What I Plan To Let Go Of This Year
Let it go, Let it goooooo! Oy vey… you’re all terribly sick of Frozen, I know. I, amazingly, have yet to even see the movie. Perk to having no kids, I guess. I didn’t watch many of the Youtube renditions of the song either, and didn’t have to search every store in town for the next best Frozen themed toy. All this aside, this post isn’t about Elsa. It’s about me. Are you surprised? I mean you’re reading a blog about me… so, naturally, it makes sense that this post is about just that.
With the new year, I’ve gained a bit of energy. It seemed to happen almost exactly when the clock struck 12 on New Year’s Eve. Technically, it was a few days before that, the antibiotics kicked in and my sinus infection finally stopped pounding me with exhaustion, headaches, and fevers. Surprisingly enough, my stomach problems waned as well. I still have to be careful with my diet, but it feels like I’ve been blessed by some magical, fairy godmother of sorts with some happiness and energy that I’ve been desperately needing. It’s like, all the sudden I can focus again. I’ve written tons of posts in advance, I’ve even cleaned and dejunked most of my house. I’ve been putting together my woman cave (AKA the Fox Den), and I just keep going. It’s like the old me is alive again. She’s been sleeping for 18 months. She ran away while her heart was breaking, and suddenly returned. Maybe my mom went and found her and asked her to come home.
Now for the more serious part of this story. I had a dream recently about my mom. In it she was healthy and happy, and wanted me to know that. I won’t get into the specifics of the dream, because it’s my own little treasure, but the reality I woke up with was this… she is gone from this life, but she doesn’t want me to be gone. She wants me to live, and live well. Just as she loved me and prayed and hoped for my successes when she was here in this world, she is doing so now from where she is. She is watching me, and hoping that I’ll find my footing again, and live. She is praying that I’ll come back from my broken heart, and allow myself to live while I miss her.
It’s the neatest thing. Maybe it’s all part of the cycle of grief. I’m starting to realize that grief isn’t a cycle, with everything happening one after the other. Sometimes you experience intense sadness and intense happiness at the same time. Sometimes the phases happen over the top of each other, or they happen out of turn. Grief is healthy, but can turn into depression, a nasty beast with sharp talons that wants to keep you from climbing out of your hole into the sunlight.
I get the feeling that if I could talk to my mom about how much I miss her, and how down in the dumps I’ve been, it would go something like this:
“Mom, it really, honestly, sucks without you here.”
“I know, honey. I can see you just fumbling around in your grief. It breaks my heart to see you so sad.”
“I just don’t know how to function sometimes. Last year after you died, I just fell apart. I sometimes feel like I’m on a tire swing spinning around and I can’t seem to spot anything to get my bearings.”
“When I lost your oldest brother when I was 25, I felt the same way. I’d cry and cry, and the only reason I kept going was because I had your other brother to parent. He needed me. He was too little to take care of himself, and I couldn’t leave him alone while I wallowed. He saved my life. You don’t have kids yet, but I promise you the ones you will have need you. They need you to get up, keep going, and move past this. It’s ok to miss me. We were very close. But please don’t let this change you for the worse. Let the grief, and loss, shape you into a strong woman, who knows how to carry on when it feels like the floor has dropped from beneath her. “
“Mom, how do I that? It feels so hard sometimes, and then other times it feels oddly normal to just keep going on with life. I still reach for the phone to call you with any news, good or bad, that I have. And it never feels right that I can’t call you. I hope you hear my conversations that I have with you when I’m talking to my steering wheel. I just couldn’t ever talk to anyone the way I talk to you. It doesn’t feel right to call anyone else with the news, besides J of course, but it was always you two. I called you both. Now it always feels like every good piece of news is bittersweet because I can’t tell you.”
“I hear you, and I listen. I love that you still talk to me. I want you to find people you can talk to, though, that are living. Even if it takes a long time before you have that again, I promise you, you’ll find it. Just try. You have to try.”
“Ok, I will.”
“Yes, mom. I just… miss you all the time. And it never goes away. Even on the best days, you’re still gone, and I still miss you.”
“I know, sweetie, I always missed your brother. I yearned for the day we’d be reunited. I was so sad to finally see how it happened, before any of you were ready for me to go. I guess that’s how our family does things. Your brother left before I was ready to see him go, and I did the same to you guys. Just promise me you’ll live, please? You had such big dreams. Keep chasing them. Laugh a lot, show your family you’re ok, and be strong so that your future kids have a mom they can have fun with. I know I won’t get to campout with them in my backyard, but you can do that. Do all the things I would’ve done with them, that I did do with you kids, and live. Enjoy every minute because one day you might have a child who calls you with every piece of news he or she has. You want to be there and happy and present for it. It will mean as much to you as our relationship does. I’m still here, I just want you to be there while you are living. You can always talk to me when you need to, but don’t forget you are living a life, too.”
“Ok mom. I promise. I love you.”
“I love you too, sweetie. Always will.”
With that being said, I know she’d want me to shed the depression as best I can, and enter the realm of reality again. So, keeping my three words in mind that explain how I want to live my life this year, I will get to it. I’ll keep you posted on how it goes.