Grief.

Hi friends. Happy holidays! Even though I’m sure it looked a bit different than normal, I hope you found little moments to be grateful for. I find myself here again out of sheer desperation to find any kind of relief from the pile of emotions I’ve been trying to process. I feel like I have been carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders the last seven months, like I cannot take a deep breath. I’ve seen myself become more anxious, less social, and unable to find happiness in my once tried and true methods of self care. I do realize that the trauma I’ve gone through amidst a global pandemic is the lead contributor to all of these mental (and physical) changes, but even when you know why you’re feeling the way you’re feeling it doesn’t mean you don’t fight like hell to find any sense of normalcy.

Although I rarely blog anymore, I still constantly write. As we know, vulnerability has never been easy for me to express. My mom was truly the one person I told everything too (except the ins and outs of my dating life) which I kept to myself for all the reasons I’ve already shared with you on this blog. We spoke on the phone everyday, and looking back I realize just how good of mom she was because most of the time we were talking about what was going on in my life. She wanted to know and understand everything I was willing to share. Since I’ve lost my person, I thought releasing these emotions into the wild, aka the internet, could help me process, let go, and hopefully feel some sort of relief. Knowing how drastic the space between all the emotions that grief provides is, I’ll warn you that this will likely be a bit all over the place, but that’s the reality of loss.

The sadness that comes with a loss like this is all consuming. Every practiced method you had to deal with sadness or difficult times is useless. You have no control over the waves of grief, you can rarely choke back the tears, and in these moments it feels as if your entire world has ended. Time heals is the constant phrase I’m being told, and while I appreciate that holds a lot of truth the only thing it makes me want to do is fast forward through this part. To fast forward that she is the first person I think of in the morning, that her favorite music seems to find my playlists bringing a sudden rush of sadness, that I can’t watch movies with any mother figure without feeling the hole in my heart, and all of the other ways in which I am reminded of her loss each hour of the day. Each time I feel this wave of desperate sadness I want to reach for my phone and call her, but she’s not there. This cycle occurs every single day, sometimes multiple times a day. Some days I manage to shed a tear and pull it together, and others I spend the day alone, isolated, because I’m so practiced in trying not to burden others with my emotions that I’ve never learned to lean on anyone, other than my Momma.

Another fun thing I’ve done is something I never thought I would be capable of. Anyone who’s read my blogs in the past would know that I am almost annoyingly social. I’m so fortunate to have the best support of people in my life. Most of my friends have become my family and yet in this incredibly hard time I’ve shut nearly everyone out. A bit of ghosting if you will. None of this is personal, but when you feel like your world is going to end through the lowest of grief lows, you find yourself doing everything in your power to protect your sense of peace when you have it. I never know what will trigger the sadness and when I’m in that place all I want is to never feel that way again, so I isolate. What I’ve realized is that I just don’t have the energy to be what other people need right now. I wake up, work hard, keep the house moving, take care of my family, and once all of that is done, I have literally nothing left to give. You’re probably thinking...yikes, she’s got to find a better way to cope. You’re not wrong to think that, however, I’ve been trying to let go of things being ‘good, bad, right or wrong’ and just letting them be. This is my journey through grief and this is the part that’s often not talked about. We give people space and time to heal but we don’t really dive into what happens during that time. The struggles aren’t discussed, just accepted in a very generic way as a ‘tough time’. So I’d like to talk about them. Well, okay, that’s not really true is it? I’d like to write about them - for now. With the only intention of trying to take a bit deeper of a breath and continue putting one foot in front of the other. This doesn’t really feel like the best way to end this blog. It feels awkward, unfinished, and maybe a little depressing? But, like I said, it’s my journey and that’s where I’m at right now. Awkward, unfinished, and probably a little depressed - but I’m managing to find some grace for myself through all of this and if you’re reading and struggling with anything - literally anything - I hope you can do the same for yourself.

I wanted to leave you with this. My speech from her funeral. I’ve been asked to share this several times as many couldn’t attend or watch the live stream and I’ve not had any desire to do so until now. I’m sharing as I want to close this part of the chapter, so that I can keep taking baby steps forward and create space for myself to heal. Until next time, love y’all.

Thank you all for being here as weird as this 2020 style celebration is, we’re grateful for each and every one of you.  I have to start by saying that anyone who knows me knows I hate public speaking.  There’s a reason it was me behind the caring bridge posts - I love to write and loathe the attention that comes with public speaking.  So much so that I waited until my last year, second semester of college to take the mandatory public speaking class to graduate and put my momma through a series of my own personal mental breakdowns while practicing my speeches.  Each time we’d get about halfway through she’d look into my teary eyes and say “honey, do you need a nap?” and she’d be right.  The only reason I got an A in that class was because of her patience, kindness, and ability to understand people on an individual level… AKA I do not function well when over tired. 

Now that you have some context as to why I might seem so nervous, we’ll move right along. The last few days have felt like absolute torture in a way that words cannot really describe.  Friday morning we were giving mom her medicine and she looked up at Dad and said “Is today the day that I’m going to die” like she was preparing, just as we had all been unsuccessfully trying to do.  It was in that moment that I learned my own strength.  I am stronger than I ever knew, for her, and because of her.  In our last few days I got to talk to her a lot, I told her thank you, I told her I loved her more than she could ever know, I apologized for throwing out of control parties in high school, and that we’ll continue to make her proud.  It didn’t feel like enough.  It felt like I had so much more to say and yet, when I think back on it, that’s all she needed to hear.  Whatever else I need from her I will find within myself with the love that she gave me.  I will always be a bit broken without her, but I am so lucky to have had her as a Mom for 28 years. 

Truth is, there is no way to even skim the surface of the things she’s done knowing or not to shape the person I am today and the person I will continue to grow into.  My whole life she’s always said, I’m just like my dad (mostly when I got into trouble), and if you’ve ever heard me negotiate a deal or looked at my call log, then you’ll know she’s not wrong.  I am just like my dad in all the best ways.  But something the last five months has given me is that I’ve learned that I am also, just like her.  

Her compassion, her desire to bring people together, her immense thoughtfulness, and even her sass are just a few of the ways I am lucky to carry her with me now, and forever.  Momma’s compassion for others and for listening has always amazed me.  She could listen to me talk about a work issue in circles for two hours and always offered the most unbiased, well thought out advice.  She was constantly reminding me to find compassion and understanding in situations I could not make sense of.  She genuinely loved to listen and always tried to understand people deeper than the surface and was so good at doing so without making you feel like your soul was cracked wide open.  Even in her last few weeks, with any visitor that came to see her, she would always ask how they were doing, how their kids were doing, or sharing facts relative to that person's life.  Throughout her fight, her compassion never dwindled.  

I think almost everyone knows this, the woman loved a party.  But what I loved the most is that it was more than just a party.  She was so grateful to be part of the family she came from and married into and always went out of her to bring people together to celebrate birthdays, engagements, good grades, new jobs, you name it - she loved to celebrate and make others feel special.  

These lessons, learnings, and experiences that we shared I have the honor and privilege to continue on.  She often told me the relationship between her and I was so special, that mother daughter bond.  She wanted us to be best friends from the moment I was born, to feel comfortable talking about everything and anything, and to always share the truth in our hearts with one another.  I’m overwhelmed with happiness to say she achieved that, we made it happen together.  She was the first person I wanted to call to share everything that happened in my life, good or bad, or if I couldn’t find something at the grocery store.  And I wouldn’t trade one laugh, cry, girls night out, carpool karaoke, or fight for anything in this world.  So, to my Momma, my best friend, I promise to continue to make you proud, to love on dad, to take care of the boys, and to be a good human.  Should I be lucky enough to have a little girl, I promise she will know you, know what it’s like to be loved by you, and continue your legacy of compassion.  Because of you I know that I have choices in life and there’s nothing like a fresh manicure.  There is not one day that will pass where I won’t think of the 28 years of memories we have together - some days with tears in my eyes and others with a smile.  I love you, momma, forever and always.