I wrote this yesterday evening but only got so far before the net crapped out on me. I will continue in a different post because this post’s time has passed.
It seems to be a trend to have to recap my days rather than writing daily, but I want to take a moment to acknowledge that I have written more consistently in the past month than I have in the two years since mom died. Maybe that’s a sign of recovery. Acknowledging this fact hurts while at the same time feels good.
It feels like I know she’s happy for me; for me writing and doing something that gives me peace and fulfillment. Like she would have one of those small smiles of pride that would make her glow from the inside. One of those smiles that she would smile whenever she knew I was doing something I didn’t want to do or a task that didn’t feel worth it in the beginning or sucked or was hard. The pride of knowing I accomplished something that I struggled with but I didn’t let the struggle win.
This post is for you, mom. This post is for all the times I haven’t written; to you, for you, for myself. This post is for not writing on your death day. This post if for every time I never sit and make myself write to you when I know you’re the one person I want to talk to. This post is for all the times I’ve struggled with the feelings of loneliness and lostness and have thought about giving up but didn’t.
This post is for us.
Wednesday – April 4th
This was the last day. The first day. This was our last, “I love you,” in person. This was my last hug from you. This was the day I woke up to Lio saying that I needed to come to the hospital because you had died while I was at your apartment sleeping before I took what was supposed to be my shift with you in the hospital room.
This was the day Jon gave me your mother’s ring. This was the day I called the funeral home.
This was my first day without you to tell me how to be an adult. How to cope with all of the shit life was going to force me to go through.
I talked to my therapist on Wednesday. I didn’t stay in bed all day. Instead, I got to tell her about all of the amazing things that have happened since I’ve moved to Nebraska.
It’s been probably the best thing I could have done for myself, mom. I can’t put into words how much more ok I feel here. I don’t hate work anymore. I don’t feel burnt out. I’ve been sick for almost a whole month, coughing and having issues breathing, but even that can’t take away the fact that I don’t hate living life as much as I was.
It was a good conversation and it helped me not sink into the darkness I could have so easily disappeared into on that day. There were so many “lasts”. So much sadness. None of it has gone away. None of it hurts less.
I guess it’s because I survived your death, because I kept living, I was able to experience things that make me grateful that I’m still here. April 4th, 2018 wasn’t awful even though I still missed you as much as I do every day I breathe.
After my phone conversation, I took a shower and went into town. I had to buy a flower for you. I had to keep up with my tradition; a tradition two years in the making. There are two roses in your vase now and writing that sucks. I hate that I had to buy that stupid flower, mom. I hate that you’re not here and I’m tired of being sorry for feeling that way.
I think that’s something I have to come to terms with; that I’m allowed to miss you even though I know you’re still a force in my life. I’m allowed to wish you were still alive. Having a spiritual connection doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to long for what we had.
So yeah, I hate that I had to do something because you died but I’m glad I did it. I’m glad I pay my respects to what this day meant for us and our relationship. I bought you a rose. I wish I still had the china hutch set up the way I did in Orlando. I wish I had a better way to honor your urn, but right now I’m doing the best I can.
I wasn’t able to connect with you the way I wanted to on your death day. I don’t feel like I get much quiet time to do that, or maybe it’s that I’m avoiding doing it because I know it will hurt. I don’t know. I know last year I knelt in front of your urn and wrapped my arms around it and cried my eyes out. I wanted to do that this year, but I didn’t it because I wasn’t alone.
Instead, I cooked dinner for everyone and when I had a moment alone in the room I added the flower to your vase as I placed my hand on your urn. I had a small moment with you and until now, sitting here, writing, that was the most I felt like I could give because giving any more would cause people to ask questions and I didn’t have it in me to deal with that on top of my emotions. I wanted to survive and I did and that came at the expense of our connection.
That I am sorry for. I shouldn’t let things like that come between us. I’ll try to be better about it in the future.
Thursday – April 5th
I worked this day. I don’t remember much about it, workwise. I got a message from Nasse. He and I haven’t talked much since I saw him at your service. He sent me a picture of a shirt you bought him at one of the color guard competitions he and Jon were part of. He said he still treasures that shirt. I had tears in my eyes as I replied, “thank you for that” because it meant so much to me to know that you still matter to other people, not just to me.
You didn’t touch just my life, mom. You influenced so many people and we all still miss you. We are all, still, forever changed for having known you.
Thursday did sort of suck in one regard. Ox messaged me while I was at work saying that his car payment was two months behind. He asked if he could borrow $400.
I had just gotten my tax return. I’m still waiting on the check from Full Sail along with a billion other things money related, but I finally had one thing. I had a check for over $800 that was money I had earned. I was going to do so much with it. And then suddenly I’m faced with the same situation I’ve been in so many times before.
What is it that I’m not learning to constantly be put here?
I was angry. I was hurt. I knew I wasn’t going to say no and that sucked. That felt like defeat.
I sat in my car and cried angry tears as I smoked a cigarette, thinking about what I wanted to do with my life.
I decided that I wouldn’t let it fuck up my day. I still went to the gym like I wanted to. I ran and I did pretty well. I like the gym in Beatrice more than the ones in Lincoln. It was quieter, emptier, smaller. It was homier and “lived in” feeling. It’s not new and ritzy and flashy. It has a dry sauna which I love. It has an area where I could do yoga by myself. I would never be able to make it to any of the classes they offer, but I think I’m ok with that.
Going to the gym made me more ok. After the gym, I drove into town. I went to the bank and withdrew the money for Ox. From there I went to my new wing place for lunch. If I was going to do something I didn’t want to do then I was going to reward myself with something that I did want and I gave zero fucks about it.
Left Brain: We’re having money issues… I don’t think spending anything is the best…
Right Brain: Go fuck yourself. All of the things!
Yeah… INFJ shadow traits at their finest…
The wing place isn’t as awesome as my sports bar in Orlando, but it’s passable. It’s something I think I could grow to enjoy. I read through some posts online while I waited for Ox to get off of work. He met me in the parking lot, I gave him the money, he drove to the bank and I drove home after stopping at Star Bucks because I wanted one of their coffee drinks that I hadn’t had in what felt like forever. It was another moment of, “Fuck it. I’m getting this and I’m not going to let the Universe make me feel bad for getting it” moments.