I’m home, but feeling so adrift; Mom died last week only ten days after we received the stage four diagnosis. I know I’m supposed to be eased that she didn’t suffer, but that barely scratches the surface.
I’m slightly calmed by a gorgeous quilt proffered by a guild that makes comforters for each of the patients at the hospice where Mom spent her last days. My siblings kindly allowed me that keepsake, and I’ve already told The Burrito he can use it when he sleeps over at our house.
Yet…. My heart is ripped apart, scattered along the roads between Silicon Valley and where Mom took her final breaths. And while I know those ragged pieces will again one day beat steadily within my chest, it’s damn difficult to fathom how, when, wtf??? My mother was fine three months ago, just fine! Well her knees were a little achy, but she was taking turmeric and feeling better and….
And now I’m beyond stymied how stupidly fast this occurred, how insanely unreal it seems, how mother-effing this day appears. It looks like any typical late June day, but for the love of God what the hell happened in the last few weeks? I was merely going to help my littlest sister, Mom suffering from a bad back. Now Mom’s dead, really? REALLY?
Shite; I’ve used a lot of blue language recently, because despite how pain-free Mom was at the end, the friggin’ speed of this has hit all who love her like a freakin’ bullet train. This is nothing like how Dad died, this is some alternate reality. I know people die of cancer with barely any warning, and I also know people die in accidents and there is no loving goodbye shared. But I’ve never been on the effed-up end of it. This is new, it hurts, and I’m groping around, looking for pieces of my heart. And my head; oh my goodness, barely enough brain cells to make the morning coffee. I’ve been drinking a lot of coffee, but never again will I get Mom a gift card for her favourite java corporation. So many never again’s makes me wanna puke.
Not sure when I might post next, maybe tomorrow, maybe September. Last week I told the hospice social worker I’ve had one foot in the corporeal, the other in the ethereal, and never had I felt so stretched. Finally I’ve fallen on my arse and Lord Almighty it’s a killer getting back up. Currently I’m on my knees, nowhere near standing on two feet. But on those knees, prayer seems easier, about the only task I can manage. Mom’s final ten days have been swept away on a hot summer wind, bitter against my face, strangely cold at my back; I never dreamed she’d leave us this soon. May the peace she now possesses find her beloveds; we are aching tremendously.