The Truth in the Illusion

When we lose someone, someone we truly love, we may find ourselves thinking that they couldn't have possibly existed. That's what my mind did about a month after my mother died. The loss was too great. She must have been a fantasy I thought up. I would remind myself that obviously wasn't true since I was born; I had to have a mother. In the end, I recognized what I was doing as a coping mechanism, my mind couldn't handle the lost therefore, it tried to remove it. It's a very strange feeling. One that I dismissed quickly because losing my memories of my Mom would be losing her again. She deserves to be remembered. Perhaps it is a testament to how wonderful she was that my mind just couldn't bear to remember. I am not alone in this. I've read of other people having the same sort of fog. My advise to those who suffer the same, is to fight it. Hang onto the memory of them. Do not let go of them. Forgetting may save pain at first, but in the long run you will better off for remembering.

Last night I had a dream that my mother was alive. She came where ever I was and she looked like she did before she got sick. I said to her "Mom you're dead." She said " What are you talking about?" I decided to go with it, to enjoy my dream time with her. To follow the illusion, even though I knew it was a dream.

The Christmas after my Dad died I begged my Mom to not do Christmas. She wouldn't listen. It proceeded as normal. Looking back I am glad she did that. Tried to keep it normal for me, so not to ruin my future holidays any more than they were. I am trying to do Christmas but the magic is gone. "As long as you have a Mother and Father, there will always be a Santa Claus." my Mother would tell me as a child when I'd ask about Santa's existence. It's the same answer her mother gave her when she would ask. That answer convinced me that there obviously must be a Santa because you always have parents. Well I am 28 now and Santa, along with my parents, is gone. Still the tree is decorated. My ornaments hung without her this year. The memories attached to each handmade or ancient keepsake are solely mine now. It's a loneliness that permeates throughout the body. Still, the holiday season isn't as bad as I was expecting. There are low points, but mostly it is a steady pulse, nothing particularly joyous, but not wretched. Mostly I am content.

I still enjoy giving presents. Trying to find the right gifts for people. In that though I always see things I would get for my mom and have to turn away, or redirect myself. I do not believe in buying gifts for the dead. Materialism is one thing that they are gladly stripped of and the living left with.  I wrap myself in ugly Christmas sweaters, all but one of which belonged to my mom. She did not think they were ugly and did not wear them ironically. She loved the cutest sayings and the like. Wearing them warms more than just my skin and makes me giggle at the memories. 

I do feel the love of friends and family. They have not forgotten me. They know it's hard and that I do not want to be pestered with questions constantly, but they treat me like always. Like a whole person. I find myself returning to my Uncle's for holidays, something which we used to do when I was a child. The familiarity of this is comforting. It's normal for me to be there not somewhere I would have to go so as not to be alone but a place of belonging. It feels right. And I am lucky for that. And thankful. Everyone who has lost someone, and their traditions along with them, should be as lucky to feel as though they belong. So to the people who include us, try to understand us, listen, provide distraction, laugh with us, cry with us, and help us light the tree when there are so many reasons why it would be easier not to, thank you.

Thank you for telling me I am handling it well. It's a credit to my Mother. And thanks to her, and you, I know I can do this.

Flashbacks, Flashforward

It's not unusual after a traumatic event to have flashbacks to it. I still have flashback to the last week that my Mom was fighting to stay alive. It was brutal. They used to completely paralyze me, an unwavering parade of scenes and imagines which I would rather forget. I still get those but when they happen I redirect my thoughts to happier times with my Mom, the memories I do not want to forget. Even the sound of her laugh. It's helped. Remembering that her life was far more than the last few months.

The last time I posted here I was just starting to come out of a very dark place. The crawl out of that pit was a slow one, it didn't happen all at once. Sort of like one day I felt like me again. Somewhere along the line I started living again, not just surviving.

Maybe it happened as we have fixed up my childhood home, my home for most of my life. Painting the walls, fixing the floors, raising the ceilings, updating the appliances and  the electric along with a million other tiny things we have found along the way. Clearing out and fixing up the house seemed to do the same for me, for my mind. I was never much of a do-it-yourselfer. I always wanted to be and my pintrist will show that I found tons of things to do. But when you suddenly have an entire house to fix up you are forced to be put on your crafty gloves and just go at it. I'm not particularly good at most of these things. People have asked me about how I feel about the house being that's where my Mom died. Don't I feel weird having chosen her room for my own? The answer is simple and always has been. That house has been my home my entire life. I love every inch of that house/yard and I have a lifetime of wonderful memories filled with love. Not just the last two weeks of her life there. As for it being where my Mom died, it's also the same place where all of my pets died and while their loss wasn't the same, each of them was like family to me. I was there when almost all of them died so no it's not weird. Maybe if my Mom had been violently murdered and I had to clean blood off the walls it would be different. But I love my home and the memories that are there. It's a part of me. As far as choosing my Mom's old room for my own, it would have been weird for me to take my old room. I'm not entirely sure why, perhaps because that would seem a little too much like making the other room some sort of shrine. I grew up therefore, I left my childhood bedroom. My mom's room was also the place I always went when I was sick or upset. Being there now is still comforting, especially since my new bed is super comfortable. Mostly I look forward to creating new memories there and filling the house with love of a different sort.