Tuesday
Today is Tuesday, and my mother is dead.
The Reality if this statement shakes me to the core. It creates a lump in my throat, makes me visibly shrink. I am so much less without her here.
The Round Table has gone on hiatus. No comedian - or even Marge Schott - can break through the subtext that now runs through my mind: My mother is dead. My mother is gone.
I see her everywhere. In the smiles of a child. In the kindness of strangers. I hear her in the laughter of others.
I stop in my tracks when I smell her perfume. I look around frantically, hoping against hope that it is her. It never is.
Who will teach my child to knit? To sew? To Jitterbug in the kitchen on Thanksgiving day?
I sit at my desk, mindlessly entering codes and dimensions. The laughter is gone. There is only emptiness, which is the worst pain of all.
"Closure" is crap. There are some things in life that you just don't get over. Sometimes, you just never recover. You just never move on; you never forget.
As I close my eyes tonight, I already know what my last thought will be. Not a To Do list, not a lunch menu, not a list of Christmas gifts left to buy.
Tomorrow is Wednesday, and my mother is dead.
The Reality if this statement shakes me to the core. It creates a lump in my throat, makes me visibly shrink. I am so much less without her here.
The Round Table has gone on hiatus. No comedian - or even Marge Schott - can break through the subtext that now runs through my mind: My mother is dead. My mother is gone.
I see her everywhere. In the smiles of a child. In the kindness of strangers. I hear her in the laughter of others.
I stop in my tracks when I smell her perfume. I look around frantically, hoping against hope that it is her. It never is.
Who will teach my child to knit? To sew? To Jitterbug in the kitchen on Thanksgiving day?
I sit at my desk, mindlessly entering codes and dimensions. The laughter is gone. There is only emptiness, which is the worst pain of all.
"Closure" is crap. There are some things in life that you just don't get over. Sometimes, you just never recover. You just never move on; you never forget.
As I close my eyes tonight, I already know what my last thought will be. Not a To Do list, not a lunch menu, not a list of Christmas gifts left to buy.
Tomorrow is Wednesday, and my mother is dead.
posted by rennratt at 1:02 AM
18 Comments:
How sad I am for you, Renn. My mom has been gone for 20 years, and I don't think you ever get over the pain of losing your mom. It lessens, but it never goes away. I wish for you some peace and serenity during Christmas.
You will have to teach your children to jitterbug at Thanksgiving, and by doing that, you will be perpetuating your mom's memory and it will be good.
Renn...my husband will agree with kenju - his dad has been dead almost 20 years, and he still cries about it. It breaks my heart. He often talks about what life would be like if his dad were still alive. He feels his presence on MANY occasions, particularly those that involve musical performances (hubs is a conductor, in case you didn't know)...and he says he felt his presence at the birth of our two children.
There are things in life that you'll have to pass on to your children...but the memory of your mom will be one of the best things you give to them!
I love you, Renn, and know that your mom is always with you. In Nooze's smile, in the way you care for the people in your life, in the way you laugh in face of adversity and in the stories you'll tell of her.
Tell us a story about your mom, Renn.
It's not even been two months, Renn. It'll take time to move past her death. We depend on our parents for so much emotionally that not having them physically in the world with us can be devastating. She still lives in your heart and hopefully is still guiding you.
Thank you for saying what's so today.
I'm with TL - please tell us a story?
More wishes of peace & even joy, comfort and a good memory.
I can't agree more. My grandmother has been gone 14 years now. Yet, I still find myself planning to tell her something for that precious moment before I remember she's gone.
Someone told me once that it doesn't get better. You just get used to it. I think they were right.
When you can feel her, she's not dead. And you'll feel her forever. The feeling will come and go in waves for a while, but eventually, it settles into a reassuring calm. Talk to her. She'll understand.
There. You've said it. It's OK, we're here, and we know, because we get it.
We love you sistah, and will wait with you while this too passes, and will wait with you every next time the wave comes along and threatens to sweep you away.
We've been there. We know all about it.
XO - TIff
Ah yes...
I think the ones in the world with the most joy feel sorrow the same way, just at the opposite end of the spectrum.
Remembering joy can sometimes be one of the saddest things we can do.
Renn, if I can do anything to help ease that pain, I am here.
Hi, Renn...first time visitor to your blog, thanks to Trinamick.
My mother died January 26th, 1993...almost 14 years ago already! I found, in the months afterward, that the best therapy in the world was to talk about her and her passing to anyone who was willing to listen and put up with my tears, and let me get through the whole story.
Two months (if I read correctly) is too soon to be "over" it. You have a year full of firsts to get through: the first Thanksgiving (which you've done), the first Christmas, her birthday, all the family occasions. The hardest for me was the first Mother's Day.
Soon the pain and sadness will ease, and the warm memories will come back. Tears will still occasionally find you, but they are usually brief, and they most often will fall on your smile as a memory touches you.
You will carry on.
Some things happen in this life that never heal completely. But we get through them somehow. The scars we bear from going through them are called character.
You gots lots of support out here.
Hi Renn, I am so sorry. I do know writing is good and talking is good. You have my best prayers.
You are helping me with what is coming with my mom. She lost her mom, my grandmom, last week.
When you can, I'd love to hear about your mom.
Oh, Renn, I know how much this hurts. The simplest thing can set you off. Yesterday was the 23rd anniversary of my dad's death, and in March, my mom will have been gone 4 years. The pain somedays is unbelievable. The pain during the holidays is unbearable.
Hang in there -- grieve when you need to grieve -- and know we love you!
Both of my parents are gone, Renn, I know your pain. Your mother's legacy lies in your hands now. She spent her whole life helping to shape you into the woman you are now. Go forth and honor her memory in every way you can!
My dad's only been gone since July 2004 and my grandma passed July 2000. The hurt of knowing they are gone, is still new and raw.
Dad was young. Him leaving us wasn't sudden, but it was long and painful. I could be sitting here working, and my eyes just tear up when I suddenly think of him. And I get mad too, because he's not here and SHOULD be.
It's still new and raw for you too. But it's OK. Take up some of your mom's roles, like kenju said, and dance with the kids in the kitchen, but also come up with NEW traditions. We lost my uncle in October of '04 (just a few months after my dad) and we fondly recall he used to be in charge of mashing the potatoes at thanksgiving (among many other memories). So we now let my brother in-law do this. Coming up with new traditions is one thing that helped my family through the holidays the past couple of years.
Love and prayers,
-beej
Sweetie -- I wish there was something I could do to make it better. In the midst of all my complaining, I forget that wonderful people like you are going through such horrible pain. My heart is with you.
I am so very, very sorry to hear of your loss. I know your heart is broken and there is a place in it that will never repair. You are blessed to have had such a relationship with her. I will keep you in my thoughts and prayers...
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