Losing Mom: A Journey Through Grief (Part 6)

February 14, 2021 - Six Months

I can't believe today marks six months since you passed.  Six whole months, half of an entire year... I never could wrap my head around the concept of time, and grief time only further confuses me.

I still remember so vividly the last time I saw you, which was also the last day you were at home.  It was Wednesday, two days before your sudden passing.  You had gone to Family Dollar and the two of us were wiping the covid off of everything in the breezeway.  You were wearing a pink shirt and dark capris.  We were talking.  We were existing the way we always had - together.  And then two days later, together ended.

I miss you.  Every waking hour of every single day I miss you.  I saw or heard something the other day, and I was so certain that you were just sitting next to me on the couch that I turned to tell you; but as it has been for six months, your spot was void of you.

I try to make my way through the cemetery a few times a week, just to say hello without actually speaking, because if I did I think I would cry.  That, and to be honest, every time I go through there I get angry.  Not with you, of course, but just with life I guess.  Or maybe it's God I'm mad at, or the universe, or everything together at once.  Whatever it is, I'm mad at it.  I'm angry that it took you from me.  I'm angry that you weren't home most of the last year of your life.  I'm angry with myself for not visiting you more, even though we both know that was out of concern for Grandma, but that doesn't make me feel better.  All in all I'm just angry that you're gone, because I miss you, and aside from still needing you, I also just want you here.  I want to still experience life with my mom.  I want to go to the cabin together again.  Go to Mackinaw City for the 300th time.  See the blue ice again.  I want to be nicer.  I want to be more respectful.  I want to pick up my slack.  I want to love you harder.  I want to hug you.  No, I need to hug you.

Sometimes I intentionally make myself sad.  No, I guess that's the wrong way to describe it...  In general, I am sad, but sometimes a good cry gets caught in my throat or stuck behind my eyes and just needs a little push.  When I feel the need to cry but can't, I watch sad videos, or listen to sad songs, or read sad things that I know will evoke the tears.  I did this very thing Thursday night.  It was a sad day, more sullen than the rest had been that week, and I knew that letting a burdening cry off my chest would be good.  I ended up going to my facebook profile and scrolled through my previous posts, most are about you so I know that's a good start.  I also knew what I was looking for, but I didn't rush to get there.  However, when I finally came upon my post sharing the heartbreaking news that you had passed, I almost lost it.  Almost.  It took getting all the way down to my final sentence for the dam in my eyes to break.  "Funeral will be Tuesday at 11 AM at Grace Lutheran Church."  "Funeral".  That's the word that got me.  We planned and prepared and attended your funeral.  A funeral for my mom...  I still can't believe it.

Sometimes I can't believe I'm functioning.  This grief stuff feels so all-encompassing and heavy that I'm surprised I've been able to carry it around for six months.  I'll be surprised when I continue to carry it around.  I'll never not be surprised by my strength, but that's just another thing I got from you...

I don't know if you know this, you the reader, but February is American Heart Month.  In 2011, when mom was diagnosed with cancer, she was also diagnosed with cardiomyopathy (which I re-discovered from a newspaper clipping found while going through her things).  Cardiomyopathy is a disease of the heart muscle that makes it harder for your heart to pump blood to the rest of your body.  It's my personal belief, combined with my limited understanding of medical jargon, that mom's heart only continued to get weaker through chemo and radiation.  Then again later during a heart surgery, which resulted in a stroke, which resulted in a pace-maker being implanted.  Fast forward five years, and she's suddenly gone.  Her death certificate lists Ischemic Cardiomyopathy as the cause, with underlying hypertension. Ischemic is defined as a condition in which the blood flow (and thus oxygen) is restricted or reduced in a part of the body.

Mom had a tired heart, and every day I'm glad that she finally gets to rest, but every day I also wish there was a way that she could have rested while still being here. Some things you just can't control, not with surgery or medicine or technology, and the state of mom's heart is proof of that.  So during this American Heart Month, take action in support of your heart health, in honor of my mom.  Who, even when she was sick and tired, still loved hard.

I love you mom.  I miss you.

Sarah