Rose

The 366 Photo challenge for February was the color rose. On mother's birthday, I happened to have a pink rose in the house, a rare event.

I have been actively grieving for nearly a year now. Initial acute pain turned into a wired elation and joy where I felt very alive. Then darker, more tired. Her birthday was super dark. Dark.

I have been feeling lost without her. She had such a power in my life, like no other. Without her, who am I to seek approval from, Or to disappoint?

In the movie Terms of Endearment, the lousy two-timing husband says about his dying wife, something like, "Who am I if not the man disappointing Emma?"

I am not sure mother was as critical of me as I believed her   obe. That was a strong pole in my life, to be drawn to, to resist.

Without her voice here I have placed a critical voice in the thoughts of my friends and in my own voice, of course. Now I can carry that on to be sure, have been doing it for years, but oddly, I am finding a decreased need for criticism, also for approval. Maybe its temporary, I am quite sure the paranoia about my worth will surge and ebb throughout my life.

No greater force than my mother's voice. But now that is silenced, who am I?
This is my new frontier.

I need to say...

That I want to call my mother and talk about this heat. I want to talk to her about the drought. I want to talk to her about how we are 12 inches below where we should be. That the earth feels scorched. That it rained today.

Why did I not learn to make her potato salad?

Why was she sitting like a statue on my couch last week?

I ironed a blue pin-striped oxford for my daughter's senior pictures today. I flashed to to an outfit Penny gave her that I ironed for her six-month photo 3 years ago. Six? Ten. Not seventeen years ago.

When listening critically to The Who this weekend, sober, in the daylight and turned to a medium volume, I realized, they suck.

Where has Radiohead been all my life?

I love Jemellia Hilfiger. She is one of the funniest, wittiest, sweetest people I have ever known. I want to draw her close to me like a rag doll. Then slap her away.

I love my body. I am 47 years old. It has looked better but I have never loved it more.

I am almost over my nose.

I do not think it sucks to grow older. Once you have no parents you feel odd, young and vulnerable. I will never say that it sucks getting old.

I want to live and feel joy. Gratitude is the key. Guiltless is the way.

Did I actually fall for a Beck song? When did I start to love Beck?

I say "Yes" to tears and sadness. It somehow brings comforts. It's what lies under agitation and anger.

I will see my Shelley since the first time since mother's funeral. I texted her that I will probably break down when I see her. She said "Good! I won't be the only one!" That is what epic friendship looks like.

100 Pink Roses

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.

First They Are Sour...

I really do not want to seem too needy regarding this care-giving-for-my-mother job. But I am needy and this is my journal and I will cry if I want to. I have been realizing some very definite stages occurring and it isn't all bad. {Images from Scottsdale, 2003}

Mother was discharged from the hospital on December 24, 2009 and my husband and I brought her here. I really had no time to prepare for her to stay. I didn't realize she would even survive her hospitaliztion. We did, however, anticipate that one of our mothers may need to live with us when we built this house 3 years ago. We have a guest bedroom with widened doorways. The bathroom walls are reinforced for the possible addition of grab bars and such. I am a Physican Associate and worked in a rehabilitation facility for 10 years, so I did see assistive equipment as a possiblity. In fact, working in rehab I saw all kinds of family situations that were inspiring and horrifying. Both of those words describe my own family situation.

So we are on the highway in a blizzard with my very frail 83 year old mother. No one knows what tomorrow holds but that was a moment bloated with the unknown. This whole thing has been a confrontation with the unknown. Oh and Miss Planner has issues with the unknown. I mean I have a plan for everything, even prision.

Seriously. I have a plan for prison. Another post...

I wanted to bring mother home and care for her. I was happy to do it and I still am. But while doing so I was and am overwhelmed with emotions. My first real phase was resistance and resentment. I meet most challenges with resistance and usually resentment. I am a planner (see above) and not at all spontaneous. These are character flaws and trust me I actively work on them. But that doesn't make them just go away. Like arm flab. You do all you can but there it is.

I resisted the full time care-giving because it interupted my life. I have a child living with me still. Said child had just turned 16 and all that implies. It was already a whole thing dealing with that.  Also, I was going to start teaching again, a class I had not taught for 5 years so I had to completely start my prep from scratch. I mean no Power Point used last time. Its a lot.

Also, it is lots of work to care give. And I hadn't slept much in the emotionally and physcially exhausting week of mother's hospitalization. So resistance...

Also resentment. A pity party by put-upon poor Robin. I mean why did mother not move out of her house and into assisted living already? I had been discussing it with her for a longtime. Her house was sitting over there. I know she would not return to it. I knew it would be my job to empty it and also take care of her and my family and my job. What about me? Who would help me? My husband is phenomenol and wants to help me, no, not even help me, but shoulder this with me. He thinks of mother as OUR mother and WE take care of OUR mother. The thing is, I do have a sibiling who lives nearby. We don't see her much. I cannot count on her. In fact she brings far more drama than help. And I resent it.

Some abandonment issues stirred. Deep, dark and yucky. But that really is all fine. I need to process these feelings. And that never happens when you feel good and have time, right? You are confronted with the demons when it is dark.

After a pricky month, mother stabilized and so did I. Mostly. She is very ill but not getting rapidly worse and she is ambulatory which is HUGE.

Fortunately I found myself starting to emerge. Acceptance was nigh. How much more pleasant for everyone I live with.

That lasted a couple of weeks. Then I got sick. What a big set back. When your reserve is low it takes so long to bounce back. Then my cousin, mother's nephew, died. That was very emotional. Also there was drama surrounding my sibling, still, again, of course. Energy sucking again. Two steps forward and one step back.

Now, oh wonderful now, I am a bit beyond acceptance and in some sort of loving place. I look at mother and think she is so darling. She is so cute to me. Not pathetic. Not sad to me. I just feel very loving toward her. Sitting next to her and watching a tv show is so simple. I see how lovely it is.

I am seeing the beauty in the ugly right now. March is here. The weather is warming. Tender shoots are emerging. And so am I. I am depressed but that shell is cracking. Fresh air is blowing in. Oh thank you, God, for it. I need the strength love brings and that depression takes. I need that strength to deal with the next phase.

Thank you for reading this. I really am receiving so much love. There is still more gnashing of teeth than pink fluffy clouds. But they do float by...