I’m not really sure what’s lurking. Only that I’m perpetually tired….like really tired. Like ready for bed by 8 tired. Last night it was ready to sleep at 6 tired, but I have kids, so that didn’t really work out. And it may just be that I’m tired. But since my mom died, I’ve learned that crazy tired is actually a sign of unacknowledged grief. So, my guess is that somewhere there’s a pocket of emotion that’s built up and keeps sapping my energy. And the best way I've found to find it is to write....
I’m not really sure what it might be exactly, only that I miss my mom. I wish I could do Christmas with her again. Last year was hard, but it didn’t feel hard, I guess because I was expecting it to be hard. But this year, the grief feels worse. I remember a woman from my second church whose husband had died. She said, “The first year of grief sucks, but the second year is so much worse because you have to do it all over again. I mean, you get through the first Christmas, birthday, anniversary, etc without them, and then you have to do it all again.”
It seems insanely obvious that after someone dies you would have to do all the things without them from that day on, year after year, and that’s true. But it’s hard to do the work of grief, the expressions and the deep deep feeling, only to realize despite your best efforts, there’s more deep stuff and sadness there.
So there’s both a deep longing—one where I wish she were here, where the decorations are mostly all a reminder of her…the table cloth she bought me, the napkins, the Christmas dishes, the “our first home” ornament, the clothes, the symbols…so much of it beckoning forth her memory and she’s not here to enjoy it or share it. And there’s a deep sadness, an emptiness because of her absence. And frankly, it’s exhausting.
Yesterday we received a package that included See’s candy. That’s a special treat up here since there aren’t See’s stores nearby. And See’s was always a favorite of my grandma and my mom. So when I open the box to enjoy some candy, I’m inclined to offer some to my mom, or save some for when she gets here. Only she’s not here and she won’t be coming…not again, not ever.
And there’s the grief. Hard and fast and strong and deep. I miss her. I wish I could talk to her. Appreciate her more. Ask more questions. Learn more things. But I can only pull from my memories, and those of others who know and love and remember her. And, for today, that’s the best I can do.
