The new normal
You think you're normal. You think you're having a normal night, doing normal things. You chat with friends, kiss your husband goodnight, and think you are contentedly working on a sewing project. In the midst of this project, you realize a specialized sewing foot would solve some problems and go digging through the sewing supplies, trying to find said sewing foot.
Instead of a sewing foot, I found my mother's purse. The bloodwork from her last doctor's appointment, the funky coin purse she loved so much were inside. I discover she had $2 in her wallet when she died, a plethora of credit cards and a blank personal check (just in case). I find grocery receipts, shopping lists, and a receipt from the craft store visit when she bought a jewelry kit to make for her best friend. That project was never completed, like many others, and my mother isn't here to help me find the sewing machine foot, to teach me how to handroll a hem. And, like so many strange and unexpected things, it makes me miserably sad. Like the typically thick book she was reading around the holidays, her bookmark still in place. I found that, too, along with memories of reading the book aloud to her in the hospital when I had run out of other things to say.
Like I love you.
I miss you.
I found birthday cards your friends sent to you at Hospice and, finally reading them, see how many of them were trying to say goodbye in those inadequate Hallmark vessels and admire those who could see what I could not. What even now has the ability to bring me to my knees, to feel a primal pain and render me speechless.
Like so many things in the last week or so of your life, this is something we only share with each other. No one else is around to see me on the floor, clutching your purple bag and just sobbing. Your name is on my lips and you fill my heart, but it is nothing compared to having you here, to even be able to take your assistance for granted. Such a simple, yet impossible wish.
When my mother was diagnosed with cancer, she started using the phrase "the new normal" to represent her acceptance of how the disease impacted her life, but also wasn't going to stop her completely in her tracks. Instead of struggling against changes beyond her control, she embraced them--the new normal. And that's what I have now in my life--moments of fun, even happiness, but also the acceptance that these things can come from nowhere, filling my eyes with tears and stinging my chest with sorrow. Laughing and crying, missing you and yet picking myself up and moving into a new day--the new normal.
Comments
What you said about your last week together, and sobbing on the floor and no one there to know about it....I relate.
Just know I've kept you in my thoughts since first finding your blog. You were the one to give me a glimpse into what was coming. It terrified me, for Mom's sake, but the knowledge was needed. Thank you for sharing.
Today is not a good day for me. But when I saw your post, somehow it helped to know there is another daughter out there, who lost her Mother the same way, and is also trying to figure out how to work the sewing machine, and looking at her Mom's purse :) {Hug}
Despite what originally made us aware of one another, I am grateful we've kept up with each other's blogs, bad days and good days. I'm grateful for any way my words and experiences might have helped you through your experiences caring for and now remembering your mother.
wow - your timing on this...I was having a very similar day today. It's a "trying to live with the hole in your life" day. We are all doing our very best and trying to remember that my dad is whole and happy and better off. Both of my siblings have been back to visit - my brother may be here permanently when he isn't working overseas (that is a good thing). He is still struggling with all this and it makes me ache.
I so appreciate your words and friendship - and send you hugs and peace
Becky
Becky
Thank you for your entries and your beautiful, open heart. I know your mother smiles at you from where she watches.
I never intended this blog to be about my mum's cancer or my grief or even my role as a sister/parent...but life happens, eh? I thought I'd be posting craft projects and tutorials, but instead have this great outlet for discovering and archiving what's going through my head, what the experience of "all this" is, exactly. I am very grateful for the role Vox and all you Voxy folk have played in my life over the past year.
Becky: As I described it to my counselor, living without my mother is like seeing this shadowy, frightening thing out of the corner of my eye. I can't look directly at it, it's too overwhelming. I hope you and your family are getting help, too, to better cope and support each other.
Jazz: A sincere and huge thanks to you. Blogs like yours and Lori's have given me much needed insight into the other side of this equation. Though my mother wrote some things about her cancer and her response to her diagnosis, I feel like I learn a little more about her by reading what others with cancer are willing to share. Your reply not only made me teary, but it made some people who care a lot about me teary, too.