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The one year anniversary of Mom's death is coming on Memorial Day.

I've been flooded with memories of the week of her death.

In my mind, I see what her shins sticking out from her nightgown; how skinny they had become. I see her swollen arm infected, mottled with red and purple marks. I see her bald head, with a little fuzz starting to grow back, because she hadn't been able to have chemo since the infection in her arm set in. I see her eyes gazing out the window. I see her chin quivering when she couldn't move anything except her face, but was so sad, and trying to express her feelings. I see the tears in her eyes as I told her how much I love her, how lucky I was to have her for a mother, how she was leaving a legacy through us and our children, how we would never forget her.

I feel her cold shoulder, as I lay in bed snuggling up to her when she was in a coma. I feel her soft hands as I was holding her hand throughout the week. I feel the hot pavement as I lay in the driveway after I collapsed with grief. I feel the dried grass, as I lay in the yard, collapsed again, yelling at the top of my lungs, banging my forehead on the dry earth. I feel her brow beneath my fingers, as I try to smooth away the wrinkles brought on by pain. I feel her soft, fuzzy head, as I held my lips against it, as if she were my newborn baby, the love of my life.

I hear her trying to talk, but only being able to make little groans. I hear her lips smacking together, twitching as she had seizure after seizure the last day of her awareness. I hear my sister telling me on the phone that they've given Mom 10 days to live. I hear my own sobs reverberating in my head as if they were coming from someone else. I hear the doctor asking us if we want to take her home on hospice or let her die in the hospital. I hear my raspy breath, seemingly barely able to keep me alive, as the pain in my chest tears me apart. I hear Mom struggling for each breath, as her breathing becomes more and more shallow. I hear my voice, choked up with tears, singing her lullabies in the one hour ride in the hospital van to take her home for the last time.

The memories. They flood me. They make me wonder if I can make it through. If I will live. If I want to live without Mom. If life is possible without Mom. I don't want to think that I've already lived for a year without Mom.

My heart overflows with love. The love of a daughter. I have no one to give this to. What am I supposed to do with it? She wasn't supposed to die so early. I'm not supposed to be an orphan. I don't know if I will live through this. The pain is tearing me apart.

catgirl
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Catgirl I'm sorry you are suffering so much pain and grief. I'm sorry that you are an orphan. I am too now so I know how that feels. But I had a very difficult and mixed relationship with my mother and that makes the grief harder and more complicated.

I believe you said that you have a daughter. You need to give all that love to her and some to yourself. By loving and caring for your daughter you honor your mother and keep the link alive through the generations. Your mom lives on through you and your daughter.

If it gets really bad you need to contact your T. I know she would want you to.

I hope things get better for you soon.

TN
quote:
The memories. They flood me. They make me wonder if I can make it through. If I will live. If I want to live without Mom. If life is possible without Mom. I don't want to think that I've already lived for a year without Mom.


{{{CatGirl}}} You are so lucky to have loving memories of your mother. The memories of her illness will fade over time, then it will be the happy memories that come to mind first when you think of her. The first anniversary is hard, even for those of us that don't necessarily have loving memories. You've made it this far, you'll make it to the 2nd anniversary and the 20th, each one feeling a little less of the pain.

Like TN said, and why I quoted you above ... You have a daughter, and from what you've shared I get the impression that you are very close, and connected with her. The ability to love and care for her was instilled in you by the relationship you had with your mother, and you are honoring her by instilling the same in your daughter. Her memory is alive in you CG, she'd want you to think of the good things and not dwell on the pain of her final days or on her passing.

Keep busy with your daughter this weekend. I found that being busy helps(ed) with the days before and after.

I'll be thinking about you over the weekend. Stay in touch, you know that we are all here for you!

Holly
Last edited by holz
TN, HB, Holly,

Thanks for your replies. It just feels nice to not feel so alone with it.


Today is the day. Well, actually, she died on the 26th, but last year that was Memorial Day, so I associate her death more with Memorial Day than the 26th. So, today is the day. On a grief forum that I used to visit, they called it her "angel day."

I'm sad. But, I know that I'll make it through. I have moments of not being able to breathe. My chest is so tight that it feels like I'm going to implode. I miss my mom. I miss my therapist. I wish I could be with my therapist. I would feel better. I would still hurt, but she would be there experiencing it with me.

She's been so good to me. I saw her on Wed. I was crying about my mom. She started crying when I said, "The thing that hurts the most is that I have all of this love for my mom, and I can't give it anymore. What am I supposed to do with it?" She cried with me for the last half of my session. She explained how she feels honored that I give some of my love for Mother to her. At the end of the session, she kissed the top of my head, through my jacket of course. She called me a few moments ago to check in. She said she wanted to let me know that she was thinking of me today in a very real way. I told her that I really miss my mom and her, and how much it hurts. We were talking about my love, and she said, "I accept and appreciate your love on your mother's behalf." It was very sweet. It's weird how she knows what I need. There is such a connection between us. If she were here, I wouldn't hurt as much. I usually see her on Mondays, and this is a holiday, so she's not working. When I told her that I wished that I could see her on Memorial Day because of my mom, she said, "May I think about it?" I said, "Well, I wasn't saying that so you would feel like you needed to offer it. How about, if you call and I'm totally freaking out, then you can think about it." Why am I rambling on about her? Because when I miss Mom, I miss her. Because she's nurturing me the way that my mom should have. Because I hurt and I want her.

Anyway, sorry about the rambling.

I just miss my mom. Nothing will bring her back. I keep having these moments when my breath is caught in my chest when I realize that Mom's dead. This used to happen the first few months after she died. I guess I'm just going through another wave of grief. I'm tired of loss.

Anyway, thanks for reading this. There's nothing that anyone can say to fix it, but knowing that I'm supported by people all around the world is amazing.

catgirl
I made it through! I made it through Memorial Day, and the actual date of her death, which was yesterday. There's this weird feeling that I'm not sure how to describe or where it comes from. It's something about wishing that the anniversary never happened. Somehow it scares me. I'm not sure why. I think it has to do with the fact that somehow that makes it official. Now, she's really dead.

Yesterday, I had so many times that I thought about something, and then thought, "Oh, I'll call Mom and ask her." (I think this frequently.) And then, I was like, "Oh yeah, she's dead." Then, I would have a small anxiety attack: chest constriction, inability to breathe, etc. It's hard losing someone you love.

A lot of you are saying things about loving others with the love that I have for my mom. My therapist said something like, "Every time you give that love to someone else, you're honoring your mom." I hear all of that, but there's some feeling inside of me about there being a special love for a mother figure. Sort of like there being a special love for one's child. I can share the love that I have for my child with other children, but I can't really give that particular love to an adult. It just doesn't feel the same. I can give the love that I have for my mom to a mother figure, but I can't really give that particular love to a friend or to a child. It's a special love that's reserved for "mother." Does that make sense. I give that love to my therapist, and she appreciates it and receives it. But, then there's that whole therapist/client thing that makes the whole thing feel like it's not really real. You know what I mean? I'm grateful to have her and to be able to love her and to be able to receive love from her. But, it doesn't replace Mom. I have this special love for Mom that I can't really give to anyone who is in my life right now. Maybe at some point later, I will have a mother figure that's not my therapist. Or, maybe, my therapist will finally adopt me Wink. Then all of my troubles will be over, right?! Part of what's going on with me is that I have a deep capacity for love (my T has taught me this about myself. I always thought everyone felt this way, and I didn't understand why my family didn't get it, but now I'm learning that it's one of the things about me that makes me special). When I love someone, I love very deeply. The love for each person is so strong. It makes loss so hard.

Anyway, enough rambling.

Summer,
Thanks for your response. I saw it, but waited until today to answer it. My siblings are all in Texas. I'm in California. That's part of my current difficulty with all of the loss that I've faced recently, I feel so alone. On the other hand, if I'm too close to them, I can never really get stable. I always get knocked off of my stability.

I'm sorry to hear about hour father. How has it been dealing with this for you?

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