It feels like it has been so long. So long since the words have wanted to come to me. I’m not entirely sure if they still want to come or not. But I feel like it is time. Time to talk about the next chapter. The chapter that changed my life.
“I love you so, so much” with a bop of the nose. I’ll never forget that. Typing it makes me relive it and tears start to flow down my cheek. God damn, I miss her so much.
Those were her last words. Her words to me which are now tattooed on my arm as a constant reminder of the love that she had for me. The love that was so strong. I thought that it could break, bend and power through anything. Cancer included.
After mom had passed, I spent some time with her. Mostly crying. Telling her how much loved her. I know that it is selfish of myself, but I kept praying for her to come back. Our story wasn’t finished yet. I knew that there were so many more things that needed to be written. We had so many plans. So many dreams that we didn’t get to live out.
Now being awake for the entire night, I knew there was a long list of phone calls to make, plans to be dealt with and arrangements to be made. I needed to power through this. I separated myself with what just happened to me. The trauma was already burning inside of me. But I hunkered down and knew that I had things that had to be done. This was my mother, and nothing was going to stop it from being perfect.
We met with the funeral director and followed mom’s wishes on where and when she wanted her funeral services. I had to make sure that the funeral was on a weekend. She didn’t want anyone to miss any work to come and celebrate her life. That’s how mom lived her life, constantly thinking about others instead of herself. She literally gave the coat of her back more than once.
I was a complete mess. I had no idea how I was going to make it through. I kept remembering during the services about how I told my husband that he had to carry mom out of the church. I didn’t think that I had it in me. I saw myself tripping and dropping her (anxiety at its best). Right before, I said that I got this. I knew that I had to carry her. To feel her weight. To carry her through the last stage of her life.
Little to my knowledge, my aunt Jane kept leaving the service. She wasn’t feeling well. Something just wasn’t right. She ended up taking the ambulance to the hospital that night as she was having a heart attack. Our family has nothing but the worst luck. But it gets ever worse.
I fell into a deep depression. I still am in the midst of it. Getting out of bed was the worst. I just wanted to be left alone. Alone with my thoughts. Which is the worst idea ever. I think/thought I knew what was best for me. That’s when I knew that there was no way that I could do this by myself.
I started therapy. I was so nervous. What if we didn’t mesh? What if she didn’t understand where I was coming from? Where I was going?
My first visit and the first question was, “what brings you in?” I completely lost it. Bawling there on the couch. It was like a scene out of a movie. I could barely speak. Snot was rolling out of my nose. Tears were falling so fast. I didn’t think that I would even make it through the story. All I could say is that I lost my mother. And that's all I needed to say at that time. I could feel the therapist reaffirm my fears, my thoughts, my actions. She understood.
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