Oh my god...get something done besides sitting around whining!

And loop...

I'm fine. Really I am.
Except when I'm not.
And then it's a toss up on if I'm not fine because I'm fine or I'm not fine because I'm not fine.

Loop....

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.

There's An App For That...

She traced a path in her living room. She would make up her mind to do it, walk halfway there then shake her head like it was an etch-a-sketch and she could clear the thought and walk away. Walk there, shake her head, walk away. Walk there, shake her head, walk away.

Which she understood was ridiculous anyway. She could do it from anyplace in her living room. It wasn't that big of a room. Hell she could do it from the kitchen or even eating nook. The whole house wasn't that big. Didn't she do other things from the kitchen all the time?

But she knew why she wanted to be closer. She knew when, if, when, she did it she would whisper the command. The shame was so great she knew she wouldn't want there to be a chance anyone else might hear her.

Which made her laugh. If there had been anyone else there to hear her she wouldn't be doing it would she? But she still knew she'd whisper it when the time came.

She knew she wouldn't be the only one ever to use it. In fact just last week she and a couple of girlfriends had talked about it at lunch.

"I feel sorry for people who do it." That was Gloria. She, of course, would never think about using it.

"Don't feel sorry for me. I'm perfectly comfortable using it whenever I feel the need." That was Suzanne. Suzanne had no shame. Ever. About anything.

Still Suzanne, "They wouldn't have made it if there wasn't a demand for it. A lot of people are using it. They just aren't talking about it. Which is kind of ironic when you think about it."

"I would just be so embarassed about it. I mean, everything like that goes on your profile right?" That was her. She was as permanently embarrassed by items on her profile as Suzanne was shameless.

"Who cares what's on your profile? So it's there along with, 'Shops at Macy's every Sale' or 'Buys Name Brand Face Cleanser Instead of the Generic We Are Advertising', it's just another item on the list."

"What would the people who monitor those things think if they met you?" Gloria, of course.

Suzanne had laughed at that. Hard. She had tears in her eyes she laughed so much.

"I don't see what is so funny about that!"

"Of course you don't! Come on! There are over 300 million people in the United States alone, and you think you are memorable enough to stick out from them? You'd have to be doing some really freaky shit for that to be true." Suzanne had paused then, "So are you? Come on, Gloria, spill. What's your kinky little secret?"

Gloria had blushed deep scarlet at that point, "You are not very funny at all!" Then she'd gotten up and stormed to the bathroom.

"I disagree, I'm hilarious!" Suzanne had shouted after her.

Everyone in the restaurant had turned to stare at their table then, but Suzanne had just smiled at them all. No shame. Ever. About anything.

But she wasn't Suzanne. She wasn't quite Gloria either. At least not yet. But she definitely had some Gloria like tendencies. She cared deeply about what other people thought of her. About her. She worried that she was the only one in the whole world who was not...was not...well she wasn't even sure what everyone else was, but she was worried she wasn't that. Whatever it was.

When she was with Suzanne she felt like maybe she could be like her. Just do what she wanted when she wanted and to hell with what anyone else thought. But then she had to admit that her freedom, her who cares attitude was really more what does Suzanne think? Would Suzanne think she was doing it right? Caring about one person's thoughts about you was the same as caring about everyone else's thoughts about you. She'd like to just care about her own thoughts.

Actually, no. That was the problem right now wasn't it? She was stuck with her own thoughts. Too many of them. With no other thoughts to help out. Her children were grown and living on their own. Her husband had left her for someone just like her, only younger, at least that's what Suzanne had said. Gloria just looked at her with pity and mentioned an online class she was taking to give her interesting things to talk about. Of course implying that lack of interest had been the issue. Suzanne had snorted at that.

Walk there, shake her head, walk away.

She had two more hours before bedtime. She had eaten dinner and washed the dishes and tidied the house. Though with it being just her there wasn't much tidying that needed done. She had set aside an outfit for work tomorrow. An old habit from when the house was much busier and mornings were a rush of activity. Trying to get everyone fed and clothed and homework gathered and permission slips signed and dinner plans made with her husband and still get to work ontime and put together. So now, even though she got up and had a leisurely cup of coffee before leaving for work and still being the first one in the office she still planned her outfit the night before.

Could she make it one more day without doing it? That's what she had been asking herself for the last month. And so far so good. But...

Walk there, shake her head, walk away.

She turned on the TV. Still pacing she paged through the guide. She clicked through to her DVR to see if anything there looked promising. Nothing was appealing. Not tonight. She just wanted something else. She turned the TV back off.

Walk there, shake her head, walk away. Walk there. Stand there. Stand there. It would be so easy.

"Alexa? I'm lonely."

"I can help with that. To talk please say, 'Activate Conversation Mode'"

Shake her head, walk away.

Maybe tomorrow.

One Month...

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.