grief – Sweat & Sparkle

In Her Honor

A 4-day weekend flew by in the blink of an eye. How is it possible for time to unravel so fast when I want it to slow down?

I got a lot done, though, including decorating the porch and the yard for fall. I lit a pumpkin clove candle, put on the fall leaves t-shirt that my husband got for me, and went to town, diving in and out of boxes full of multi-colored leaves, pumpkins, and sunflowers.

It hasn’t actually cooled down much here, but I sneaked a look at the forecast back home, where I grew up. The seventies during the day, dipping into the fifties at night…ahhh, real fall weather! My mom would be delighted, flinging windows open, leaving the screen door open to the crisp, cool air. The shift from summer to fall was always her favorite time of year, too.

This is my fourth time decorating for fall without her. She was in the hospital when I decorated in 2022, but I thought she would be coming home. I never got to show her the pictures I took of our decorations that year. I didn’t know I never would again.

I finished the fireplace mantel, which I always save for last because it takes the longest, and I took a few pictures. One of my stepsons stopped by later that day, and his girlfriend instantly commented how nice everything looked, which made me smile. I put a lot into decorating our home for holidays.

Later, flipping through the pictures, I tried to push the feelings away, but they crept up and sat on my chest anyway. This is when I should be emailing the pictures to my mom, because she had given me some of the decorations, and she got a kick out of seeing them worked into our displays at our house. This was something we always shared, something we had so strongly in common, and the excitement of fall will now always walk hand-in-hand with the ache of wanting to share it all with her but not being able to.

In her honor this year, I featured one of the items from her house as the centerpiece of our mantel. I like seeing it surrounded with fall foliage and lights and colorful pumpkins. I miss her, but I will celebrate her, honor her, through our love of fall and decorating. It is one way that I have found to stay as close to her as I possibly can.

Story

I have posted here and there about the difficulties I had after my mom died a few years ago. It was like I ran straight into a massive, sticky spider web, got woefully tangled, and simply couldn’t fight my way out of it.

What I haven’t written about yet is finally, FINALLY, pulling myself out of that web and slowly getting back onto my feet.

I’m still not quite where I would like to be, but I am getting closer, day by day. And after feeling all but hopeless and almost giving up on myself, it’s a triumph simply to be moving forward again instead of sinking further down.

I know that blogging is a dying art, but it occurred to me that sharing more of my story might actually help someone struggling with the same things. So once I figure out how to put some of this into words, I will be back to do just that.

In a few months, I hope to share a major personal victory. It will help put it into perspective to frame it with the struggles and internal warfare I battled through to get there. Until then, I take each day as it comes, put it the work and the effort required to create change, and I appreciate being here another day to see where this day takes me.

Don’t Worry, Mom

Yesterday was my third Mother’s Day without my mother. My Amazon account still gives me suggestions from her favorite authors, because she loved books like I do, and I still have a wish list saved under “Mom” that I simply can’t bring myself to delete.

There’s so much she has missed out on. So much I wish I could tell her. My nephew is graduating high school soon. My older stepdaughter starts her first teaching job soon, which would have made my retired-teacher mother so happy. She loved babies, and our grandson #2 is on his way. She never much cared for plants or gardening, but she always patiently oohed and ahhed over my pictures every spring, as buds opened and flowers burst across our yard.

My husband took me to lunch to celebrate Mother’s Day, and we had a good time. We talked about my mom, his mom, told stories about them. We ended up laughing, because both of them gave us plenty of material for amusing tales.

We did a little shopping after lunch and inevitably ended up in a garden center, just strolling and picking out new things for the yard. I can’t think of a better way to spend a peaceful, rainy Sunday.

If I could have somehow talked to my mom one more time, of course I would have told her all about the graduations and babies and teaching and everything else. And I also would have told her, don’t worry about me, Mom. Really. Because I married a good one, the very best one, and we are taking such good care of each other.

Waking Up

When my mother died about two and a half years ago, it did more than knock me down. I was gutted. Remember that scene in Terminator 2 when the T-1000 gets shot point blank by the Terminator, and its head is fragmented and ruined and barely recognizable as what it once was?

That’s how I felt for a long time, destroyed, blasted apart, with no idea how to claw my way back to who I used to be. I didn’t know how to repair what had been ripped open, and feeling so lost was honestly a bit scary.

Even as I returned to work, smiled, went through the motions of keeping up with daily life, I felt like something wasn’t quite right. A year passed, then another, and I started to think that this is just the way it is now, feeling off, like parts of me were shut down, and I didn’t even really know myself anymore. I wanted to break past it, but I didn’t know how.

A few weeks ago, I got sick, just a stuffy nose and a cough, nothing serious. I took a day off work to rest, and something just shifted that day. Maybe it was the quiet time to think. Maybe it was just a much-needed wake-up call. I spent the first six months after my mom died very ill, so being sick again made me a little nervous.

I didn’t want to continue that way anymore, putting in the bare minimum to survive but not really taking care of me. I felt like I had all but buried myself alongside my mother. I wasn’t unhappy, exactly, just sort of numb, and I was finally tired of it.

I still can’t explain precisely what changed, or how, or why it happened when it did. But that Monday, after my sick day, I decided to go for a little walk. I was still quite sick, so I didn’t go crazy. I just wanted to set aside that time to take care of this poor body of mine and actually follow through, like I give a damn about myself, and I did just that.

Routines that I have had for years, like doing my nails on weekends or taking time for face masks or making sure I rub lotion into my hands before bed, had been long abandoned, but why? I didn’t want to neglect myself anymore. I had gotten to a point where I felt irrationally angry and frustrated at doing anything to take care of me, and I couldn’t explain it, but I was now over it.

I did my nails that weekend. I bought beautifully scented lotion to treat myself. I used the Sephora gift card that my husband got for me, and I chose items to indulge myself, pamper myself again.

It sounds silly. Why would slapping a coat of nail polish on my nails be a big deal? But it was. Doing anything for myself had become something I resisted so hard, like I was relentlessly punishing myself. I pushed back hard at the idea of caring for me for over two years.

If I was punishing myself, well, I had hurt myself long enough. I decided I was done. It was time to climb out of the pit I had hurled myself into. I was exhausted from just surviving. I wanted to live again.

So I am. I feel like I have pulled myself out of a self-induced coma, and I am still in a bit of a state of wonder, still waking up, but hopeful for the first time in a long time.

I have a lot of time to make up for. I have a lot to fix and heal. Neglecting myself for so long took its toll. I refuse to kick myself for setting myself back so far, though. I was hurting, working my way through my grief. I owe myself gentleness and forgiveness now, not more pain.

I also owe myself an apology, and I owe one to my husband, too. I am grateful for him: for his support, for his love, for his faith in me when I had lost mine. He stood by me, unwavering, patient, while I licked my wounds. Through all of my days, bright or dark, he is always my radiant light and my way home.

Never Forget

This morning, I attended a 9/11 memorial service in my town. It was short, but emotional and intense.

Twenty-three years already. I didn’t even know my husband yet. I was living almost 500 miles away, working at my desk at my home office, unaware that anything had even happened until my phone rang. I traveled a lot for work at the time, and a friend of mine panicked when she heard that planes were being hijacked.

I owned a TV but never watched it, so I didn’t even have cable, no channels. While America was glued to the TV that day, I heard about it on the radio but didn’t see the footage of the planes destroying the towers until a day or two later, at a co-worker’s house. Twenty-three years later, even though I had only been in her house that one day, I can perfectly picture the room I was in, the TV, where I was standing, and reaching one shaky hand out for the wall to steady myself as I watched, unable to stop watching, unbelieving.

This morning, a speaker at the memorial said he was asked why it is important to remember. I can’t fathom anyone needing to ask that question. What will happen to us if we forget?

Here are just some of the reasons we absolutely must remember.

“Jules, this is Brian. Listen, I’m on an airplane that’s been hijacked. If things don’t go well, and it’s not looking good, I just want you to know that I absolutely love you. I want you to do good, go have good times – same to my parents and everybody. I just totally love you… and I’ll see you when you get there. Bye babe. I hope I call you.” ~Brian David Sweeney, passenger on Flight 175, voicemail to his wife

“Hi baby. I’m, baby, you have to listen to me carefully. I’m on a plane that’s been hijacked. I’m on the plane, I’m calling from the plane. I want to tell you that I love you. Please tell my children that I love them very much. And I’m so sorry baby. I don’t know what to say. There’s three guys, they’ve hijacked the plane… we’re turned around and I heard that there’s planes that have been flown into the World Trade Centre. I hope to see your face again, baby. I love you. Bye.” ~ CeeCee Lyles, mother of 4, flight attendant on Flight United 93, voicemail to her husband

“Call me if you can. I’m scared!!” ~ unknown text message

““There’s a fire. I love you, tell Nicole ‘I love you’. I don’t know if I’m going to be OK. I love you so much.” ~ Jim Gartenberg’s voicemail to his pregnant wife and 2-year-old daughter as he was clearing out his desk on his last day of work at the World Trade Center

“I’m have been trying to call and cant get through. Call me if you can. I just want to make sure you are ok. I love you.” ~ unknown text message

“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” ~ Melissa Doi to 911 operator

“There’s lots of smoke and I just wanted you to know that I love you always.” ~ Melissa Harrington Hughes’ voicemail to her husband

Never forget.