April 15, 2011 was the day mother went. I was happy for her, excited even. Then she drew her last breath and I went into shock. I had a very difficult time letting her little body go.
Grief is so much different than depression. It is a sharp knife. It is dominated by loss. It is fresh and raw. It is disorienting.
I am clear that the degree to which I grieve and suffer her death says nothing about how much I loved her or miss her. I am trying to be alive and find what joy I can.
This is harder than I thought. I thought I would feel relieved. I am processing the fact that out of my family of 6 there is only me and my disabled brother. I am committed to loving and enjoying my family.
It's a new normal.
I am so often drawn to the juxtaposition of extremes. In the room with mother in her casket I was moved by the beauty of her casket piece. I was so proud of it. I couldn't wait to call her and see what she thought. 100 pink roses. So comforting to have selected beautiful things for her burial. These rare the last things I can do for her. And there her little body was surrounded by flowers. The beauty and the horror. A place I am suspended trying to integrate the loss into my life.