Friday, July 8, 2011

My Grief Observed...

It's been 5 months.

Five months of sadness that still takes my breath away. Every day there is a new memory made without her.

And it's like a slap in the face.

Easter, Mother's Day, Father's Day, Birthdays, Fourth of July: all of the firsts...are like a reminder that it is just the beginning of the last. Sometimes these celebrations seem so bleak and I just want to scream, "I don't want to live the rest of my life like this! I don't want this to be the first of what will always be missing. I don't want a life without her!!!"

It's hard to celebrate momentous occasions or celebrate the milestones we've made in our adoption because the first person I want to tell is not there. My mom was the only person who gets as passionately worked up and emotionally involved in the things that I get passionately worked up and emotionally involved in.

But she's not here to call.

When I think about that last night, it knocks the wind out of me. It's so hard to get past certain thoughts and moments that it's easy to forget to start breathing and I feel hyperventilation creeping in. It's in those moments I have to completely shut off my mind and stop the flow of memory. It's a suffocating feeling.

People don't ask about her anymore. They don't mention her. They apologize if they accidentally say "your mom and dad." There's always an awkward silence whenever I mention my mom in the present, like "my mom does this or that,", "my mom's house", "that's my mom's favorite...". No one means anything by it, they just don't want to hurt my feelings. But she is my mom, my best friend, and I don't want people to forget.

I don't want to move on. And this is the struggle in my journey.

It's hard to accept that there is a reason and God's timing is best. The earthly pain of it all is hardly bearable. If I let it consume me, I just have to close my eyes and sleep because I can't stand the sadness.

There is some comfort though.

I was looking right at her as she took her last breath. And the palpable feeling that her soul immediately left her body, filled the room. I'd heard the stories, but to witness this spiritual transformation was a moment of peace.

There is peace because I know where that soul went. My mom is not dead, she is more than alive. She has a new body with no hurt, no pain, no sadness. And though I weep down here, she intercedes on my behalf that I would rejoice knowing she is with our Father. And someday, I will see her again.

PS. I didn't fall off the face of the earth. I'm just taking a life sabbatical: spending time with my kids and husband and seeking God in the process.