Magnolias

Magnolias

Saturday, March 31, 2012

The Train Hits, 31 March 2012

Today the piled-up grief of the week finally set in: In other words, today I think a train ran over me while I was in bed.

This was not a very fun week, but is characteristic of the "unexpected" parts of my life.  Not only did I watch my mom's remains buried almost two years after her death, but I sat in a courtroom for two days.  And not only did I sit in a courtroom for two days, but I listened to law enforcement and scientists describe the brutal homicide of Jay's mom.  And not only did I listen to law enforcement and scientists describe my mother-in-law's homicide, I watched my accused brother-in-law sit in an orange jumpsuit with ankle bracelets on and have absolutely no reaction to the discussion.

For better or for worse, I'm not much of a crier.  A tear and a sniffle here and there, but no torrential downpours (unlike the weather we had this morning).  But that doesn't mean I don't feel tears.  Believe me, I do.  It's kind of like a trait I shared with my mom of not really perspiring--no satisfying rivulets of sweat trickling down the forehead or neck; instead, our faces would turn bright red with the retained heat and we'd get lightheaded.

So all week long, my feelings haven't been able to manifest themselves into saline moisture and have been building up behind an increasingly-aching heart.  And the pressure finally got to me today.  I've had a headache from the time I woke up this morning that no amount of ibuprofen or chocolate or hot tea have been able to assuage (although it was fun trying).  I took a nap this afternoon, slept twice as long as Z, and after three hours in bed woke up with the same headache and the feeling that I'd been flattened by a train.  I mean, we're talking a physical sense of flattening--in fact, I think the train was still on top of me.

I keep trying to think about tomorrow, trying to figure out what I need to do to process all these feelings, but the truth is, I just don't know what I need and likely won't be able to figure it out until I get there.  So I'll let the kids play extra video games today and will sit in bed as much as I can, and will cuddle with Jay on the couch when the boys have gone to bed, and I won't beat myself up for any of the above.

And I'll anticipate the appointment with my therapist on Tuesday!

Friday, March 30, 2012

First Post, 30 March 2012

Today I am initiating this blog.  How's that for an opening line?  Not too exciting; but then, seeing as how I'm not publicizing this yet, I suppose it doesn't matter.

Today was a strange day, and that's just the best way to describe it.  Today, 23.5 months after my mom's death, I watched her remains be buried.  In those moments, standing in the quiet country cemetery, Yesterday Today and Tomorrow merged into one big well-up of emotion.

In the little box going into the ground was what's left of the physical body of Mom.  And it symbolizes the memories of yesterdays--the hugs, the words, the smiles, the eyes.  It also urges me toward the hope of a Tomorrow where she will be raised again and we will all meet Jesus in the air together.

And the grief of today has roots in yesterdays and tomorrows.  Sadness over what I no longer have, and sadness of what I had hoped for and now cannot have, culminating in the sadness of not being with Mom today.

I gathered some wildflowers of the kind Mom liked and laid them on the little plot.  She would have enjoyed the cool breeze fluttering the nearby eucalyptus leaves, and would have delighted in the songs of the meadowlark and mourning dove.  Yes, a mourning dove sang its song while we watched the hole fill with dirt.

So, today was another kind of goodbye, but I have hope for Tomorrow's hello.