Tuesday, April 26, 2011

Grief is

*selfish. I Read FB updates and just don't see how they matter. And I know they matter, to them, and I know they will matter to me. But right now, some of them just seem pointless. And unfair.

*tiring. I am bone weary. Still functioning, because life trudges onward. And sleeping, and eating, and all those things, but in and amongst it all, bone weary.

*frustrating. Because I know that the only cure is time.

*repetitive. Saying "thank you" over and over. And "yes it is hard" and all the phrases we so carefully construct so we don't burst into tears in odd places.

*. It just is.

But there is joy amongst the grief, and happiness and laughter in life as well. Like youngest boy joining Boy Scouts. Like puppies who try to climb in your lap. And they weigh about 59 pounds each. Friends who call and shore you up to get through the day. Far away friends who send you emails that make you sob, but in a good way, because they offer such deep comfort.  Things to do, a family to care for, a God who is in all of this with me.

7 comments:

kcinnova said...

I'm in process of preparing for that very stage of grief. We grieve when our mothers are ailing and then we grieve when they die, and then we continue through the process... and someday it isn't so tiring, so wrenching.

You are one step ahead of me and I ache for you. Please be kind to yourself during these days, and mentally curl up in The Father's lap where you are safe.

Navhelowife said...

Kcinnova, I was thinking of you and wondering how you were doing.
Thank you for your sweet thoughts.

Suburban Correspondent said...

Such a large part of my life has disappeared (not as large a part as yours, of course); and I keep tripping and falling into the hole it has left. Your sister calls from the house and my heart leaps momentarily as Caller ID shows me your mom's name; I see the New Yorker in my mailbox and remind myself that I have to get last week's issue to your mom; I glance over at the coffee table and see the last book she lent me that I never returned. I keep saving up neighborhood news and tidbits to share. Gah. I miss her so much. She was such a nice, normal, real person.

And I hate so much talking about her in the past tense. I don't think any of us were ready for her to go just yet. I can only comfort myself that she must be better off now, no longer trapped in her failing body. But it doesn't make me miss her any less.

Navhelowife said...

Suburban C,
I'm there with you. I forget for a minute, and think of a question I want to email her...or call and ask her. I miss her. Words are too empty.

Aunt Snow said...

I'm very sorry for your loss. Please try to take care of yourself while you're being strong for others.

I lost my father in 2002, and Mom went through a bad patch in 2008, but my heart is always steeled for what may come next, as she's 85.

I know how hard it is. May you find comfort.

Sue (Someone's Mom) said...

I saw your post on Doves Today and just came over to tell you that I feel for you. I'm just a few days away from the 1 year anniversary of my mother's death and someone said to me when it happened..."welcome to the club you don't want to be a member of". It is so true. My mother-in-law died 2 weeks ago today, so we lost both in less than a year and both were very quick. I still forget and reach for the phone. I don't cry every night after everyone is asleep anymore and I don't feel guilty because I stopped crying like I did when it first stopped.

There is no advice, there are no "right" words. Losing your mother is horrible and I'm sorry for your pain.

Sue

Navhelowife said...

Sue and Aunt Snow,
Thank you for your kind words. I realized the other day that I am now an orphan.
Of course, I'm 43 years old and have loving siblings, but still.
Thank you again.