I hate today.
As a warning, what I am about to write is not going to be funny, it's not going to be glib, it's not even going to be political for once. It's going to be sincere, it's going to be honest, and it's going to be quite possibly depressing. I hope that some of it is uplifting though also. I can't promise anything though.
Now, back to my original statement. I don't necessarily hate this day in particular. I hate this date. June 5th. 3 years ago I came home to find my mom dead on the floor of our apartment. Like I said, not going to be a happy post. I had just came home from seeing my dear friend Bright's amazingly beautiful babygirl, who celebrated her 3rd b-day yesterday.(And a happy b-day from an absent Uncle Tani.) Thus getting home about 2 hours later than usual I have felt an amazing amount of guilt for that for these 3 years.
Reasons I feel guilty for my mom's death abound. You have, first, the fact that in my mom's last phone call I didn't tell her I loved her. Secondly, I came home late from work that day. Third, I often made my mom feel like she was a burden on me, which while sometimes true, never was something I needed to tell my terminally ill mother.
My mother had cancer when I was 5 years old and she was 29. It was Hodgkin's disease with two seperate tumors. 1 in her chest and 1 in her spleen. They removed her spleen and performed radiation on the tumor in her chest. However, they didn't properly shiled her heart. She didn't know that until 10 years later when, while I was 15 and she was 39, she suffered a massive heart attack. This led to a terminal heart condition that consisted of congestive heart failure, cardiomyopathy, and aschemic heart disease. The doctors at that point gave her 6 months to live.
8 years later, the doctors finally were proven right. In an ironic twist, she had been to see her doctor that morning to check the pacemaker that they had put in about a month prior. She was given a clean bill of health, so it tells you how suddenly it can happen.
Now, in my life, I had given up a lot to take care of my mother. I dropped out of college, moved in with her and took care of her from the age of 19 to 23. I'm not saying that in a whining way, because I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I had with my mom. It's just that when I finally did not have to put somebody else's needs in front of my own anymore I didn't know what to do.
I realized today, while watching "Seabiscuit" of all things, that I finally was claiming my life again. I've spent the last 3 years tumbling out of control towards some undetermined destination, but with my return to college on the horizon and my new apartment coming up, I'm finally reclaiming a path that makes sense. That seems somewhat sane.
It's true what people say when somebody dies. It sucks. You feel so much pain and loss. Grief is horrific, especially when it's someobody as close to you as my mom and I were. but it does get better. Each day it hurts a little less until you barely think about it. The problem then is that you start feeling guilty for not feeling worse. You start to miss the pain. And when you come to that realization, it can hurt worse than the initial grief.
As a warning, what I am about to write is not going to be funny, it's not going to be glib, it's not even going to be political for once. It's going to be sincere, it's going to be honest, and it's going to be quite possibly depressing. I hope that some of it is uplifting though also. I can't promise anything though.
Now, back to my original statement. I don't necessarily hate this day in particular. I hate this date. June 5th. 3 years ago I came home to find my mom dead on the floor of our apartment. Like I said, not going to be a happy post. I had just came home from seeing my dear friend Bright's amazingly beautiful babygirl, who celebrated her 3rd b-day yesterday.(And a happy b-day from an absent Uncle Tani.) Thus getting home about 2 hours later than usual I have felt an amazing amount of guilt for that for these 3 years.
Reasons I feel guilty for my mom's death abound. You have, first, the fact that in my mom's last phone call I didn't tell her I loved her. Secondly, I came home late from work that day. Third, I often made my mom feel like she was a burden on me, which while sometimes true, never was something I needed to tell my terminally ill mother.
My mother had cancer when I was 5 years old and she was 29. It was Hodgkin's disease with two seperate tumors. 1 in her chest and 1 in her spleen. They removed her spleen and performed radiation on the tumor in her chest. However, they didn't properly shiled her heart. She didn't know that until 10 years later when, while I was 15 and she was 39, she suffered a massive heart attack. This led to a terminal heart condition that consisted of congestive heart failure, cardiomyopathy, and aschemic heart disease. The doctors at that point gave her 6 months to live.
8 years later, the doctors finally were proven right. In an ironic twist, she had been to see her doctor that morning to check the pacemaker that they had put in about a month prior. She was given a clean bill of health, so it tells you how suddenly it can happen.
Now, in my life, I had given up a lot to take care of my mother. I dropped out of college, moved in with her and took care of her from the age of 19 to 23. I'm not saying that in a whining way, because I wouldn't give up a minute of the time I had with my mom. It's just that when I finally did not have to put somebody else's needs in front of my own anymore I didn't know what to do.
I realized today, while watching "Seabiscuit" of all things, that I finally was claiming my life again. I've spent the last 3 years tumbling out of control towards some undetermined destination, but with my return to college on the horizon and my new apartment coming up, I'm finally reclaiming a path that makes sense. That seems somewhat sane.
It's true what people say when somebody dies. It sucks. You feel so much pain and loss. Grief is horrific, especially when it's someobody as close to you as my mom and I were. but it does get better. Each day it hurts a little less until you barely think about it. The problem then is that you start feeling guilty for not feeling worse. You start to miss the pain. And when you come to that realization, it can hurt worse than the initial grief.
Btw I love Seabiscuit. One of my fav movies and books. You can't beat yourself up for the things that you have no control over. Your mom knew that you loved her. She always knew that. Parents always know. Because they love you and no matter what you say or don't say you are godlike in their eyes.