Well, I would love to give some definitive meaning to it all or even my own precise perspective...but it varies day by day.
I find that there are (roughly) three levels to it:
Day by day: I do what I need to, get out and about, etc.
Talking about it: No problem - might get a little choked up at certain points (re-reading the post aobut the "night" in particular,) but no problem being open and discussing it.
How I feel: If I was honest, I would say broken. Not in the "I can no longer work or function" way, but more in a "Just totally, completely hurt" type of way. I know she died, I was there holding her hand and letting her know I love her as she did, but it all still seems very surreal. Again, I know she died, but part of me just does not understand why saying "Mom?" does not get an answer anymore. It's really weird. If you ask me to talk to her, really talking directly to her and thinking she can hear me some way, I will break down and cry.
There are just other "weird" things that make me go hmm...
Age/time - She was only 47. As young as that is, I can only appreciate the time that I was alive and knew her. In that way, "mom" was only alive 24 years. That just leads to so many other issues; what is death, what happened exactly when she died, where did my mom go, if anywhere, knowing I am agnostic, what exactly is this nefarious "cancer" thing that she had, etc.
Christmas - Last christmas was a really bad one for her (lots of pain, not cancer related) and she was afraid that would be her last. It was absurd to think that at that time, she was doing so well, and it ultimately was.
March - Mom's birthday. Luckily/unfortunately, it was a crazy near-sixteen hour work day that day so it went by pretty quickly. It was more bizarre looking back at it afterward and going "Wait, wasn't this mom's birthday?"
July - My own birthday is coming up. I am a very plain, down to earth person so the actual celebration is a non-fctor, but it is going to be...just weird not having her there.
October - I swear go gosh, she died...maybe two or three months ago - tops. I can recall everything I went through that night, how I felt, driving to an empty home, etc. It is just a werid combination of things. It has been a year - what does that mean for me? How much coping/grieving time makes up for 24 years? What am I doing with my life now?
Above all else, I really do just love and appreciate and respect and...feel evrything else good about her. Excluding her being my mother, she really was an amazig person. One of the most painful and
wonderful things that happens is when people actively want to meet me because she meant so much to them and yet they knew how much she loved me (mind you, these are people that I do not know, out of the blue.) I really do not undestand it firsthand, but rom talking with various people, it is clear that my mother and I had such a wonderful, deep relationship. She swore that I gave her nearly all the good things in life, I (ironcially) had no idea what she was talking about, and I would credit her with giving me all the good things in life.
Mostly, I just miss her. I honestly think losing my "mom," as profound as that is, was the smallest part. I miss...my teacher, my support system, my best friend, the person that always had answers or solutions to the craziest of things, the nicest person I have ever met, etc.
Above all else, I just hope she is ok and I want her to know that I lover her - that I always have, that I always will.
Having more to say about things moving forward, but leaving it at this,
P.S. Blah blah...sorry for being so long...blah blah...this is a gaming site...blah blah...uhh, so I say something about gaming...Doom 3
rocks or something.
Edit: Holey moley - took about twenty refreshes. Anyway, fixed "October." Ignore all the other typos...
Appreciate everything - EVERYTHING
- you have.http://users.ign.com/collection/RayMardenhttp://www.dvdaficionado.com/dvds.html?cat=1&sub=ANF&id=ray_mardenI love you, mom.This comment was edited on Jul 16, 12:33.
Everything is awesome!!!http://www.kindafunny.com/I love you, mom.