I've had a particularly hard day today.
There's no evidential reason for it. This date has no special meaning; no birthdays, anniversaries or holidays. But today, it seems, the reality has hit me like a ton of bricks.
Today I reached for the phone to call her at least a dozen times.
Today I know she's not just away visiting one of my sisters; she's not where I can physically go and visit her.
Today I realize that.
Today I want and need to see her, to touch her, to talk to her.
Today I want to fall asleep, then wake up to find all of this a bad dream.
Today I'm impatient and want whatever it takes to soften this pain to actually soften it...now.
Yesterday was two months.
Perhaps that's why I'm feeling what I'm feeling today.
Perhaps it's just part of that roller coaster ride others have told me about -- one day up, the next day down.
Perhaps it's because when coming out of the movie theater the other night and a friend asked if we'd like to have some dinner before going home, I realized for the first time, that my husband and I don't have any reason not to stay out. We don't have anything to go home to.
Perhaps, for some unknown reason, tomorrow will be a better day.
Perhaps it's because when I asked my friend, whom also lost her mother about six-months ago, if she ever reaches for the phone to call and check on her mother, she said, "No. I'm relieved that I don't have to do that anymore."
And when I asked her if she misses caring for her mother, and going to her mother's house every Sunday, doing household chores, running errands and taking her mother shopping, she also said, "No, I'm relieved that I don't have to that anymore."
My friend sees no gray. Everything is black and white, so I knew to drop the subject at that point, because there was not going to be any understanding on the part of either of us.
I cared for my mother -- helped her to bed, to the bathroom, to get dressed; took time off work to take her to doctors and other appointments; and took her everywhere I went. The friend and former Methodist minister who performed my mother's funeral told me that I, too, would likely feel relief at some point, and he warned me not to feel guilty. That certainly hasn't happened; I don't imagine that it will.
My older sister, whom loved mother very much and also misses her, believes my pain comes from the fact that mother lived with me, that we did most everything together, that we were so much closer than she was to mom. Although my sister misses her, too, she says it's not the same, that she didn't see and talk to her everyday.
So, is that a mistake? Being too close?
Mom became the purpose to my driven life -- not just after she moved in with us -- but long, long before that.
Today, I feel as though I have no purpose. My house is a wreck (totally out of character for me); I move in slow-motion; I'm unable to concentrate on anything at all; I have no desire to go anywhere or do anything; I haven't actually cooked a meal in more than 10-weeks; and I just want to stay in bed.
I fear talking about this with family or friends, because I don't want anyone thinking I need "help - asap."
Today is the first time I've called for my mom and she isn't there.
