Waves.
Look at me go, twice in a month, who even am I? Truthfully, I’m here for relief again. It seems like that will be the driver behind the blogs for the foreseeable future. I’ve been experiencing these intense waves of grief the last few weeks - which I’m trying to look at positively in that we’re transitioning out of the sad and sobbing 24/7 phase and onto better things. I have to imagine that the pain is similar to a contraction in that you can feel it coming, it hurts like hell, but eventually, it passes. I’d be curious to know what waves feel like for other people, but for me, I can always tell it’s coming because I’m usually irritable and a bit weepy leading up to it. When it hits - it lasts for a varying amount of time, which when you’re a type a planner like me, is extremely frustrating.
As I wrote this, I was on hour three of starting to cry, telling myself to pull it together, taking a deep breath (thinking my brief pep talk did the trick), and beginning to cry all over again, so, let’s chat. This wave started in the Starbucks line at LaGuardia Airport, as if there could be a more convenient place to try and suppress a breakdown. Also on brand for 2020, I was crying with a mask on. At some point, I eventually needed to pull it down to blow my nose which was basically like having a covid + sticker on my forehead. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t embarrassed. In public, uncontrollably letting tears run down my face, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. If you know me, you know that is my worst nightmare.
Everything at that time is hyper focused on the person you lost. Watching with jealousy as a mom helps her daughter open a snack, a wife brings her husband a coffee, even imagining that the faces around you just got to hug their mom as they were dropped off for a flight. You can make any scenario into a reminder of the void you’re hoping to fill if you try hard enough.
At that moment I think of how my Momma would react. During her rapid chemo induced physical decline she fell going into her favorite silver shop in Newport, RI. Dad had to get a stranger to help him get her off the floor - something most would likely be embarrassed by. She wasn’t. It was a part of her life, it happened, and although maybe the excitement over getting to pick out a new beautiful item to wear clouded those feelings, she decided to react with grace for herself (and my dad). I desperately try to channel that energy in these hard moments.
No surprise at all, her positivity was continually impressive. When she passed that was the number one thing people shared with me that they admired her for. I wouldn’t say I’m the most positive person in the world, but I think my intolerance for people who complain and refuse to own their life story likely came from her incredible ability to sift positivity out of any situation. I constantly repeat her favorite phrase she’d badger me with whenever life was hard, “this is your new normal, embrace it”. I used to hate when she said that, and now, I’d give anything to hear it just once more.
After having back surgery I clearly remember I was trying to shave my own legs without bending (go with me here), using an extended razor she bought me, only to end up covered in blood and tears. She came into the bathroom (after I had refused her help multiple times) and without saying a word gently started to help me get the spots I had missed. After I had a minute to come down from my dramatic episode, she said to me that I needed to embrace my new normal. That there would be hard moments, but each time they’d get a little easier. She was right (did you hear that mom)? Every time I have difficulty with my back and get frustrated I remember her words. While I try to think about that same sentiment with the grief, back pain and the pain of her being gone aren’t comparable. I thought for a minute about creating a grief wave chart so I can look back every week/month and compare the progress but then decided that’s slightly insane and I need to just go through the motions without trying to rush the process. I guess in a way if I manage to consistently blog, this will be that chart.
Sunday marked two long months without her and there are still so many moments that it doesn’t feel real. When I mentioned previously the ways of combating and processing sadness were worthless to me, I meant it. While I will still continue to call the spin bike my happy place, there’s something about getting the feelings on paper that does bring the slightest relief. So, if you’re still reading this, thank you. My intention is not to make anyone feel sad, but selfishly to give myself a moment of peace through the tears. Here’s to hoping that time really does heal and the hurt will begin to subside. Love y’all, xo.
