I wrote this post a couple of weeks ago and wasn't sure if I was going to post it, but I have found that writing things down has been therapeutic for me. It's help me work through some of my thoughts and get them out -- let them go. And if someday someone else reads this and in some way it touches them then it was worth it. So here goes . . .
I didn't read any of the books on loss or grief.
I didn't want anyone telling me that my pain was the same as anyone else's. Or that there was a way to get through it.
I lost MY mom.
I was bursting from the inside out. Bursting with anger. Bursting with pain. Sadness, jealousy, fear, pity, anxiety, rage.
I went through phases of never wanting to feel again. Never wanting to love. Because if I didn't feel, if I didn't love then I couldn't lose again.
I frantically reached out for support simultaneously pushing the ones who loved me away. Like a child during a temper tantrum. My emotions were so raw I couldn't contain or control them.
I still have moments. When I'm flooded with emotion so strong I can barely breathe. When despite my best efforts, my eyes well up with tears that escape and stain my face.
I think I'll always have those moments.
The victory is that they are moments. And moments pass. And those moments are surrounded by wonderful moments. Two and a half years later I wouldn't say I'm healed. I'm not. I have a long way to go. But I am healing. The wound is not as big, not as raw.
There is still not a day that goes by that I don't think about Mom. That I don't miss her with every fiber of myself. That I don't long to talk to her or hug her one more time. I don't think that will ever go away.
But time has given me the gift of perspective. I am not the only one who has lost. And others have survived to thrive. To live fully, to love fully. To find joy in the everyday.
I'm getting there.