A Selfish Post More About Me Than About My Mom

So the 14th was the one-year anniversary of my mother passing away. I wanted to post something about her the day before. And the day of. The day after too.

But it kept not happening.

It's not like I didn't have the time or opportunity. I just found that I couldn't really say or write anything about her. It was driving Suzanne a little crazy because I wouldn't talk about Mom or her passing or what I was feeling about any of it. I felt paralyzed.

That feeling passed somewhat, obviously, but I'm still not 100% with this whole thing. Part of the problem with me talking is that I'm in a pretty negative place when I think about Mom's death and that feels pretty ungracious and ungrateful. When she passed away, even though it was sad, we were all grateful that she didn't have to suffer any more and that she could be with Dad again. She didn't have to go through further indignity related to her decline. The feelings I felt were nowhere near the same as what I experienced when Dad died.

But this week, for whatever reason, I've felt a lot of anger and confusion about her passing. It seems lame and unjust -- that she had to get cancer in the first place and then deteriorate physically and mentally, that she had to fade away in the manner that she did, that she had to leave us without her comfort and guidance and friendship. It sucks.

So this is confusing because why would I feel that after all this time? Why would I be any less okay with it now than I was twelve months ago?

And, what's more, I should be thinking of all the things that she was and did. I should be focusing on the blessing of her life, not the curse of her departure. Right? So what do you do when you can't really feel that but instead just keep thinking, "I'm an orphan." Then what?

I don't know what the answer is. I just know that I'm sad she's gone and that I miss her and Dad in my life and the life of my family.

I still have the last email she sent me in my inbox. This is something for me because I delete almost everything from my email. Unless I absolutely need it, it's gone. But I've hung onto this funny thing she forwarded me. It doesn't even have a message from her - it's pictures of a garbage truck that some artist converted into a high-tech RV. It's random but fascinating. It's the sort of thing that she knew I would think was interesting so she sent it along to me. It's the last in a long line of General Authority quotes, ebay finds, quick questions about the day or my girls or whatever, and little notes of encouragement that she would send regularly. Some of the stuff she sent made me roll my eyes, but I wish I were still getting those random little messages like I used to.

If grief were a person, I'd slap it across the face and tell it to move the freak on. It's been a year, grief. You have more than worn out your welcome. I thought you were gone and yet here I find you living in my basement, waiting to come up and celebrate January with us. Bite me, grief. I'm sick of you.