Living in mom’s house hasn’t always been easy. We are going to sell it so I’m slowly cleaning it out. Maybe I need to go fast instead because this feels like I’m slowly making mom disappear, which is hard and sad.
I’m not ready to clean out mom’s really personal stuff so I’m cleaning out her bathroom. Slowly making my mom disappear. Hurts a lot.
Today I’m tackling her bathroom. Everything I touch to try to throw away is hard — from photos her friends sent her to the shrimp in the freezer that she never got to eat to. But these are just things. And things are not her.
As I clean all I can think about is how I can’t wrap my brain around the concept of a person just disappearing from the face of the earth. I can’t even get near the concept of an afterlife because just the concept of death is tough enough. But she’s gone, she really is gone. I know I’m not the first person to suffer this kind of grief, but that worst thing about grief is that it’s a solitary thing. Even my brothers, who have many of the same memories, are grieving differently than I. No one can do the grief process for you.
My brothers are crying a lot less than I. So I told them that I have 657 million tears of grief to shed and I’ve only gone through about 27 million. I have a long way to go.
It’s been a month since she passed, which really isn’t long at all. I’m having a tough time balancing what’s too soon and what’s ok to start doing. On the one hand is that concept of “throwing her away.” On the other hand, we don’t want to be paying for a house that’s sitting empty. And at some point I need to get back home, find a job and get back to my life — or should I say start my new life, the one in a new location, with a new job and without my mom.
I don’t feel too bad about talking about “my mom” like I’m a child. I remember when mom’s father, the only grandpa I knew, died. Grandma had died many years prior to then. When he died, mom was 66 years old. I remember a moment when she was crying and said, “I’m an orphan now.”
Me too, Mom.
I know at some point I’ll be able to really rejoice in her being in heaven, that her pain is gone, that she’s reunited with all the people and dogs she talked about in the days before she died. But today’s not that day. Today, she’s just not here and I can’t get over that.