The Truth Is

It has been a month since my mom died, and this anxious, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach is only getting worse. I love my girls, but I miss her.

I am lonely. I believe in homeschooling, but I haven't been able to work more than a half day a week, and I tell you, being home all the time is making me bitter. It's freaking hard to be a with a two year old and a sixth month old all the time. And they're boys! I am not that interested in the things Liam is interested in. It's hard feigning interest in construction vehicles every day.
How can I homeschool and still meet my needs? I feel like I am stuck between doing what I believe is a better choice for the boys and doing what I think I need.
I am just afraid if I don't find a job, I will lead this tiny, lonely, insignificant life for decades. I guess I should get out more. But it's chilly out!

I am up too late-tomorrow will be rough. I got caught up making photo books on Shutterfly and the time passes so quickly doing that.

Most of the time, I am okay with everything, but underneath it all, I find I am waiting for everything to go back to the way it was, and then I try to realize that it won't, and you know, that hurts. I will never talk to my mom again. I can't feel her. And when I do, I can't help but think I am imagining it. I guess I should be happy with that, but it's hard.

I can have faith in seeing her again, why not if I can make that choice? but it doesn't help the here and now.
It doesn't help that everyone goes through this. The lack of "specialness" in the pain, somehow diminishes my right to feel the pain, I feel.

Sigh. Well. I can't go too far down that road, because despair is not useful.
I am probably just overly tired. I never was a night person.

And that's the truth of it.




Thank God for Karl.

Another Weird Thing

On my other blog I wrote a post, Why Downton AbbeyWhy downton abbey, in which I hinted at the feeling that someone was in my room around the time my mom's heart stopped the second time. But I remember the morning before her heart stopped the first time, I was listening to I Dreamed a Dream from Les Mis, the Susan Boyle version my  mother loved so much. I couldn't help but think of how lonely her life had been of late. She didn't have a partner, she didn't have...well here, here is the draft I wrote and never posted...

"While I had heard snippets of it, it wasn't until after seeing Les Mis at the theatre that I decided to listen to it. Susan Boyle's version was a favorite of my mom's. I remember listening to the lyrics and thinking about how lonely my mom must be-how hard facing illness and old age must be without a partner. This was odd, because I usually just didn't think about such things, although I was feeling guilty for ignoring the call that invited me over.  Sometime within the next 30 minutes, the dialysis center called me to tell me her heart had stopped.They had restarted it and sent her to Cox South.
I guess I knew it was coming. If you had asked me I would have told you I hoped for another couple years, but I guess I knew. I was reluctant to take my mom to see Les Mis because I was afraid the scene at the end would make her think it was okay to let go. The last time she came over she said she just couldn't make it up the steps anymore. When we went to the movies, she said she couldn't do it again. Although still round, she was no longer terribly heavy. At around 210, she was still overweight, but there are a lot of women pouncing around at 210. She just couldn't do it.

I suppose I knew after she had her heart test and they found all the blockage and did not think it could be corrected with surgery. How long can you go with your heart clogging up?

I keep thinking of these little clues, unwilling to give in, because I wasn't willing to give her permission to stop fighting.

I think of the past two years and how I could have went over more, helped her out more, kept her company more. But let's be honest, mothers and daughters can have testy relationships and she did drive me crazy sometimes. I know my lack of warmth disappointed her, but even when I feel warm, it doesn't seem to show. I feel some guilt, but I feel guilt over not feeling more guilt. "



So what's weird. The fact that I took time time out to think about my mom and her experiences instead of reflecting on my own life, right before the dialysis clinic called me. Maybe there is something to that psychic connection stuff.

It's a Strange Thought

Only in the past couple months before her death, did I really start to realize my mom wasn't long for the world. Sometimes I feel bad for not spending more time with her then, I was home, I could have kept her company and talked about food and been the daughter she probably once dreamed of..
But then I think, wouldn't that have made her a bigger part of my life and left a bigger hole in my life. It's probably the wrong way to think, I usually look at things in an unacceptable way, but it makes sense to me.