Losing Mom: A Journey Through Grief (Part 14)

 May 30, 2022 - Memorial Day

Memorial Day used to be such an occasion for us.  Me, Heather, Mom, Aunt Diane, and Grandma would all go flower shopping beforehand, picking out the best geranium basket we could find, to deliver to Grandpa Harvey's grave on Memorial Day.  We would also travel to Clyde Park Ave to visit Grandma's parents, brother, and sister-in-law.  We sometimes even ventured into Jenison to visit Grandpa Larry.  It was a day of remembering everyone we had lost, while subconsciously celebrating those we still do with them.

But now it's Memorial Day 2022, and only Heather and I remain from that long list of women.  Grandma Donna passed in September.  It hasn't even been a year yet, but I somehow feel like she's been gone for much longer than that.  Maybe it's just because, after someone does pass, you never see them again.  They're no longer physically with us, which can be hard to process.  No matter how many losses I have endured, it is still ridiculously close to impossible for me to process that.  On the other hand, Aunt Diane has been gone for about 2 1/2 years, and it feels like she was just here.  I'm not sure how or why those things are.  Not much makes sense in my brain anymore, frankly. 

The facts of death are quite simple: your brain and heart stop functioning.  Your lungs no longer breathe.  The blood sits stagnant in your body, and you begin to turn cold.  Eventually, your body will either be embalmed or cremated.  Neither of which is an option I can stand that I had to make.  Then your remains are placed in either a casket or an urn, and there you go: either six feet under or on someone's mantle. 

But the idea that any of that could possibly happen to someone that you love, especially some women that created your own life, and helped to raise you and love you - that's just excruciating.  The worst part to me sometimes, is that this pain is not obvious.  I do not have a broken limb wrapped in a cast, or a deep wound that's been stitched up.  I do not wear bandages over my heart or my head to protect them from infection and help them heal, because there is nothing physical to heal.

Sometimes I yearn for a pain that is tangible. That can be seen, cared for, and healed.  Something that, once healed, can be let go of and forgotten.  At some point, the band-aid will come off.  The scar will fade. The memory of the pain won't even be there for long, let alone the pain itself.

Grief is not like these tangible pains.  Grief is everywhere.  It is behind my eyes, and at the nape of my neck.  It sits solidly between my shoulder blades.  I hold a lot of it in my belly.  My lower back feels the weight of it, as well as my knees.  And those same knees are even weaker from the amount of times I have fallen to them.  My feet carry me daily, which by default carries it.  But there are no signs anywhere for the eye to see, because it's all internal.  Like some parasite staking its claim on my body to use it as it wishes.  It's full of mood swings and tiredness and energy and trauma and peace. I'm afraid it may never leave me.  I'm simultaneously afraid that it may not stay.

Then there is the guilt that I feel for even talking smack about my grief.  I have started following some grief pages on instagram, purchased some books and journals, the whole sha-bang.  Everyone tries to make the experience of grief a positive one, by using quotes such as "Grief lasts as long as love lasts."  But it isn't that simple or that happy.  Grief cannot be cured by love, because love is the thing that has given me this grief.  And in no world would I ever wish to have loved my beautiful momma, aunt, or grandma any less, just so that I may feel a little bit better today.  But damn, if I sometimes don't miss whoever the hell I used to be.  Or if I don't miss being more care-free.  Or if I don't miss simply feeling happy, because I was happy, and not making myself feel happy because I "should."

You know, these ladies, my family, they were my best of friends.  We used to spend every weekend in recent memory at Grandma's house, taking literal hours to decide which fast food restaurant we wanted dinner from that night.  We spent every vacation together.  We all lived within walking distance of each other.  These women were my home, more than any actual home could ever make me feel.  Now I can walk from my mom's grave to my aunt's grave in 2 short steps.  Not something I ever wished I would have to say.

I hope on this extended holiday weekend, you're all spending it with those you love, where you most love to be.  I hope you are happy wherever you are, and with whoever you're with.  May today and every day be filled with so much joy and love, so that it's those things and people you one day will miss the most.  Because, I don't mean to be dark, but we all will lose our people someday.  I just hope that your memories help carry you through that grief.  Mine sure have.

<3 Sarah