Resilient. Strong. Brave.
These are a few adjectives thrown my way these past four weeks. My mother’s death left a trail of bills and paperwork that had to be addressed as quickly as possible to ensure we didn’t drop the ball and lost valuable assets to non payment or other technicalities. I’ve become all these things thanks to all my collective life experiences, many which I wouldn’t have wished on my staunchest detractors: the miscarriage; W’s DUI; my sister’s tumultuous marriage and aftermath; and the deaths of friends and family. My grandfather passed three weeks before my wedding, my grandma a week before anniversary number 10, and mom a week and a half after. All my happy memories are tied to tragic losses. The correlation and coincidences make it hard to believe better things will come without some major heartache and disappointment attached.
I’ve learned to make the best of it in spite of me, despite the circumstances and spitefully. Happy people make me angry. Correction, disingenuous happiness makes my blood boil. I know its easy to tout your blessings and good luck because society tells you others should be glad for you or else they are not nice or good people/friends. As much as I am resilient, strong and brave, I am also full of a deep dark force within. Kind of like Luke and Vader, and probably Leia at some point too but we’ll never know now. (Thanks Disney! – sarcasm) It’s both destructive and creative, spinning me around the thoughts of building something better and tearing down what I already have. Daunting yet inspiring. Challenging yet unmotivating. I’m caught between asking for help and dealing with the rejection that comes from opening up and becoming vulnerable.
Even the widest of trunks, and sturdiest of steels will yield and break under great loads, be it due to fatigue, stress or just plain overloading. I’m becoming undonr, torn, pulled in so many directions. The MBA, work, and my normal routine are at odds with each other. I can’t concentrate on anything that isn’t pressing or important to me, which is a mix of nothing and everything. I can’t believe she is gone, that this world is a better place without her. She was the one person that would lay their life on the line for me. My safety net and blanket is gone. I’m a cantilever beam now, free floating, firmly planted in uncertainty.
My thoughts are so heavy and loud that others must hear them. Each step I take sounds hollow, weak, uncertain. Slow. Time passes by and the pit of my stomach tightens with rage. My eyes water every time a memory possesses me, shattering any desire to brave this new reality. I lost more than I ever did mean to gamble. She might be in me and I in her but my heart and soul are not whole. Not by a longshot. My sister’s heart and mine are inhabited by this debilitating sinking feeling that we are all alone even when we have each other. The distance pulls us closer to each other as time pushes our mother further into our subconscious. I recall her voice, her laughter, and her face daily just so I won’t forget her; so I won’t lose her again. I can’t let her die, not again, and must keep her alive for as long as I roam this earth.
Emotions overwhelm me. I can’t stand still nor walk, nor sit without getting anxious. Why did you have to take her? Why now? Why so soon? Whatever we did, we didn’t to deserve this. We are all so sorry! I promise I’ll be good. I swear! Please, don’t take her away! These tears cannot be real. The burning sensation running down my cheeks, blurring my vision, spiraling out of control. If this is the only way you will remain immortal, I don’t want it. The pain tinges everything in unpalatable shades of gray. My compass is gone; the star pointing north, extinguished. I wander through the routines of my life on autopilot, dazed and confused.
I love you mom.
Please come back to me…
Please show me the way home…