I went to bed thinking about writing and woke up bright and early with my mind buzzing and whirling. I will try to capture those thoughts in some semblance of order.
Naturally, my thoughts are dominated by my mother. Everyone I see asks me how she is doing. The truth of the matter is that she is about the same – even though she is now staying in assisted living. Yes, she has mentioned wanting to go back to her house but she was talking about that when she was at home. I have to keep reminding myself of that. It is a strange place for her but it is providing some extra stimulation for her too. Everything is new. She isn’t locking herself up in her room, she is eating in the dining room and will wander around the halls when she gets curious or bored. She sleeps a lot just like she did at home.
We are all wounded. Each of us in different ways. We will recover from our wounds differently and in our own time. Our scars will be as different as our wounds were.
I miss my mom and I wish that things could be different. But I’ve wished for that my whole life. The disparity is that now I have to accept that it never will be. Things can never be resolved. I may never understand in a way that makes me feel better about not having a relationship with her.
The final stage of grief is acceptance. The catchphrase “It is what it is” comes to mind.
In spite of our fears, feelings, struggles, and confusion, we understand everything is okay even if we lack insight. We accept what is. We settle down. We stop running, ducking, controlling and hiding. And we know it is only from this point we can go forward. Melody Beattie
I am not quite there yet. I am somewhere between “bargaining” and “depression” with little snippets of “denial” for good measure. For most of my life, I’ve been holding on to the hope that one day, we would turn the corner. We would cry and rail and talk about the pain of the past and then we would look to a brighter or, at least more peaceful, future. The likelihood of that ever happening was always very tenuous but now it is lost.
With any luck, we can have a more peaceful future. Perhaps I can sit with her and not feel the need to leave, to run, to get clear of the hurt. It is the guilt, the loss, the anger, all rolled into one. It will take practice and I will have to feel some things that I don’t want to feel. It will require letting go.