Well... THAT Explains IT

So, I get up this morning and decide that I am going to get EVERYTHING on my laundry list of to-do's done. Empty out the fridge, clean out my car, get it washed, go to the bank, pay for daycare, put away laundry, restock my cosmetics, etc etc etc. I spent the last 8 hours running around like a fucking maniac.

Then, I look at my phone and I see a missed call from my sister.

Oh... Fuck....

Wednesday is the one year anniversary of my mother's death.


Well... That fucking explains it.


Of course I spent the entire day running around like a crazed lunatic instead of focusing on the reality that it has been a year since my mother died and I have still not come to terms with it. What else would I do?

Actually sit with it and process the situation and what I need to do.

Wait... That's what I have been doing for the last hour. Kind of.

I think I may be getting the hang of this whole mental health thing. It's only taken about 15 years of therapy. Talk about a long term investment.

So, what have I done in the last hour?

I called my sister and said that I wanted to try and see her since I am already going to be close to her tomorrow. I called my ex to see if he could figure something out to keep our daughter for an extra night. I was even nice and apologetic. I left voice mails for a couple of people that I may be able to get help from. I called my therapist. I told my boyfriend that I needed him to do something sweet for me on Wednesday.

Pretty good if I do say so myself.

Further, I actually started thinking about what I deem to be the most important part of that: calling my sister.

I suddenly just had an image flash through my mind that she and I needed to do things together to honor our mom. That I wanted to listen to Madonna and Gloria Estefan and Shania Twain. That we needed to make welsh rarebit. That I desperately need to find some champagne roses and make cinnamon sugar toast. That I wanted to make it about our mom; not about losing her.

It has been so impossibly hard for me to think about my mother for the last 6 years. To remember what she looked like or what she did. In recent weeks, I have been flooded with memories. Some good and some bad. Realizations about why I do things and how they connect to my mother.

It has been truly mind bending for me.

For me to not instantly try to push this from my mind. For me to attempt to sit with this feeling. To sit with it as it comes up. In the present moment. Ok... Let me do that for a second. Here comes the free flow......

sad guilty lonely; but not really. grateful for my health. sad that I could not help her. blessed to have my own beautiful daughter. hoping that my mother is proud of me for what I am doing in my life. wishing that she could be here to see it. to see what I am still going to do. angry that she gave in. sad that I can't remember the last words that she said to me. desperately trying to recall a good memory of her. a last good healthy memory. finding myself sifting through a plethora of awful memories. painful memories. I remember her coming into my bedroom when I was crying. she sat on the bed next to me and she tried saying a few things. I was probably 15 or 16. I don't remember why I was crying. I remember trying to shake her off and still wanting her to stay. fighting her and clinging to her. and then she told me something "you have always cried like this. since you were a baby. you let all of this pain out of you in one forced effort and then you frantically try to breathe".

Still a pretty accurate description.


I miss having a mom.



Maybe that's why I love to care for others. I know how empty it can feel when you don't have someone there to tell you how you cry. Someone who knows you and understand you.

I understood my mother. She understood me. We always did. There was this weird and unspoken connection between us. I feel like I have been looking for it ever since I lost it. For that understanding. That complete and total comprehension.


Maybe that's why I can think about her more, now. I don't feel like I am misunderstood anymore. I feel like I understand myself and others. I feel like others understand me.

It isn't the same; but, it makes sense as to why I can think about her again. I don't feel as though I have permanently lost what she gave me. I feel like I have found it. I feel like I can let her in and understand her again.


Well, fuck me.

It will be an interesting week of posts my dears. A very interesting week.