Forgetting

My mom is dead.

Oh, I know – that’s old news.  It’s been a year and a half, for goodness sake.

Today, my husband and I finalized our divorce.  We went to breakfast afterwards, and started texting or calling family members to let them know that it was all done, and that we were okay.

I picked up my phone to call my mom.

And I experienced that jarring feeling that has happened so often as my mind, body and soul remember that she is gone.  This jolt happens less and less often as time goes by – it’s probably been a few months this time. It is absolutely mind-boggling that we could have gone through such a long illness with her, followed by the trauma of losing her, and still – I forget.

I don’t know what this phenomenon is, but I have experienced it before. Many years ago, we suffered the loss of a good family friend, who was really more of a father figure to both my (ex)husband and I.  Even though I had experienced many more deaths in my life, this one was the hardest by far at that time in my life.  I grieved deeply for him, and to this day, I still forget sometimes, still think that I should stop and see him when I’m in Phoenix.  And then there is the jolt, less painful that it was a few years ago, but still like a small blow and a little bit of fresh grief.

With my mom, this blow has been a little harder (maybe a lot harder). There are life events that really seem like they should be shared with a mom, and I don’t have one of those, except in whatever ethereal form she may be residing in.  Most days, this is manageable, has even become normal.

Even today, even in the midst of a major event, the moment passed quickly.  The pang of fresh grief was a bit shorter than it has been at some other times, which leaves one feeling a funny combination of guilt and relief.

But it’s there. I suppose it will always be there, and that’s ok.  It would be weird if I didn’t feel it at all.

I hope that day never comes.

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Coming Up for Air

It has been months – MONTHS – since I have written a post for this blog.  I could tell you that I was busy with selling my mom’s house, and with our move, and with the holidays, and with life.

Which I was.

But that’s not the reason I didn’t write.  The truth is, somewhere around the one-year mark, the wind went completely out of my sails.

I’m not sure what happened, exactly.  True, the house took much longer to pack up than I had anticipated, and the process proved to be akin to torture.  We were exhausted and pushed to our limit with the emotional strain of sorting out what articles of Mom’s life would stay with us, go to another family member, or go away forever.

The sale itself also took longer than I had hoped, by far.  It was disheartening that people would walk through my mother’s home over and over, and after we had come to the painful decision to sell it, no one wanted it.  We dropped the price several times, and finally accepted an offer below what our bottom line had been.  But, it was done, and the man who bought the house was a kind one, full of humor at the closing.  Mom would have liked him, I think.

Somewhere in there was our first Christmas without her, and the first anniversary of her death, December 31.  And then what would have been her 61st birthday just three days later.  All of these milestones passed with us living in our home with no furniture to speak of, our belongings packed in storage except for what we could fit in suitcases.

We were also house-hunting furiously, but as hard as we tried, we could not find our new “home”.  So, we settled on a cute rental and decided to stop looking for a while.  That was a good choice, because I have realized that I actually had no idea what I wanted to do next.

That could be what happened.  I might have run out the sense of purpose I had been existing on for the four years prior.  My purpose had been to keep my mother alive.  And then it had been to make her last years great and memorable to the best of my ability.  And then it had been to support her during her passing.  And then it had been to make her life and her passing mean something by writing about it.  And then it had been to honor Mom’s wishes as I navigated the unbelievable amount of paperwork and stress that comes from being the executor of an estate.  And then it had been to help my children understand what had happened.

Maybe I realized that I didn’t understand what had happened, either.  The world was upside down, sideways – wrong.  And I lost all will to share, to write, to do anything but get up in the morning, make it through the day, and go to bed.

The world is still wrong, but we are settling in to our new normal.  We love decorating our cute little (really little – tiny) place, and we are making a roadmap for our future.  I am excited to write again and look at what lies ahead for us.  I have come back from sabbatical to jump into my midwifery practice again, and that is glorious.  Welcoming new life into my hands is the best feeling in the world, I promise you.

There is still a whole pile of estate stuff to do (I hope it’s done someday), but it’s manageable now that the house part is over.  There is a light at the end of that tunnel, at least. (people, make your arrangements, and use an attorney – it is SO HARD for people after you are gone if it’s not done right.)

And please remind me to redo mine when this is all over.  I have two more kids than I had last time I did up my paperwork.

So, I am coming up for air, as the title says.  Air is good, light is good, life is good.  I wonder what is coming up next on our little yellow-brick road?  We shall see.