Monday, September 23, 2013

What Comes Next

Today was my first day back at work after 5 weeks off to be with my mom, and then to mourn for her, and it felt sad, a small word for something far bigger. Because, I mean--this is it? I thought that all day. Am thinking it still. Everything just goes back to "normal" now? The proverbial "life goes on" can't be right, it seems disrespectful, wrong. It makes me sad. I think I said that before, and then last week Nacho was diagnosed with diabetes. I give my cat two shots a day now, the exact same insulin that Bryan gives himself, only one is covered by insurance and the other is not, so there's that, plus the caterpillars I ordered for the kids have spun themselves into chrysalids that hang delicate and dry from the butterfly house, and this photo that I took of Ozzy who walked down the stairs slowly, very carefully arranged himself and then called out to me with a straight face before cracking himself up. This is how life goes on, I guess.
I just miss her so fucking much.

12 comments:

Isa said...

Pienso en ti.
xxx

Isa said...

Pensando en ti.
xxx

krista said...

xo.

Cathi said...

It is so strange and heart wrenching how the world just goes on after we've gone thru such a big loss, like you just have - my heart goes out to you, I know that feeling all too well. I was thinking about you last night, so stopped by your blog and was reading some of your older posts. Your post on Zoey's 3rd birthday was beautiful - but then I started reading the comments and your mom had written something so beautiful. It made me smile, a mothers love is always there....hugs and love to you as you find a way to navigate your heart thru this difficult time. xxoo

Petunia Face said...

Cathi--thanks for reading that old post and for reminding me of my mom's comment. I re-read it and wow--yeah, I cried again (I do that a lot lately), but it also made me feel good. I wish I could tell her how much I love her and miss her so much right now. You know, she stopped commenting so much on my blog because I asked her to stop--this was a few years ago, and now that kills me. I wish I could take that back, I wish I could spend more time with her, I wish I wish...

For anyone who is wondering, that post and comment are from April 24, 2009.

Nati said...

I came across this blog while searching for random pictures of old ladies. Guess I have to thank the unicorn lady.

I went through your posts and I really liked them... so I guess you got +1 reader.

Cheers from Argentina :)

Anonymous said...

I hear and feel your pain. MIL died July 5th, she was so very very dear to me. She was an amazing women. Big hugs to you. 'They' say it gets better as time goes on, I can only hope so, the pain is aweful.

Gabrielle said...

I am so so sorry. When my father died (March 19, 2009), I hated when people referred to him in the past tense. I still do. I still think about him every day and search for hints of him in my daughters little faces born after he was gone. It still hurts when my father-in-law tells my three year old and three month old that they have two grandmothers, but only one grandfather (although I know he doesn't mean to be thoughtless). I wish I wish... I am so so sorry. I love your blog. I wish I could take away your pain.

Soupy said...

Hugs. I cannot imagine that empty ache of a hole you must have.
I talk to my mom everyday and I thank God everday to have her- not having her must be so awful.
More hugs and prayers as you cope and grieve.

Geli said...

The pain will go away, it truly does in time, but you will always miss her.

Death leaves a heartache, no one can heal. Love leaves a memory, no one can steal.

Cheryl said...

There is no "back to normal". There is no "getting over it". You don't "move on"; you forge a new path, through a world that has changed because it lost someone irreplaceable. You will heal around the empty spaces. There is hope.

JC said...

This is something I read somewhere that might not comfort you in anyway, but maybe it will in a few years. I read it about a year after my sister died and it felt true to me.

The grief from the loss of a parent, for me, has been a point on a circle. Immediately after the loss the circle is very small. You walk around and around and you arrive at the point several times a day. As time goes on the circle gets wider. You have a great circumference to traverse before you hit the point again. That point on your circle never goes away. And you can't see it ahead of you. You just keep walking bigger and bigger circles for the rest of your life.