This is me surviving

I've always been somewhat of an open book when it came to my blog. I haven't written in a while for obvious reasons as well as some not so obvious reasons. This post is more focused on what I'm going through. How I feel. This is the beginning of a long journey. One that I never wanted to be on, but sometimes (most times) we just don't have any other choice but to survive. This is me surviving.





It has been almost 3 months since this...(Valentine's Day weekend 2015)

Why did everything happen so fast? Why did everything move so slow?

My grief causes me to want both and neither at the same time. I want that person to tell me how sorry they are for my loss, but as soon as they do I wish they hadn't. I want people to keep sending me sympathy cards because as soon as they stop it'll feel like everyone has moved on. But every time I read a card, I get sad. I want attention, I want to be invisible.

It's exhausting and frustrating. I feel heavy and empty at the same time.

I'm having a hard time picturing heaven. Ever since Adam died, maybe even before then, I would imagine heaven. In my early years, it involved a lot of stuff. From everyone having mansions and nice cars to it being just a permanent vacation in the mountains or beach. More recently, and for what feels like longer, it was just an open room. A lot of white. No ceiling or walls and just people. And peace. So much peace. I could see my loved ones that went before me being together. Either meeting for the first time, or catching up from the last time they spoke. 

After April 12th, it's nothing. I still see the open room and all the white, but then nothing. No people. No Mom. I've never felt further from heaven. I don't necessarily feel far from God. Just heaven. Not sure of the difference (if any) and what it means.

Mayim Bialik (actress who played Blossom and much more recently, Amy Farrah Fowler on The Big Bang Theory). Said something recently about the loss of her father. It might come off as harsh to some, but it has stuck with me.

"For those of you who have lost a parent, you know how I feel. You tell me you do. For those of you who have lost someone else you were close to, you also tell me you know how I feel. But you don’t. Because you’re not me losing my Abba."

(source: http://www.kveller.com/mayim-bialik-mourning-my-fathers-death/)

Every single person's loss is different. Sometimes it can be cathartic to talk to people with similar tragedies. But sometimes, well, you just don't wanna talk at all. 

Grief is a narrow, winding road. Only I can see what's coming next, not the person who may be walking with me. Which is terrifying because at the same time I can't see what's coming next. Everyday I wake up not knowing how I am going to feel. And for right now, everyday I wake up and I have to remind myself that's she's gone. Sometimes it takes a minute. Sometimes it's instant. Both times it's painful.

I can't say I feel completely hopeless. It's hard to feel completely hopeless after all the borrowed time I got with my mom (seriously, 8 years of stage 4 colon cancer? Wow.) But it sneaks in sometimes late at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day. But then, Mom sneaks in. It might be a happy or sad memory, but it's there. It fights off the hopelessness. Which is just like Mom. Sneaking in to save the day. And to remind me that I am loved.

"There's a part of me that thinks perhaps we go on existing in a place even after we've left it." - Colum McCann