I haven't really been feeling myself the past few weeks. Nearly 11 months after my mom first had her stroke, it finally hit me that she's dead. She's gone. She's not coming back. And that's been hard to deal with.
Several have asked me if I think I was in denial all those months. My answer to them has been, "No." I held it together during my mother's hospitalization and her death because that's what I needed to do to get through it. The five weeks I was in New York at that time, I did what I needed to do, I did what was needed by my (then seemingly healthy) father. I knew that once I got home, the grief over my mom's death would hit hard.
But then I never really got home. I was in the house for only a few hours before I was rushing back to New York to be with father who over the few days I hadn't been with him lost the ability to walk. The next few months were all about my dad and seeing that he got the care that he needed.
Then he was hospitalized, I injured my knee, he died and I grieved. For the loss of my dad whom I'd spent so many quality moments with over the previous five and a half months. Again, I did what needed to be done. For my dad, for the family, for 1137. I thought I did what needed to be done for me, too. In retrospect, who knows.
I arrived home not quite six months after I'd left and I wasn't the same person. Not even close. I was relieved to be home. I was emotionally glad to be home. Physically, I was in great pain. And there was a big hole in my heart. I missed my parents. I was sad.
Weeks went by. My husband wanted to know when I'd go "back to normal." How does one even begin to do that? I had and still have no idea. I was floating along. I was sad not to be able to dive into my normal routines but my knee injury really kept me grounded and close to home. I felt disconnected from the friends I'd left behind just several months before. I felt like I didn't quite belong anywhere. My evening ritual of calling my mom left a gaping hole in my routine. That's when I most missed my mom. But she could have been on a cruise. She could have been anywhere. I missed her in the moment but it hadn't yet hit me that she was never coming back.
We went back to Brooklyn in October. I realized that I missed my parents a whole lot less while staying in their house, even if they weren't there. I made plans to be away for the few days before Thanksgiving, the few days that my parents would have normally been spending with us in Florida. I was sad. The holiday tradition wasn't there and I felt that loss.
I was home for a few weeks more and then it was time to go back up to Brooklyn. It felt odd celebrating latkes in my parents' house without them. Frying latkes in their frying pan on their stove. Lighting their menorah. Similar to how it was in October, I realized that I missed them a whole lot less while staying in their house.
When did I first realize that my mom wasn't coming back? It hit me like a ton of bricks when a question came up about my high school reunion. (The backstory to this is that my mom and I went to the same high school. She was president of the alumni association for the school for nearly 40 years. She had some helpers but she ran it almost singlehandedly with the help of my dad - who went to another high school.) A few questions had come up about the organizational aspects of planning a reunion. My first thought was that I wished I'd paid closer attention to my mom telling me tales about other classes planning their reunions. At that moment I really wished I could pick up the phone and talk to my mom. She had the answers to every single question my committee and I had. Off the top of her head. Requiring no thinking. Wait. Mom isn't a phone call away. Mom isn't here. Mom is dead.
And that's when it started. The littlest things made me cry. The process of settling the estate which was godawful to begin with became a mountain I couldn't climb. A cutting remark made by my daughter made me fall apart rather than simply angering me. I wasn't able to deal with any of life's setbacks. I don't know about your life, but my life has many setbacks. On a daily basis. My husband, who was still waiting for me to "return to normal" had no idea what to do with me. He didn't understand my kind of grief and why it appeared (to him) out of nowhere.
I learned that I need help. Today I am off to my first session with a grief counselor.
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