It is sometimes so hard to imagine that only three months have passed since the passing of my beloved mother, Beth. I dont know how I managed the routine of the week, except that I knew I must and that alone permitted me to survive my grief. Now I no longer burst into floods of remorse and tears. I no longer feel the need to audio journal words to her hoping that from wherever she is she is able to hear. I do none of those things anymore. My grief turned into a terrible sense of ‘hurt’ and anger that she left my life when she did. It was the last thing I needed. Is anyone ever prepared for it…the parting of two kindred spirits? I spent hours in anguished prayer asking over and over for insight and strength. I pleaded for understanding. I heard nothing…the silence was beyond deafening. It was also deadening. I am now at a place where I am vunerable to many things and people and I have already born the brunt of the latter. My anger and hurt is staying longer than my grief. I question everything while trying to survive the days. For weeks I had lost my sense of purpose. I woke one morning and realised that if I am to continue in Life I need to walk away from many of my issues without losing my deepest desire and longing to belong…to be loved. I realised with a numbing coldness that nothing is going to change my reality. I made my mothers room a shrine to herself. I left everything as it was …never moved a pencil or pen so fervently used in her pursuit of crosswords. Her telephones are still as she left it. Her clothes and personal belongings are as it always was…..everything the same ..except she isnt coming back. I dont know what compelled me to distress my own personal belongings….all my clothes, shoes, jackets and favourite perfume I gathered together in 8minutes to be exact and because it was a Tuesday morning when I had this ‘meltdown’ I gave it to those who scavenge through the garbage. Every Tuesday sees the same activity….me carrying loads outside to the front gate. I have been so alone in spite of the words of comfort so sincerely offered by many. Words cant hold me in the long hours of the night when I cant sleep. Words cant make it better when I start panicking because a storm is brewing. With my mom in the house I could cope with the fears and panic attacks. But I am alone and in this isolation I strive to deliver all that is expected of me…it is costing more than it should.
In this journey that I was forced to undertake and cope with I learned many many things. I learned what it means to be valued and I learned what it means to survive on my own. I learned that I can no longer consult with someone over decisions I have no expertise for. I learned that words of comfort and help have their place and are a balm when the heart and soul is cold with fear. One accepts these offers of comfort graciously because it all comes from sincere hearts. I am grateful for the caring.
There is one…one person who has held my hand in a spiritual sense while I fell to the ground and got up over and over again. One who spoke me through the long hours of the night when sleep would not come. Who encouraged me to be strong and ‘report for duty’ ….who showed me that my life was and always is one of service. One who constantly challenged my mind and redirected my broken heart. One who reminded me that what I had given and what I had done for a father who did not know or understand me and who never held my hand or said he loved me , and for a mother who loved me too much was all what God expected of me. I was and am now free. One who showed me that I am now free to be a woman of my own making and that the reward for selfless dedication which we both had towards our parents has its terrible pain but also its rewards. It could not have gone any other way because of our ingrained sense of duty and committment. The solace that was brought to my soul by these words cannot not be measured. I was given a great gift in this one single person.