No Words

This post is kind of a non-post, I suppose.  I realized today that it has been two months since I last blogged, and I am writing to let you all know what has been happening in these intervening weeks.

I believe I have mentioned in previous posts that I had begun the process of packing up my mom’s things.  This endeavor evolved into the decision to sell her house.  Being the pragmatic, motivated and energetic person that I normally am, I met with our attorneys and decided that this was the most logical course of action.  Though we are living in said house, and have some emotional attachment, of course, we have moved many times, and I truly thought it would be no big thing.  A month or so, and we’d be out.

That was in August.  We finally finished packing up the house in October.  I cannot even begin to tell you how hard it was to pack up the house of a loved one.  It was all-consuming, drained every ounce of time and energy that all of us had.  We cried every day, we worked from waking to bedtime. Some days, I got a reprieve in the form of seeing my prenatal clients or flying out the door to attend the birth of a baby, but most days… it was just this continuing march through what became near-despair, hoping there was a light at the end of the tunnel.  Forget time for writing, even if I had had the spirit to do so.

Sounds dramatic, right?  Well, the clinical explanation is clear:  I didn’t see my friends enough; I didn’t get enough sunlight; I didn’t get enough exercise; I didn’t eat right.  These things alone can drag you down.  But more than this, the daily question, as we were touching all of Mom’s things, packing away her treasured possessions, changing the quirky things she loved about her home with paint and landscape work – were we doing the right thing?  To sell this house, this place that had held so much love and so many life events.

In October, we got our reprieve.  We took our annual trip to a beach house in Lincoln City, OR, to celebrate Mom’s life.  I have a post in progress about this trip.  When we left for Oregon, we joyfully (well, maybe not joyfully, but with so much relief to be done!) put her house on the market and drove away, counting on, in this hot market, being under contract when we returned in three weeks.

Ha, ha.  Just kidding – we are back in Colorado now, and back in the house. No one is interested, so far, in undertaking the updating that needs to be done.  We live in an affluent area where people kind of expect to have it perfect when they move in.  We are moving the price all around and doing more work on it, and struggling with the same questions.  Are we doing the right thing?  Should we just price it low to sell and move on?  Or should we keep it?  Around and around in circles.  Oddly, this is the most stressful period I’ve experienced in years, even in comparison to Mom’s death. What makes it so?  I think there are just too many choices before me, too many decisions that rest upon me.  Though I know I am so lucky to have these choices, I can’t help but think how much easier it might be to just have one option.

Perhaps the difference is that death doesn’t leave us a whole lot of options.  We simply have to ride the train to its inevitable end the very best way we can.

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The Club

This afternoon, I attended a funeral service for the mother of a friend of mine, who passed away suddenly last week.

It was the first such service I have attended since Mom’s death, and I was, frankly, quite nervous about going.  Historically, I don’t do well at funerals, anyway, and usually end up sitting in the back, trying not to make a spectacle of myself with my audible sobs.  I usually carry my own cushy tissues so that my nose will be comfy and I won’t hog the box provided by the funeral home.

Today, I navigated the experience much better than expected.  In fact, much better than the last several funerals I’ve attended.  I wonder if it’s because I cry all the time these days anyway?  Maybe pent-up grief isn’t bursting to get out at the moment.  I did cry today, but I wasn’t wrecked for the day, and was able to talk to my friends and be functional.

As I am watching my friend walk through this experience, I imagine that she might be feeling similarly to how I was feeling 8 months ago.  I remember distinctly the first ten days being surreal, and feeling almost as though I had the flu.  I remember how hard it was to grasp the realization that I no longer had a mother.

Disclaimer: I understand that life and relationships are complicated, and this may not be your personal experience.  But, as a rule, there is no love like the love that a mother has for her child.  I am certain that there isn’t a greater pain than losing a child, as the love is so powerful.  But, I have come to believe that losing a mom, while, sadly, not an incredibly unique experience, carries a special kind of pain that bears some deep consideration.

When my mom died, I was not surprised to find that I grieved.  But I was surprised by the void that was left when I realized that she wouldn’t be texting me at two a.m. when I was out delivering a baby to make sure I was safe.  That I didn’t need to poke my head into her room and let her know when I got home.  Honestly, before she died, I found the fact that I had to check in with my mom at the age of 37 a little annoying, but now that I had no one to check in with, it felt very lonely

Because, you see, there is no one that will ever love you as much a mom. We were a part of our moms.  We exist because we grew and were nurtured in our moms’ bodies.  There is evidence that our mothers carry our cells and we may even carry her cells in our bodies for the rest of our lives after she is pregnant with us.  There is no one who will look at you and only see love, and not your flaws (okay, your little baby or toddler might look at you like that, but once they hit a certain age, your perfection will diminish.)

It’s a lonely feeling to realize that the person who cared the most about whether I was safe and whole is not here anymore.

I am not saying this to be a downer, truly, but just to illustrate the significance of this club so many of us are in, or will join at some point. Until I was in this club, I didn’t have any idea what it really meant.  I still might not know, but I’ve had a little bit of time to sit with it now.

Losing a mom is a special loss.  When I lost mine, friends who have been in the club for a while hugged me and looked at me with knowing in their eyes.  This is a loss that we will feel lifelong.  This is a loss that will visit us on holidays and when milestones come and go.  This loss will be felt when we are alone, hurting or scared and need the comfort that only a mother can give us.

Today, I hugged my friend and looked at her with this knowing in my eyes. Tonight, I am going to think about her and wish for her comfort as she settles into this new life.

And I am going to think about moms.  About their vital contribution to our existence, our formation as humans, in both the physical and emotional sense.  About their love, hugs and snuggles, nagging and pestering.  Their perfection in their imperfection.

And I’ll cry a few more tears, both happy and sad, for all of us in this club.