grief ain't for the faint-hearted

today is 6 mo when i lost my mom. with my sister on one side and i on the other, we held her hands as she transitioned from this life into wherever we go when we die. i wish i could say that i am the only person in the world to have lost someone i love because it would then justify the darkness and the loneliness i'm left to navigate all by myself. it doesn't matter if you have siblings, a large family or a small one, the grieving process is one of the loneliest journeys we will ever experience.

i wish that i could say i've gained wisdom in these passed months, that somehow witnessing such a deeply personal experience gave me some sort of higher understanding of our world and meaning of it all, but all i have to show in these months is a lot of anger and resentment and hatred and frustration. i know this is all part of the grieving process and those who have lost before tell me it will get easier over time. somewhere i know this to be true.

my mother and i had a tumultuous relationship for most of my life. i would always joke that the first 24 hours of us being together were the best but then we would start to push each other’s buttons. my mom approached life with her heart and i approach it cerebrally. it took many years of analyzing to come to an understanding in my mind and heart that we both needed to live a little more like the other. i’m a work in progress. 

however, it wasn't until i had a baby (and thanks to years of therapy), that i began to relate to her on a completely different level. i didn’t necessarily turn to her for advice about baby stuff, but i would have days where i understood her struggle as a parent better. eventually, our conversations about politics and life would have a deeper meaning, and i found myself turning to her more often for advice on things that i didn’t think i ever would.

she moved to lithuania in 2008 and, because my family is the way it is, communication is done mainly via email (or text). at the urging of my therapist at the time, i made several attempts to alter this habit, but it was too easy to fall back into our old pattern. plus the 10 hour time difference made it difficult to establish a routine. excuses, yes, but our family's reality. i still check my email daily soon after waking up with a glimmer of hope that all of this was just a nightmare and that i'll find an email from her asking me where i've been and why i haven't written to her (which would always piss me off because she was the one who was impossible to pin down).

so i'm left with navigating these emotions. 41 years of emotions. i'm left with moments of hugging her clothes so hard against my chest desperately wishing i could stuff them into my heart to seal the hole so i could just stop hurting. or, in a rare moment of sitting in the car alone, blasting whatever music happens to be on with the hopes that it will drown out the sorrow. or moments when i, unexpectedly, find a still unopened package of ladybug barrettes she bought, ones that my daughter says she will hold in her hands all night while she sleeps. this then reminds me that my daughter’s last memories of her grandmother will be ones of her shriveling away because of cancer. then the guilt sets in that i have no right to even have such thoughts because my sister's kids, should she have them, will never have known their grandmother at all.

losing a loved one sucks. we will all experience it at some point and probably more than once. i wish there was a book to tell me exactly how this all goes down so i can study it and be done with it. the emotional tug-of-war and the two steps forward three steps back is tormenting. i've had exactly one moment of solace where i felt one with her, and one where i felt i began to understand the saying that a loved one is never truly gone. the person is the wind that sways the leaves, the bird that sings, and the deer that drinks from the stream. as i hiked through mt. talmapais a few weeks ago, i felt her around me and with me, and i felt such peace. since then, i try to remind myself of that peace, of that moment when i stood under a tree that would've taken her breath away, and where the raindrops fell from the branches on to my head and my outstretched arms. she was there with me, smiling with me, being present with me even if it was in a different form. i'm selfish and want her here so that i could laugh with her and hear her sing again. hell, so that we could even argue again and i can complain about how much she drives me crazy. but i have to settle for the breeze and the bird and the deer.

i'm grateful to have had what i had with her, warts and all, because for all the mistakes and the decisions she made that hurt me, she was the most unique person i had ever met. she taught me so many good things and, even in her death, she underscored for me that it's not what you do, it's how you do it. that this life is all we have. so how will i honor it?