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Tripping over those potholes of grief.


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I just looked at the calendar and only now realized that it has been a year since my mom died. No fanfare. No plans of remembrance. It's just there. I have been foggy headed/absent-minded all day. I've gone downstairs to start the laundry several times today, only to forget why I was there. I sent my son to his therapist by himself (he drives) as I could not get my act together to get lunch before it was time to leave. I have a busy weekend and have much to do to get ready and I just can't make a dent in that to-do list. I have decisions to make and I can't think anything through.

 

I just want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. I know I have to be a grown up and face this. In my head, I know that grief is normal and healthy. I just don't wanna be a grown up. I want to find a place to hide until this day/week/month is over. But, if I run away, I'll still be me. Darn logic. Heavy sigh.

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:grouphug::grouphug::grouphug:

 

I've been there and done that, and I wish I could tell you there was a way to escape it, but it's very hard.

 

The thing that has worked best for me is not being alone when I'm feeling particularly awful. People will tell you to stay busy, but unless you're doing something that is very distracting, it doesn't help much -- let's face it, you can still think and grieve while you're doing the laundry.

 

I wish I lived near you. I'd take you out for coffee and a nice pastry.

 

Cat

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I just looked at the calendar and only now realized that it has been a year since my mom died. No fanfare. No plans of remembrance. It's just there. I have been foggy headed/absent-minded all day. I've gone downstairs to start the laundry several times today, only to forget why I was there. I sent my son to his therapist by himself (he drives) as I could not get my act together to get lunch before it was time to leave. I have a busy weekend and have much to do to get ready and I just can't make a dent in that to-do list. I have decisions to make and I can't think anything through.

 

I just want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. I know I have to be a grown up and face this. In my head, I know that grief is normal and healthy. I just don't wanna be a grown up. I want to find a place to hide until this day/week/month is over. But, if I run away, I'll still be me. Darn logic. Heavy sigh.

 

I'm so sorry Ellen. :grouphug: I'm praying for you.

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:grouphug:

 

No doubt you think about her every day. It's fine and good to remember they exact day she died and maybe have some kind of special remembrance, but please don't beat yourself up or feel guilt about it.

 

If you ask me, it's especially hard around the holidays.

 

My mom has been gone nearly 14 years and I'm struggling today too...mostly because I need some motherly advice, dammit! And who is here to give it to me? Her mother died young too and my mom told me you never stop missing your mother...

 

So just hugs. It's hard. There's no getting around it. And wanting to crawl under the covers is not acting childish...it's what you want to do today to take care of yourself, and taking care of yourself is certainly a grown up thing to do.

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So sorry Ellen. :grouphug: My Mom died 6 years ago and it's still hard. For me, talking about her helps. I tell my daughters funny stories about "Gammie". That's what they called her. She was quite a character and I can always make them laugh. My oldest was telling me the other day, "I wish I knew Gammie better, Mom." That was bittersweet. Such a sweet thing to say, but oh boy, did it hurt.

 

It's okay to mourn. Publicly, privately or whichever way you choose. But grant yourself the right to go through it without the guilt of letting other things slide.

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:grouphug: My dad died 9 years ago on Bright Monday (its strange that I remember that easier than the date) and I still get a bit sad around Easter. DS5 is so much like him and they won't meet until heaven. Breaks my heart.

 

Take the day for your self and let yourself grieve. If you can't swing it today then set up for someone to watch your kids later this week and do something to honor your mom.

 

Christine W

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Anniversaries are really hard. After my dad died, I found that his birthday, Christmas, and Father's Day were rough, but the one year mark was REALLY hard.

 

I had to just let myself lose it that day. I took a day off from "life" and just gave myself permission to remember and cry. The next day, a weight was lifted, and it has never been as hard since. I still miss him (he died in 1985) and I still cry sometimes. But it's never been as raw and painful as it was that first year and the first anniversary.

 

IMHO, give yourself permission to do/feel whatever you need to do/feel today. If you have a bad day, it doesn't mean that tomorrow will be as bad. It just means that today is a hard day. For most people, it *does* get easier after the one-year mark. I hope that that's the case for you as well.

 

Hugs,

 

Lisa

 

I just looked at the calendar and only now realized that it has been a year since my mom died. No fanfare. No plans of remembrance. It's just there. I have been foggy headed/absent-minded all day. I've gone downstairs to start the laundry several times today, only to forget why I was there. I sent my son to his therapist by himself (he drives) as I could not get my act together to get lunch before it was time to leave. I have a busy weekend and have much to do to get ready and I just can't make a dent in that to-do list. I have decisions to make and I can't think anything through.

 

I just want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. I know I have to be a grown up and face this. In my head, I know that grief is normal and healthy. I just don't wanna be a grown up. I want to find a place to hide until this day/week/month is over. But, if I run away, I'll still be me. Darn logic. Heavy sigh.

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My Dad's been gone three years now. Losing a parent has been the most life-altering event. I say phooey to the laundry or the to-do list. Making myself carry-on with everyday tasks while my heart is breaking is a double insult. Emotionally, I want everything to stop, everyone to halt life, to recognize that something important has happened, something vital is missing. Carrying on with daily life seems to devalue grief on those days.

 

So honestly, life can care for itself for a day or two. Go to the bed, or the rocker or wherever your comfort is found. Relive the hard last days, mourn, and at the other side, the good memories and better emotions will come. Promise.

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When I met my dh his dad had been gone for a long time (he died when dh was 9). Even as an adult my dh would hide away on the anniversary of his death, literally call in sick to work, stay in bed all day. It took him years to even attempt to move past the grief. It's okay to take a day, make a cup of coffee, share a memory, cry, :grouphug:.

 

If you'd like I know we'd love to know something about your mom, something good you remember today that you could share. Only if you feel like it.

 

:grouphug:

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:grouphug: Allow yourself to grieve. The process is an individual one, and it's okay to still hurt after a year. If this is an every day thing, then I'd suggest some outside professional help, but since you are nearing the anniversary, it's perfectly normal to have the pain resurface. Be gentle with yourself. :grouphug:

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:grouphug: I'm missing my brother these last few days.

I like the pothole analogy -- the tears just sort of appear sometimes. It can be the littlest thing that triggers them.

I tell myself to feel the grief and be in the moment with it, because it gets bigger and more unmanageable if I don't. Dealing with grief means going thru it, not trying to get around it.

 

Sorry it's so sucky. Lots of :grouphug:.

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Yeah, those potholes suck the big one! I don't get them on anniversaries really, they are generally completely random. And I agree with the others, when they hit it's good to sit in them for a while, remember and cry. Then you will be ready to move on again.

20 years since Dad died, and 16 since Mum died, and they still come, less often, but they are there. I give myself time to cry and look at photos and then I move on.

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Thanks to all of you for your support. I really needed permission to just be with my sadness and know that what needs to get done will be done. My kids were great today - they took up some of the slack. My heart goes out to all of you walking a similar road.

 

The potholes analogy came from a children's novel about the Revolutionary War where the main character describes his grief over losing his mother. It might have been Fighting Ground by Avi or maybe some other one. It always struck me as the perfect way to describe it - going along your way until this pothole of a memory or a smell or sound would stop you in your tracks with fresh pangs of grief.

 

In remembering Mom, here is the eulogy I gave at her funeral:

 

Memories of Mom

 

Of all the roles my mom had in her life - daughter, granddaughter, sister, friend, wife, mother, grandmother ... One of the roles my mom most cherished was that of grandmother. Her grandkids were her pride and joy, whether they came to her by birth or by marriage. She especially loved grandmothering the babies – holding them, rocking them, smelling their sweet baby smell, shushing them when they cried. We would often say that you could count on Mom to “bore†a fidgety baby to sleep. She often quipped that babies were great because they "couldn’t talk back." As I looked through family pictures, some of the most heartwarming images were of mom holding a brand new grandchild, smiling from ear to ear.

 

As they grew older, she read with them, listened as they talked, commented on the pictures they drew for her and enjoyed being with them. When I commented to her that she was much more relaxed as a grandparent than she was as a parent, she laughed and said “Oh, they go home at night.â€

 

The grandkids learned that the “price of admission†to Grandma’s house was a hug and a kiss. They also knew that her home was home to the “never-empty cookie jar.†More than one grandchild learned to say “Grandma, I give you kiss, you give me cookie?†I would often admonish my kids for leaving crumbs all over the place, knowing how my mom liked a clean house. But she would shush me. I think she liked cleaning up those reminders that her grandchildren had come to visit.

 

When I was growing up, Mom and Dad would bicker and argue. It always disturbed me – as I could never stand discord. One common argument was about what Dad was wearing. If it wasn’t about his horribly mismatched clothes (we think Dad may have been color blind)it was what he called his “Sunday-goin-to-meetin†clothes, a ratty sweatshirt and paint-stained jeans. Either of those annoyed my mom to no end. One day, when the kids and I were visiting, Dad came out in the “Sunday-goin-to-meetin†sweatshirt and jeans. As expected, Mom exasperatedly yelled at him to change. As Dad turned the corner, I saw him shaking with laughter as he winked at me. All these years, he was doing this on purpose, just to get a rise out of Mom! And Mom fell for it every time!

 

I am sure that many of you have heard about my mom and her sister Eileen – a study in contrasts. Mom, being the proper and straight-laced one and Eileen being the wilder, more adventurous one who found humor in situation. As you can imagine, they didn’t get along well as children, but as adults, they were best of friends, despite the miles that separated them. Yet another common argument between my parents was the size of the phone bill - namely, all those calls to her sister. Sadly, Eileen passed away earlier this year.

 

As mom's time here on Earth was drawing to a close, my brother Mike, my nephew Chris and I were with my mom at the hospital at the end. As she was breathing her last breaths, an absurd, but somehow appropriate image came into my head. Mom was going toward Heaven and Dad was there to greet her, wearing, you guessed it, his “Sunday-going-to-meeting†clothes. Mom yells “Don, for crying out loud, couldn’t you change your clothes?!?!†And in the background I could hear her sister, Eileen, laughing at them both.

 

Here’s to you mom. We love you and miss you.

 

I think I am going ask my family go through the box of photographs of my mom that we had brought to the funeral home for her wake. They have been sitting in a corner of my family room for the better part of a year. I think the kids will enjoy some of them.

 

Thanks again, everyone. You all are one of those lifelines that God puts out here for those days when the ground feels like it is disappearing under my feet.

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Here’s to you mom. We love you and miss you.

 

I think I am going ask my family go through the box of photographs of my mom that we had brought to the funeral home for her wake. They have been sitting in a corner of my family room for the better part of a year. I think the kids will enjoy some of them.

 

Thanks again, everyone. You all are one of those lifelines that God puts out here for those days when the ground feels like it is disappearing under my feet.

 

:grouphug: Thank you for sharing, she sounds like a beautiful person. :grouphug:

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:grouphug::grouphug:

 

I remember how hard that first anniversary of my mom's death was. The last thing I ever said to her - about an hour before she died - was that I would come over and have a cup of tea with her the next day. (We're tea drinkers) The first anniversary I felt the need to keep my promise so I filled a thermos with tea, left the girls home and went to the cemetery alone. I just sat there, drank tea and talked with mom and sobbed. When I came home, I felt I could face the next day. That little tradition has helped me the last few years.

 

It's okay and necessary and good to grieve. Be gracious to yourself and take the time you need.

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:grouphug::grouphug:

 

One day, when the kids and I were visiting, Dad came out in the “Sunday-goin-to-meetin†sweatshirt and jeans. As expected, Mom exasperatedly yelled at him to change. As Dad turned the corner, I saw him shaking with laughter as he winked at me. All these years, he was doing this on purpose, just to get a rise out of Mom! And Mom fell for it every time!

 

This sounds SO much like my parents.

 

Thanks for sharing about your mom. I'll just reiterate what others have said. Allow yourself this time to grieve without guilt.

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:grouphug::grouphug::grouphug:

 

I've been there and done that, and I wish I could tell you there was a way to escape it, but it's very hard.

 

The thing that has worked best for me is not being alone when I'm feeling particularly awful. People will tell you to stay busy, but unless you're doing something that is very distracting, it doesn't help much -- let's face it, you can still think and grieve while you're doing the laundry.

 

I wish I lived near you. I'd take you out for coffee and a nice pastry.

 

Cat

 

I agree with this. I am struggling to not cry my way through the holidays for the sake of my younger kids, but the truth is that I miss my oldest son so much it hurts. Today we had a field trip with our homeschool group, followed by a trip to the park with friends and then tonight I had a party at a homeschool friend's house. While I was busy, I was doing good. When I was at home looking at ornaments that reminded me of him, I was feeling as though my heart would literally die. A year ago today, he was here on leave and we all left to attend his best friend's wedding in Florida. I have been rolling around in my mind all day how he took his sister ahead of us so he could spend some special time with her. I just miss him so much. I wish I had more advice, but I gotta say that Cat's advice is the best thing that is working for me. Hugs to you.

Edited by Kari C in SC
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:grouphug::grouphug::grouphug:This will be my second Christmas without my mom, third without my dad. Last year my grief was so fresh that I just couldn't focus on the holidays. This year I realize how our holidays will never, ever be the same without our parents. Even my kids notice the emptiness we experience now.

 

I can really relate. You need to be gentle with yourself and allow yourself some time off when you need it. You'll make it. You will.:grouphug::grouphug::grouphug:

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