…a brief glance…

I wish I could put into words what I have been feeling these past few days, this last week or so, but words can’t express. To say that everything is slowly becoming real would be an understatement, the numbness that came from shock has somewhat worn out and all that is left is the pain of the void you have managed to convince yourself, didn’t exist. Now it does. For days now the ability to burst into uncontrollable tears has been an art form that I have unwillingly mastered, and all I want to do is close my eyes and sleep, but sleep is not a refuge. The rare times that I manage uninterrupted couple of hours, they are haunted by dreams, though they are mostly pleasant and even comforting as they are almost always including my Mom, it hurts too. Guaranteed none of my siblings have completed a more than a couple of hours of sleep at a time. The tiredness in their eyes, the bags beneath them, are only some of the tell tale signs of our inability to sleep. We chuckle and compare notes sadly, as we are all haunted by the same things, the degrees and scenarios vary, but it’s pretty much the same thing. We had the 40th day gathering, which in the Catholic Faith is a major event. It is the time when they believe the soul moves to heaven. Though I firmly believe that my Mother has been in heaven from the moment she passed away, the tradition was comforting, though excruciating. My siblings and I had once again without consensus taken the day off. We spent most of it together, preparing for the night ahead, which admittedly left my stomach in knots. The 40th day meant it was the last thing, that it was real. I mean aside from burying her, which we will do only with the immediate family, this was goodbye for everyone else in her world. Something about the day, made it real and as I drove Friday morning to pick up my sister from her house, I was overcome with such grief that I cried all the way there. The moment the novena began I was transported to those first days after her death when we first started praying, once again the dam broke and the flood gates were opened, and there I sat between my two cousins, head down, shoulder slouched tired, angry and sad. She was gone. That was it? Now we were supposed to move on with the rest of our lives without her? I don’t think I can ever fully explain what it feels like to lose your mother. My mother was by no means perfect, but I know in my heart that she did her best. My mother was the most critical of us, but with the same heart, she was our cheerleader, and though a quiet one…our biggest fans. She wanted nothing more than for us to succeed and I know now that she was proud of the way we turned out. She had always wanted us to be self sufficient, and never failing to remind us that though friends are great, it is our family that will stick with us to the very end. I think she would be proud that through her death, this was not only realised, defined, but also strengthened. I can be sad and wish that we had more time, I can be angry that she passed away when I’m no where near the adult I’m supposed to be, and I am so tired that I can’t even form thoughts in my head, let along sentences to communicate. But at the end of the day, the most important thing would remain the same, she would still be gone. I am exhausted, I am sad, and maybe even a little angry, but I am only human. Despite the tiredness, the sadness and the occasional anger, it is within my reach that I find my gratefulness. For the events, and the good that such a tragedy brought. She is at peace, she is at rest, and though I wish she were here right now she deserves to be at a place where she is no longer suffering. One day the habit to pick up the phone to call her will be gone, and the brief moment of denial you visit when you walk into the house that she will be there will no longer be a viable option, but this day will be a bittersweet day. Though I know this day will inevitably come, for it is necessary to move forward, a part of me feels like it would be a betrayal to her and her memory, so as hard as it is, and as painful as it is, we hold on, and tightly, for as long as we can. I miss my Mom. I miss the Tuesday nights we would go see a movie if there was something we wanted to see. The impromptu dinners at the malls, grocery shopping. Sitting on the kitchen stool as she cuts fruit or prepares dinner, talking and sharing our day, more often than not we’d be joking about one topic in particular. I miss her mere presence in the house. It’s amazing what you miss, and what you realise you took for granted. I am grateful for the last 6 months with her, that I was home, that we had some time together, that I was with her when she took her last breath. Thank you God for your abundant grace!