Sometimes an idea for a blog will hit me at the craziest times and when it comes time to sit down and actually do it, I find myself completely lost as to where to start.
The other day I was driving to my sisters from work and looked out across a country field and was overwhelmed with the need to write a blog about an adventure I took while working for the Cambridge Reporter back in the day. I was so set and determined that I would write the blog and post the awesome pictures.
Then life happened.
Life keeps happening all around me and it is amazing and wonderful, sad and painful. My friends and family members continue to have gorgeous babies, plan wonderful weddings, give their hearts to the world around them and their time and their money. It's wonderful and joyous and fantastic.
And when I look around, I just feel like I'm treading water sometimes. Going through the motions every single day. Not really getting anywhere, but not really being left behind either. I'm just here and the days just keep going on. Day turns to night, night turns to day. My ideas float around and then disappear. Sometimes I make something of them. Sometimes I don't but I find it interesting the way my mind works. They way it constantly weaves and sways backwards and forwards. Sometimes it's overwhelmed, sometimes it's completely in charge.
A few weeks ago I was at my dad's house and we were talking about the past and the future but not really about today. (I think it's something that people who have experienced loss are very good at doing.) He was giving me some of my mom's rings, as we are finally dealing with her will, and we were looking through some stuff in the office. He looked at his large bookshelf of photographs and confirmed again that I wanted his photo albums in which I instantly said yes. There is something so wonderful about having the memories all captured together in an album and having my father's words underneath explaining what was happening and the funny story involved. I realize that pictures on a computer screen can never capture that same moment. You don't get the emotion and they are cold.
I began to realize that there moments in my life that on the screen would just seem cold and empty. I looked at some of our wonderful parties we've had over the years and realized that wouldn't it be great to immortalize them into a book. I created a book with some of our wedding photos for my husband for one of our many wedding anniversaries and I love looking at it. Why can't I do that with other wonderful moments?
And so I want to create a book for the
Beer Olympics. The big party that I hosted and helped organize for all my friends back in 2008. The pictures for some reason are no longer showing up on the site, but it's still there in essence. I know that I've had some requests to bring it down now that we've gotten older and some of us have become more concerned about our names and images being accessible to employers and the world. It made me begin to feel that it's time to immortalize those memories and images after I'm gone.
I have also been toying with the idea of putting together a memory cookbook of my mom. I needed a recipe around thanksgiving, which was a few weeks after my mom had passed, and I ended up finding all these wonderful recipe cards that she had hand written. Some on scraps of paper with notes as to who she got them from and when. I think it'd be fantastic to put them together with pictures of her so that we have them for all time. I also think it'd be the best gift I can give my siblings to keep and cherish of my mom.
I know that all of this is mourning work. We've been talking in my Coping group about the difference between grieving, which is the feelings we hold inside and don't show anyone and mourning which is the outward manifestation of those feelings. Looking at pictures, sharing stories, crying, all of these are outward and visible and are all part of the process. There is nothing wrong with them and I find great comfort in them all. I feel like she's with me.
This week in session was a hard one. We talked about the moment it happened, when we found out and who was immediately there afterwards. I mentioned how my mom passed and how my aunt who recently passed away was a great comfort to me. She put her arms around me for a big hug and she whispered in my ear to tell me that my mom loved me. In that moment I was filled with so much warmth. I can't even begin to describe it. When my aunt passed a few weeks ago, I found that I had to do the same for her kids. I don't know if they felt the same warmth that I did, but I knew it was an important thing to do. Recalling that story made me cry, and it's making me cry now, but that's good. I need to cry sometimes.
In a way, this blog is also part of my mourning work. It allows me to get my feelings out into the world so that you can see what I'm going through. Some people think I should be all better now and back to my happy go lucky self. Some people have never lost someone that meant so much to them and so they never understand that the feelings linger and that they sometimes manifest themselves in different ways. I'm learning through my group that it's okay if I'm not ready to be around certain people. That it's okay if I change a bit and that it's okay if I don't ever go back to the person that people thought I was before.
One thing that has really been bothering me is the way that some people look to me to be this wild and crazy party person. They expect me to be full of life and joy when out in large groups. They don't know the other me. The one who only feels comfortable and secure with people she knows. They don't know that it takes me 3 days to recover from being in a large group. They have no idea that in reality I'm introverted and that sometimes it's very difficult for me to talk to new people. Sure I can be loud sometimes and I can get rowdy, but only when I'm truly comfortable and feel in control. If I don't have that control, I don't act recklessly.
In many ways, I feel for my husband. He doesn't quite understand, even though he's introverted too. He has found an outlet every week at karaoke. He feels comfortable, included and part of the crowd. He joins in and sings. He laughs and has a great time. Every week he comes home and tells me how I would really love it and whenever music is on he tells me that I should sing this song or that. He doesn't know how it feels to be completely overwhelmed sometimes by the large group and
how it actually hurts inside to think of going up on the stage. I know that the one time I went there were a large amount of people there I didn't know. Everyone was welcoming but I still felt on the outside looking in, like I didn't belong. It's still nice to know that people ask about me when I'm not there, but they don't realize how hard it would be for me and how that one night of going would probably make me want to stay inside for a week.
Sometimes, I will go places where there is a smaller crowd. And sometimes I will still come out of my little shell and talk to people. But it isn't where I'm comfortable. This is my "new normal" as we keep talking about in my group. I feel comfortable there. Everyone has experienced loss. They've all had the heartache that continues to plague me. They've all had moments where they've forgotten where they started and where they were going. They've all been stopped dead in their tracks realizing that what they were about to do wasn't going to work because the person they were going to do it for, or that they were trying to contact is no longer there.
Loss is hard.
And it's jumbled my brain.
This weekend I want to celebrate life. In the only jumbled way I know how, with cherished friends and family, and by myself. I feel that for the first time since my mom passed I should really follow through with the promises that I've been wanting to keep.
