Thursday, February 17, 2011

So Much To Say

It's funny to me that when I have the most to say - I am the most silent on this blog.  Writing is a therapeutic outlet for me.  It helps to purge the thoughts of my mind and soul in the written word.  So you would think that when I need to write the most - I'd be here the most often - banging out my inner most thoughts.

The thing is though - I grapple with the intent of this blog.  Is it a place to record the goings on of the typical three-children American family?  Or is is a personal pensieve of sorts?  Who knows. Who cares.

The reality is, I'm struggling.

I guess that is the way of grief.  Losing people who are important to you.  It comes.  It goes.  There are times when it seems like all is well.  There are times when 'well' is the adjective I'd least choose to describe how 'things' are.

Like everyone else before me who ever has, and those who will come after me and inevitably will lose a parent, I've had to learn to adjust to a world without my father.  It's a different place.  One that I don't particularly like, but one that I've become accustomed to.   I'm used to the holidays that come and go that he isn't a part of.  I'm familiar with the pang of longing when I want to ask my dad a question or bounce ideas off of him.

But I'm used to that.  He's dead.  I was there at his bedside when he took his last breath.  I was there at his memorial service.  I was there on the boat when we scattered his ashes at what was arguably his favorite place on earth.

It's finite.

But my mom.  My mommy.

I haven't blogged much, if at all, about what happened to my mom or the impact it has had on my life.  Partly because it's so private and so raw in my heart that I haven't been able to put the words/thoughts concerning this event into a coherent state.   Partly because once upon a time there were readers of this blog who are intimately tied to the situation.  (Who may or may not be reading it anymore.)  And for reasons that are infinitely impossible to explain, I am not ready to go into detail at this point.

But I can tell you that I am struggling

I miss my mother with every fiber of my being. 

I haven't talked to her since Christmas.  Christmas.  (And for reference, we used to talk on the phone daily, if not multiple times a day.)

And when I say talked, I mean had meaningless small talk at that Christmas phone call.  Because the horrible awful truth is that I can't really talk to my mom anymore.  She can't talk on the phone by herself - I can hardly understand when she is trying on the phone - and there isn't much help to translate what she is saying.  Long gone are the days of chatting for hours, sharing the gory details of our lives, discussing anything and everything from child rearing to recipes.

And I don't know how to come to terms with that.  I know (am aware) that my family thinks I'm horrible.  Think that I don't love or care for my mom because I don't call/visit/do enough.  I'm still not sure what 'enough' is - considering I have three children age six and under who are very demanding, a 40+ hour full time job, and am trying to run a household.  But, they think I'm not doing enough.  They have all but 'written me off' as a member of our family.  Uncles and aunts that I was once close to don't respond to emails, didn't send the requisite Christmas card, and seemingly have banished me.

Emails are routinely circulated regarding my mother and her health and her budding art therapy that I am not included on (only receive via the kind heart of my stepsisters who see to it that they forward things along.) 

And that hurts.  Deeply and profoundly.

I love my mother.  She is (well, was) my very best friend.  And it's because of my closeness to her that I know, I KNOW that I'm doing the right thing.  I'm doing the best that I can.  And my mother (if she had all her vices and could talk) would tell me to do exactly what I'm doing.  Focusing on my children.  On my spouse.  And trying to muddle through things the best way that I can.

But that doesn't stop the hurt.  Or the ache.

It's not finite.  She's not dead.  She's here.  In her own way, she's here.  And I miss her terribly.

And for some reason, right now, I'm really struggling with that.


  1. i'm sorry i did not read this until now. so much to say... much love to you.