Wednesday evening
Daily life appears, outwardly, to be back to normal -- whatever normal is. We soldier on, going about our obligations/jobs/activities, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Behind closed doors we are handling things, each dealing quietly with their grief. Not the way things used to be, but the way they are now. The way my father's family handles issues. Momma's family was the opposite. Like her family, Momma was emotional, the one you could talk to, argue with, cry with, and it was okay to be emotional around her. Father seldom shows emotion, is not comfortable with other people being emotional, and doesn't like to talk about anything. Any kind of real conversation with him has always been difficult. Now that Momma is gone there is no one to share with anymore.
We are dealing with it as best we can, in our own way. Apparently we are not dealing with it fast enough to suit some people.
It is amazing the number of people who think we should be "over it" by now, ready to "move on". There is no point replying to these sorts of comments. In fact, I have no desire to engage these individuals in conversation at all. I have cut myself off from most everyone I know. I wonder what I ever saw in them to have them part of my life.
That sounds mean. I should be more understanding, and part of me does understand their comments. Life didn't come to a halt just because my mother died.
All this will pass, I know. Yet I find myself trying to hold on to this year, as it slips through my fingers. It has been five months -- 133 days to be exact. Yes, I count the days. Seems important somehow.
I find myself re-living the last months of Momma's life, especially the last hours. No matter what actions were taken, I guess I will always question whether I did all I could do for her. I know I honoured her wishes, but it doesn't make losing her any easier.
The anger at the surgeon is still strong and perhaps it always will be. I don't trust any doctors anymore. His comments to Momma, as she sat in his examining room the day he said she needed the operation, still resonate in my mind. He mocked her fears, minimized her feelings, treated her as if she was a simple-minded old woman. She had every right to be afraid. He screwed up and she paid the price.
Holding on to the anger is not good but right now it fills some space inside me. I need to rage against something and he is the prime target.
I still cry, usually when I am alone. I miss her. That will never change. I want to know she is safe, at peace finally. I want to know she is with her beloved father, mother, sister, brother, Nuffy her dog, and all the others that we have loved and lost.
It is a challenge of faith. I do believe there is an afterlife. I used to accept this notion willingly, not seeking any physical proof, just believing. I always believed the spirit world co-existed with this one. I know our soul leaves this body but does not simply cease to exist. I know religion tells of an everlasting life. My druidic ancestry also tells of this, about the spirits of our loved ones always watching over us, just beyond our reach. I have always believed.
But this time I want proof. Real, tangible proof.
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My paternal grandmother, who is 92 years old and still living alone in her own home, gave us all some cause to worry this past month. She developed a virus and was ill at home for a bit, but has improved. She became depressed during that time and now there is some speculation as to whether she should continue to live alone. I know she embraces her freedom and would be miserable in a home. My uncle and his wife have offered her a chance to live with them, but I understand her hesitation. My aunt is a bit of a busy body, well-meaning perhaps, but she can get on your nerves. I'm sure my grandmother wonders if she will still have any freedom if she lives with them.
She has said she won't be driving her car this year, as she doesn't feel strong enough. I told my dad to call the local cab companies and find out what their senior's rates are, so she can just call a cab and go. They can bill by the month and that way she won't have to worry about carrying money for the cab.
My dad was visibly worried about her. I know he thinks she isn't going to be around much longer, and it is inevitable. It will be hard on him to lose her so close to losing Momma. He is so fortunate to have her still living. He is 67 and still has his mother. I envy that.
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Since we got a satellite dish we have discovered non-stop music via the television. The CBC radio offers music through galaxie.ca and my father has taken to listening to the Classic Country station. Momma would have adored this station! It plays all the music she loved and now Father sets this station and sits listening to the music that she loved. How sad that he didn't want to sit with her and listen to this music when she was alive. She used to ask if he wanted to listen to the CD's I bought her, but he would decline. Now he sits and remembers.
I hope Momma hears the music.
I grew up listening to this music, too, and to Momma singing along with all the songs. She had a great voice. I remember saying once that she should be a singer. She sang alot when we were younger. In the last years of her life, once I got her the CD player and found country oldies on CD, she would sit with the headphones on, listening to these classics, and crying.
She had a lot of regrets in her life. A lot of sadness. She put up with so much, starting with being told from the time she was 6 that there was something "not quite right" about her and that she wouldn't amount to much. How is that for setting a child on the right path. No matter what life threw at her,however, she would never give up. She didn't know the meaning of the word.
Maybe one day I'll be able to properly tell her story.
Now isn't the time.
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I didn't do Christmas cards this year nor are we going to celebrate the holidays. I've tried to get into a festive mood, but it isn't happening this year. I will probably spend the holidays watching DVDs, working on my CD project, or writing.
The bottom line: We aren't getting over it. We are learning to live with it.
Need something to take my mind off food!
