Hitting the Curb - Hard

Much profanity ahead. Well, not much by my standards, but perhaps a bit by yours.


My mother loved to haul some serious ass in her wheelchair. Woman did not slow down for anything. She was the crazy lady begging us to let her go at the top of ramps. . . She had one leg, so often the fastest way to go was to push herself with that one leg backwards. Zoom. Go. Go. Go. One time, we were taking the pups to the vet, and they had just poured new concrete. For some reason, my mother thought it was ramp all the way. Backwards she went, zoom, zooooom, CRASH, BOOM! She hit that curb going as fast as she could go. She went flying out of that chair and landed flat on her ass. Her face? Startled! What the hell just happened? Then laughter. My mother was always good for a laugh.

I hit the curb today too. But I didn't laugh. I've been crying all day.

I picked my gorgeous girl (who is driving me nuts lately) up from school and off we went to our favorite after school destination. Bonus points if you guess it. It's Target. I know, too easy. Anyway, as we approached the light on the corner, an old man was trying to get his wheelchair to hop the curb so he could get on the sidewalk. Now that's a trick my mom would do too. She couldn't be bothered with handicap ramps at the END of the walk. She got on where she was. But this guy wasn't making it. I rolled down my window and asked if he needed a push up. Yep, he did. So I stopped, set on my hazards, and got out to help him. I had to roll him down to the ramp part of the sidewalk, which was a joke and a half. It was on a hill, AND had a huge lip to it, so really, unless you had great strength (like my mom had) or someone pushing you, you weren't getting up that thing in a manual wheelchair. It just wasn't possible. I had to turn him backwards and pull him up, it was such a steep area, and such a big lip to the curb/ramp/whatever the eff you want to call it.

Here it is, this is what counts as wheelchair accessible.

I got him up, turned him around, and said goodbye. He saw my girl watching through the window and told me she was a pretty thing. I said she was my world. I waved and got back in my van. I had caused a mild traffic jam, but the guys in the car next to me, rolled down their window to tell me that I was nice. I said thanks. I felt fine.

Then my daughter asked why I did that? I explained that, well, when GaeGae (my mom) was in a wheelchair, wouldn't we have wanted someone to help her? Yep, we would have. "So that's why you did it?" Yep, that's why. Because we all should help each other.

Next up, biggest cryfest this girl has had in a while. I sat and sobbed and snotted all over my pretty new infinity scarf in the Target parking lot. I don't want to be nice and help other people up on the sidewalk ( I mean, I can, but that isn't what I WANT! )I want my mom. I want to push her up ramps and let her fly down them. I want to help her up the curb, and I want to lift her from the ground when the curb knocks her out of her seat. I want her to tell me I'm nice. I just want her.

That was the first time I've pushed a wheelchair since she died. I had no idea it would affect me that way. For so long I hated that wheelchair. I hated that it put this distance between us, made me more of her guide than her companion, made it more difficult to hug, be physical. I hated the limits it placed on her, and how cumbersome it could be. And now I just ache to hold those handles and push. I ache to deal with pushing her chair through doors that won't stay open when no one seems to want to help. I WANT to fold that chair up and throw it in the back of my van for the fifth time that day. I long to see her hauling ass backwards in it, and me shouting at her to BE CAREFUL. I miss that sorry ass chair. I miss that crazy, loving, fun woman; my mom.

As far as I go, I've hit a curb too. I am doing so much better, but after talking with my therapist, we realize my anxiety is back in full strength. She thinks my grief has turned into depression and that I need to up my medications. She's right. I'm shaking at everything. My surgery is coming up, and I keep hitting a wall on that too. I feel change on the horizon, and I'm scared I'm going to mess it all up. I'm just scared, and lonely, and well, motherless. Which is the worst. I can't think of a more awful word to be.


Anyway, I'm okay. It is going to be okay. I have therapy tomorrow, and tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully one where I can keep my emotions in check. Hopefully one where I can find a ramp, or if I do hit the curb, I can get up and laugh.

I miss you mom. I wish I had half your strength.

PS. I will try and take a picture of this sidewalk tomorrow so you can see what I am talking about. It is in front of the Whataburger on 9th Ave.
UPDATE: Pic added above

Holding hands

Years ago, when I was little girl, we held hands. We'd swing them as we walked. Mom would squeeze, and then I'd squeeze back. And on and on. The squeezing never stopped.

You know what sucks about wheelchairs? They stop you from holding hands. Instead, I pushed her chair. I cannot remember the last time I held my mother's hand and just squeezed.

Today, I held my mother's hand for the very last time, through an old bar of soap, and then I let it slip into the trash.

Grief and Aging

In response to a picture I posted, someone mentioned that I look much older now than I did say a year ago. They weren't being mean, we were discussing age and appearance and so she shared this thought with me. She wondered if it was my grief adding lines to my face. I don't know. But it made me think.

I stopped looking in the mirror months ago. My face just stopped mattering. I realized today that I brush my teeth, wash my face, and run a brush through my hair, without ever looking at myself. The mirror above the sink is gone, and has been replaced by nothingness.


I do this with my body too. I get dressed. I get undressed. I shower and rub soap on my self. I do all this, without really seeing myself. Without much thought of what I look like.

But it is more than that. It is more than not looking at myself. It is an almost blatant disregard for myself. I've forgotten I'm here. Or I know I am here, and I just don't care. Or I know I'm here, and I wish I that I wasn't.

I'm ignoring me. And I'm abusing me. And I'm killing me. And I can't think of one good for ME thing I've done in a really long time.

I keep trying. I keep saying I'm getting better. Maybe I am.

But I'm not. I'm just avoiding the problem.

Me.

My grief, my sadness, my depression. My fuckinglifethatisnotwhatiwantittobeanymore.

All the lipstick and haircuts and weight loss in the world aren't going to change a thing.

The price you pay for love

is grief.

I read this on some random quote board on Pinterest (because you can find the answer to all of life's problems there). It resonates with me.

If there was no love, there is no grief.

If there was a little love, there is little grief.

If there was some love, there is some grief.

If there was a lot of love, there is a lot of grief.

If there was great love, there is great grief.

And if it was even more than that, well then, there is THIS. This feeling I have right now.

So, I guess it's worth it. It's the price you pay.

I miss you Mom.

She Let Go

I want this. I just want to let go. To be. To release myself from myself. From my grief, my doubt, my fears, my insecurities, my everything. I want to let go.

She Let Go
She let go. Without a thought or a word, she let go.
She let go of fear. She let go of the judgments.
She let go of the confluence of opinions swarming around her head.
She let go of the committee of indecision within her.
She let go of all the ‘right’ reasons. Wholly and completely,
without hesitation or worry, she just let go.
She didn’t ask anyone for advice. She didn’t read a
book on how to let go… She didn’t search the scriptures.
She just let go.
She let go of all of the memories that held her back.
She let go of all of the anxiety that kept her from moving forward.
She let go of the planning and all of the calculations about how to do it just right.
She didn’t promise to let go.
She didn’t journal about it.
She didn’t write the projected date in her day-timer.
She made no public announcement and put no ad in the paper.
She didn’t check the weather report or read her daily horoscope.
She just let go.
She didn’t analyse whether she should let go.
She didn’t call her friends to discuss the matter.
She didn’t do a five-step Spiritual Mind Treatment.
She didn’t call the prayer line.
She didn’t utter one word. She just let go.
No one was around when it happened.
There was no applause or congratulations.
No one thanked her or praised her.
No one noticed a thing.
Like a leaf falling from a tree, she just let go.
There was no effort. There was no struggle.
It wasn’t good and it wasn’t bad.
It was what it was, and it is just that.
In the space of letting go, she let it all be.
A small smile came over her face.
A light breeze blew through her.
And the sun and the moon shone forevermore.
Here’s to giving ourselves the gift of letting go…
There’s only one guru ~ you.

The author of this poem is unclear. A few sites list Ernest Holmes as the author, another Jennifer Eckert Bernau and still another Rev. Safire Rose.

October

10-18-48
That's the day my mom was born. She died almost six months ago. My grief is, well, it is my grief. I never knew what it was before, but now I do.

So to cope with this month, I have a few things up my sleeve to honor my mom.

My mom loved to shop. She loved to buy presents. She loved to get presents. Every year I would agonize over what to get her, always wanting it to be the perfect gift. This year, I don't get to do that. So instead, I have decided I will buy someone else a gift. There are no rules. I can buy the gift for whomever I want, friend, family member, stranger, anyone. I will give them the gift in honor of my mom's birthday. This will happen every year.

This year's gift will go to an acquaintance. We run in the same circle so to speak, but are not very close. I like her, I think she likes me, but that's about as far as it goes. A few weeks ago, a mutual friend of ours, who is much closer to her than I am, mentioned that this person, let's call her E, wanted an ice cream maker because she wanted to make fresh ice cream with raw milk, something you definitely cannot buy. Now, when I was a child we had 14 goats at one time, five of which were milkers. That's a LOT of milk. So one summer, my mom and I made homemade ice cream almost EVERY single day. We tried so many different flavors. We used the old fashioned hand crank kind and it was FUN. This is a tradition I plan (and have) passed down to my daughter. Every summer we make ice cream the old fashioned way. So E seemed to be the perfect person to gift this year. Also, she is a member of the "dead mom" club. So I feel it was serendipitous that this all came together. So she will be meeting me on October 17th for lunch, where I plan to gift her a new ice cream maker (actually it is an attachment for her Kitchen Aid). I hope she likes it. And since she has lost her mom, I think she will understand my need to do this and not feel uncomfortable.

Now, for the rest of the month. October is my mom's birthday month. I refuse to let her month be all sadness. Yes, there will be sadness because I miss her like freaking crazy and it hurts to breath when I think too much about her, but I want there to be some joy. So for the month of October, I am honoring my mom's birthday month with a daily random act of kindness. My mom taught me a love of reading when I was young, so today's gift was I gifted a book to the first person on FB to respond to my post. The amazing part was this person asked for the book Love You Forever. Which is a children's book that will leave you teary. It leaves me in sobs, as I read it at my mom's funeral. Why? Because love never dies. The love my mama taught me, well, it keeps on going. Forever.
Want to cry along with me?

You can get your very own copy here.
What's one memory you have of your mom? Share. <3

Gettng Help

So I started grief therapy two weeks ago. Not much has changed in the two weeks, but I feel good about the therapy and the therapist. I was afraid to reach out to a total stranger, but she is amazing. She was so warm, caring and kind. I could see the sympathy (not pity) in her every facial expression and she just genuinely seemed to care. She thinks she can help me tackle my grief and then later we will work on my birthday cake eating issues.

One of the most AWESOME parts of having a therapist is I can cry, and snot everywhere, and not worry about making the other person uncomfortable. Normally, I cry a few minutes but try to get it under control. I know I am making someone uncomfortable. But with her, I know she's not, and we talk through it. It feels good to be snotty and gross with someone. I'm not a loner, and don't like grieving alone. It has been hard not having brother or sister, or really anyone to through this with.


IN WLS news, I have finished my insurance required 6 month supervised weight loss trial, and have my first appointment with my surgeon tomorrow! It will still be several months before surgery, as have other requirements, but I am excited to take the next step. I've also started to go, albeit sporadically, to the gym. The hubs has even joined with me. Hoping to be half marathon training again by this time next year! :D Or maybe I'll wait until October, as this humidity is fierce.

Getting Better Makes it Worse - Sometimes

My doctor started me on an antidepressant a couple of weeks ago. And yeah, noticeable change. As my girl's favorite Disney show would say, "I feel better, so much better, thank you Doc for taking all the ouchies away." She watches lots of television lately, and so I have learned all the songs. These are the songs of my grief.

Anyway, I'm able to occupy myself with very important things, like Facebook, My Little Pony décor for my girl's 5th birthday (which is still four months away @@), and Jessica Sorensen novels. I can even grocery shop now, occasionally make dinner, and go around large groups of people without having a panic attack.

But then, then the grief hits. And it sucks. Because it feels brand new again. When I'm sad all the time, it is a constant ache. Constant crying, constant panic attack, constant loss. When I forget to be sad, and then am sad, it is a sharper, deeper pain. Not constant, but still all that much more powerful because it happens all at once, in a single moment. It knocks the shiz right out of me. Then the self loathing comes. Feeling guilty for momentarily feeling okay. Not happy, but okay. Guilt for using drugs (legally prescribed)to smash down the sadness. I feel like I am dishonoring her, by forgetting her with a pill. Not that I forget, just that I don't constantly remember. Yes, I KNOW that I am wrong, that thinking like that is wrong, but it is how I FEEL. Feelings suck. Thus, I take my pill.

I really, really am sad. It just doesn't always show.

Rereading this, I know I sound like a melodramatic fool. But I am who I am, and as my old friend used to say, it is what it is.