Me: I’ve been thinking about something lately regarding the way I process my grief. The initial stab, besides the obvious, seems to come from the change in routine. Here is what I mean. My mom texted and/or called me every single day and often multiple times. Now my phone barely goes off from personal messages outside of my husband. I spent my 40th birthday mostly alone and wishing my mom could call me or text me. I never knew just how big of a hole her death would leave in my heart. I mean, I did, but holy shit. I always said that when she died, I would lose it completely. I, in fact, did lose it completely for about a year or so. I am finally just starting to feel like myself again and like I can breathe again. They say the harder you love, the harder you grieve.
I spent the first several months confused. I am still confused about what happened exactly. Was my mom trying to get up and she fell; the lack of oxygen led to a heart attack? Did her oxygen come off while sleeping? Did they find her dead or were they trying to get help and she died? I have no answers to these questions. I have been grappling with asking for records from the facility and case management entity. Is it worth it? It won’t bring her back. However, I can’t handle injustice, and I can’t seem to move on from this thought. My Mom was screwed over and mistreated so many times by so many people. I want revenge. I want them to have consequences. Mostly, I want them to understand and change their thinking and catch up with the rest of us “woke” people. When I think about my mom this is what comes to my mind, and it won’t stop. That could be a sign, or it could just be the way my brain works.
I’m tired of being angry on behalf of my mom and the burden that has been part of my existence. I think I need some answers to move on, and I want to remember happy times and not just the trauma. Even with death, I need to know why.
Grief was busy for this one.
