Griefaries: Five

 May 17, 2022 (Tuesday)

This entire week of my life so far (which has literally just been Monday and Tuesday, but damn it feels so much longer already), has been consumed with thoughts of guilt. Sunday night, my sleep was held off by the thought that I could have saved my mom. I don’t know if you’ve ever lost your mom, or anyone you love dearly, and if you’ve had similar thoughts, but they’re pretty brutal.

The thing is, as I’m sure most of you all know, my mom died unexpectedly. She didn’t feel good the day before, and was gone by 6 the next morning. 

But the other thing is, we had noticed her swollen ankles. A few weeks or months before she passed, because what is time, we noticed that her ankles were swollen for some reason. When we brought it to her attention, she said “thanks, now I’m going to worry about them.” In that sarcastic tone that only a woman plagued by a bunch of medical things can have.

It wasn’t until her death certificates arrived that we learned her heart failed her, that’s why she died. That’s what killed her. And through a simple google search, I learned swollen ankles was a sign of heart failure.

You’re probably still asking yourself how I could have possibly been able to save someone that I didn’t know needed saving. It’s a very fair question that I’m trying to convince myself of as well. Only, I’m really not. At least, my brain isn’t, but she’s pretty good at being negative. My brain is eagerly reminding me that, post-moms cancer, I used to think the simplest sickness was cancer again. She would cough and I would get scared. Sneeze. Mot finish her dinner. Be tired.

And then I noticed, all these years later, the swollen ankles, a symptom I have never seen before. And I don’t even google it. I don’t look into it. And I can’t explain to myself why. I probably just figured it was the heat, maybe dehydration. It was august after all. And grandmas house was always boiling. Not to mention she was fine! She had not been sick in years. Had not had a surgery. Her pacemaker was working great according to letters she always received.

But something wasn’t working, and something didn’t save her, and that something was partially me, no? Yes? I think so. At least today I do, and yesterday I did too.

That’s the thing about grief, I have not in these last almost 2 years ever thought I could have saved her. And suddenly my grief is trying to tell me I should be to blame. 

I don’t know how to live with grief, if I’m honest. It’s quite overwhelming most of the time. Especially when it’s inescapable questions like this, ones I will most definitely never have answers to. 

And I’m sure with heart failure, though I’m not knowledgeable enough in the subject to know, even if I had googled it and rushed her somewhere and gotten her help, all I would’ve done is prolonged her suffering. Because I’m sure she did suffer, I mean a little bit. How can you not when you’re dying? And when you’re probably afraid that you’re dying? I mean the thought alone is completely unbearable, so I can’t fathom experiencing it.

I wish I could have saved her. I wish I had a secret potion that cured her of the worlds devilish ailments, and she was still here. I wish I wasn’t typing all this sadness with tears in my eyes while laying on the couch in the living room. Her living room, which hasn’t been hers in a long time.

I miss her light. I miss her smile. I miss her hugs and her love. I miss my mom. Life is not the same when yours is in heaven. But she has walked with me as far as she could, and now she’s flying. Can’t wait to meet her on those wings someday. x