Memoirs of a Nobody

One year, six months...that's how long it's been since my mother died. Tomorrow is her birthday, the second I've spent without her.

And...I'm okay.

There's sadness, but those moments are few and far between these days. There's anger...a lot of anger, but not over her death, but over her life, and the life we lived together. But beyond that, there's happiness, and joy and a life worth living, that I didn't have eighteen months ago.

I once stated I could barely see the light though the darkness, now...I can hardly see the darkness for the light and it's the best treasure I could have, living without the constant grief. I will never forget her, I will never stop missing her, but I don't have to be afraid of that, to be afraid of drowning in my grief.

Tomorrow will be hard, there will be moments when I stop cold, unable to breath through the pain, but it won't destroy me, and I will survive it...I will be stronger for it, just as I have been for each day that had brought me here, just as I will be for each day that comes.

My mother taught me a lot in life...but she taught me what was most important in her death, and I will celebrate that tomorrow, as I sit, curled up with a slice of cake, remembering what is worth remembering, and forgetting that which is better laid to rest.

Sitting in my driveway is the PT Cruiser that I talked about shortly after mum died...you know, the one my roomate stole and crashed? It's been here for about two weeks, but I haven't really been able to face it (except to see if there was a stray pack of ciggerettes in it, amazing what you can block out when you're desperate).

I HAD to deal with it today, because it was supposed to be moved to be destroyed (technically, scrapped, a friend and I are splitting the proceeds 50/50 since he's doing all the work). I never realized how much emotion and grief was tied up in that stupid car. Not only in the fact I'm losing it, itself (and man do I love that car, even banged up), but the fact it was mom's and my car...we shared the title and privledges equally...it held a lot of good times...

...and a lot of bad. Mom died in that car.

I sat in the driver's seat, where I last saw here...and sobbed. I don't WANT to give it up. I want to spend enormous amounts of money I don't have and get it running again...because I feel as though if I let it go, I'm letting her go. Every time I sat in that car, everytime I drove it after she died I felt as if she was with me, sitting in the passenger seat, arguing that I was going too fast/too slow (she was never a happy passenger, I once drove over 100 miles with her and wanted to ditch her at every rest stop).

I know it's un-healthy to cling to it...not to mention in practicale, but that's part of the journey of grief I'm not letting myself deal with. I still have over half her things, because two months after her death...I just couldn't keep going through her things...her life. I just closed off the parts of my house that held them and refused to deal with it.

I was so proud with how I was dealing, and coping with her death...but I still can't go into the spare room or garage for longer then a few minutes...and I still can't face that car without running back into the house.

I'm not coping, I'm hiding.

Six months ago, I was sitting in this same living room...waiting to know if mom was ever coming home again.

...it's a weird thought, to be this far out.

I just had to tell one of Mum's favorite charges from when we nannied that she had passed away. It's rather heartbreaking to watch a teenager cry, especially one I had watched grow up.

I don't want to have to do that again.

I had just turned off the phones, was getting ready for a nice long stretch of 'me' time...when I happened to notice the phone lighting up for a phone call.

Ignored it.

Phone lit up again, same number, so annoyed, I answered it.

It was Social Security, calling about mum's death benifits. I had completely blanked the appointment. Thank god I answered it or I would have been scrrreeewweeedd.

Now I know where all the bloody bill money went *stares at the mountain of clothes...well, mountains (one keep, one donate, donate is larger).

Who let my mother go shopping?! This is horrific!

I'm not doing well tonight, the grief is consuming me, not only for mum but for my damn car (turns out my roomate did in fact, utterly total it..part of the front is entirely missing, a door won't open and it wouldn't turn over if I paid it), my water keeps trying to get shut off and I just got a 'Notice to Accelerate foreclosure'.

The dogs are whining at me for no reason I can figure out and I just want to lay here and die, to get a break from everything.

I can't even THINK, everything keeps circling around my head until I want to scream until my throat bleeds.

And then the anger comes, how could she leave me to deal with all of this utterly alone?! How come she got to escape when I have to live every day in this hell?

I want to take her cardboard box (I haven't gotten her an urn yet) and shake it until she scatters all over the floor and then stomp on the pieces.

It hurts so bad.

Guess there's not much left to say

Turns out mum was right, we were almost the same size, so instead of donating her clothes, I just ended up with five times more (yes, I don't own much clothing).

Though, anything plaid, paisley or striped is gone without even being tried on...ew!

And I'm happy because clothes meant a lot to her, and now they get to be re-used by me! Some of her favorite items that I can't wear, will be used in a patchwork quilt.