There are a few experiences in your life that change you in a fundamental way. There’s no way to predict how much, and even when you are well-prepared, these changes often take you by surprise. For example, when you are expecting a child, it seems like everyone you meet will tell you having a child will change your life. Of course, you nod your head and agree, because you know a child will change your life. But you have no idea, until you have a child, just how much your life will change.

On the other end of the spectrum, the death of a parent will also change your life. And again, no matter how prepared you seem to be, how much you resign yourself to that immutable fact, the truth is you have no idea how this momentous experience will change you. Perhaps it doesn’t change some people, but I can only speak for myself.

Yesterday was the two year anniversary of my momma’s death. I wish I could say it was easier this year than last, but I can’t. In some ways, it was worse. For the last week or so I have been definitely out of sorts, crabby, and prone to uncontrollable bouts of tears. Simple tasks just seem so damned difficult. I see her face everywhere I look. I went to breakfast with my BFF and I was fine until a woman about my age came in with her mother – and I was torn between feeling angry that she still had her mother and feeling a loss so great it literally took my breath away. I felt like I had been gut-shot.

The loss I expected. The anger, I did not.

So, I’m angry with this poor woman who was simply taking her mom to breakfast. I wanted to stand up and say to her, Do you know how fucking lucky you are right now? Do you? You sit there and you’re having a conversation with your mother, and I don’t have mine, I HATE YOU.

That can’t be normal.

And at lunch the other day, the waiter was so damned….ENTHUSIASTIC. I mean, he was like a guy from a Secret Waiter Cult, so over-friendly and insincere I wanted to stab him with a spork. Like, shut up, bring me my sandwich, and shut the fuck up! “Anything you need, just let me know,” he says, and I’m thinking, Can you bring my mother back? No? Then leave me the FUCK alone, but of course I don’t say that. I just imagine him with a spork sticking out of his eye.

That can’t be normal, either.

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Grief is a really sneaky, slimy buggering bastard. It will come up from behind and breathe down the back of your neck, making every hair on your body stand on end and every nerve tingle as if it’s on fire. Most days leading up to the 22nd I had no emotional control at all. My eyes would start leaking if someone simply said, “How are you today?” So embarrassing when you pump gas, go in to pay, and then start crying when the attendant says something so innocuous. I took to wearing sunglasses at every opportunity, even indoors, even when it was cloudy or getting dark.

So, of course, in this state, I just don’t want to be around people. Not just the poor innocent in restaurants or gas stations who have no idea when they greet me I’m thinking of sharp implements, but the people that know me or see me on a regular basis. I feel a bit guilty feeling so crappy and sad, and I don’t want to make other people feel sad when they look at me, leaking at the eyes from a simple “Hello,” so I try to stay to myself, ignore the phone (not difficult even on the best of days) and just shut down for a while.

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My momma and I were very close until her drinking affected my children. At that point, I made one of the most difficult decisions of my life, and told her I couldn’t have a relationship with her as long as she was a drunk. I can’t tell you how that broke my heart and how I wish I had those eight years back. Still, later she thanked me for doing it, and told me it was the right decision. Was it?

Sometimes, I don’t feel….worthy? I guess? …to be her daughter. She was one incredible woman, let me tell you. Here is just one example: after over forty years of debilitating and destructive alcoholism, she quit drinking and got sober all by herself. Yes, you heard that correctly. She went through detox on her own – and once she decided to get sober, she did it. She went to meetings, but she did it all on her own. If you have any experience or knowledge about alcoholism, you have some idea of how difficult, if not downright impossible, that is to do, and she stayed sober for the rest of her life. We were able to reconnect and get past the pain of the drinking years, recapturing the closeness I remembered as a girl. I know how incredibly lucky I was to get my mother back and I appreciated it Every. Single. Moment.

She was far from perfect, but she was an admirable force of nature, she surely was.

Big shoes. My momma had big shoes.

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I’m a changed person since Momma died. I didn’t expect that. I have gone through a lot of difficult experiences over the years . Up until Momma passed, I felt as if I had finally recovered and was on my way to becoming the type of person I wanted to be – maybe the kind of person I was meant to be. When Momma died, it just knocked all the pins out from under me. I’m not sure who I am anymore, even two years later.

Then I feel self-indulgent and selfish.

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Onward. I know Momma would be pissed off if she saw me wallowing like this (and I’m quite sure she can, actually) and so, on with the Big Girl Panties. I will remind myself of the following:

1. I am nowhere near as strong as my mother, but there’s no shame in that. I highly suspect there are very few people as strong as my mother.
2. It’s okay to cry. It’s not weak or stupid.
3. I am going to miss her for the rest of my life, so I might as well get used to it.
4. Stabbing innocent people with sporks is probably illegal and it’s really not socially acceptable.
5. Grief is spectacularly selfish. She’s fine where she is, and probably already running the place.

Am I okay?

Yeah. Not great, but okay. Okay is good enough for rock and roll.

Onward.

Not having such a good couple of days…I knew the holidays would be tough. I miss my momma very much. I realize it’s only been a few months since her passing, but I guess I expected a little more of myself than I have.

Tonight, one of our favorite movies is on — The Princess Bride. I’m watching it for the second time, through a veil of tears. I miss her so much. And that’s all I really have to say.

“Life is pain, Highness. Anyone telling you differently is selling something.”

Appreciate your loved ones. Even the ones that can be a pain in the ass. Especially your momma.

I thought she would always be here.

She was there in the beginning, teaching me to speak, eat, to potty. She was there through elementary school, through the angst of the teenage years and the rebellion of high school. She was there during the first attempts at self-sustentation; providing advice, support, and a new set of pans from the Salvation Army when I moved in to my first apartment.

Through break-ups and make-ups; heartbreaks and triumphs; hirings and firings. I moved away from home, I moved back home and moved out again. Through marriage, childbirth and divorce, she was there for all of it. Through sickness and health, for better for worse.

We were phone addicts and email junkies. We shared a job, resources and holidays. We shared a twisted and hysterical sense of humor that no one else understood. Shopping expeditions to the dollar stores; expertly negotiating garages sales and thrift shops. We shared a love for the written word, reality T.V. shows and we understood each other in a way that never made it to words. She knew just when I needed a phone call, and I knew when she needed an update on what was going on in my wacky world. I could make her laugh until she peed, farted or gigglesnorted – and she did the same thing for me.

Sunday dinners, holiday celebrations – she was there for them all, either physically or in spirit with gift boxes, funny cards or phone calls. We laughed, gossiped, commiserated and conjectured. We cried, bitched, and moaned, gave advice and listened to each other. We solved the problems of the universe, re-arranged the family dynamics and between the two of us, re-structured the government to where it actually worked right.

I thought she would always be here.

After the diagnosis of inflammatory breast cancer, I still thought that way. My mother was a tough cookie; divorced and a single mom before the statistics soared, active in the community “little theater” and the mother of five unique and challenging children. A little thing like breast cancer couldn’t take her from us – I used to tell her she was much meaner and tougher than cancer.

She declined to wear the fake wigs, and stuck with whimsical hats or a proudly bald head. When she had bad days, she stayed to herself, and when she had good days she would blog, shop and take phone calls or visits from loved ones.

She beat it the first time. She tried to beat it the second time, because it was very important for her to make to the birth of her first great-grandchild. She was so excited for that – she was so excited. She made it to the baby shower, where my daughter gifted her with framed photographs of the sonogram. She played the silly shower games, beaming the whole time, in spite of her fragile state and physical weariness from chemotherapy. She visited and giggled, with her beautiful bald head shining and even more beautiful spirit shining brighter.

She battled like a titan – and lost, just two weeks before the birth.

So many times I pick up the phone to call her and razz her about John Edwards being a fake; the latest drama on one of the reality shows we watched; to tell her the latest news about the baby and his progress. So many times I pick up the phone to call and ask her a question about something only my mother would know, only to gently close the phone and cry. I miss her, although I know she was tired and I know she was ready to go. I’m angry that she wasn’t granted just those two weeks, to hold the precious baby she was so excited to meet, although I know she’s in a better place, out of pain, and reunited with the people she loved so much that passed before her.

My world is not the same. It will never be the same, and I’m struggling to reconcile the difference. I’m struggling to make sense of what’s left. I’m struggling not to be angry and bitter, and I’m struggling with the fact that she’s not here.

Because I thought she would always be here.

Momma - 1957

Image by DanielaNob via Flickr

That’s a good question, and I wish I had a good answer.

The truth of the matter is, as some of you might know, I lost my momma in August and the world has not been the same since. I’ve been trying very hard not to fall into the Abyss of Depression, but it’s been a difficult battle. Words don’t come as easily now as they once did, and this causes me no small amount of angst.

I guess everyone deals with a Major Life-Changing Event in their own way, and I have to constantly do a self-check — and I have to stop being so hard on myself. Why is it so difficult to be as kind to myself as I am to other people? Dunno. A Mystery of the Universe, at least for right now, because it’s too damned early in the morning to do an intense self-examination.

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In writing news, Duotrope has posted some great new paying markets, especially for speculative fiction. If you’re a spec-fic writer, it’s worth signing up for their weekly newsletter. I have never gotten any spam of any kind by sharing my email with them.

Although I have been primarily focused on writing non-fiction lately, these professional paying markets are nudging me toward submitting fiction again. Most of my pieces need a good re-haul before strutting out on the street again, but I’m thinking it might be worth it to do that. I’m really trying to pick up the pieces; it’s fitting them together that’s been the challenge.

For non-fiction work, the Core Creative Group is back up and running after a few months on hiatus. I’ve applied for a couple of job openings I found there — it’s nice not to have to scour the interwebz for this stuff, and to find it all in one place. They only post the highest paying gigs, so you’re not wasting your time writing for pennies. Although in this economy, every penny counts. I’ll let you know what happens, as it happens.

Funds For Writers, edited by C. Hope Clark, is another fabulous resource for writers. If you haven’t checked her out yet, I highly encourage you to do so. She also puts out a very informative newsletter, spam-free.

Last but not least, a newly revamped World Wide Freelance offers markets, information and free articles to use on your website. They also have a weekly newsletter and premier services available for a small fee. (I’ve stuck with the free version, at least until my pennies start turning to dollars.)

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It’s a lot of work, looking for work. Sometimes it takes as much or MORE time to look for markets than it does to write the piece in the first place. Still, that’s part of the job and I know these  websites and newsletters has made it easier for me — I hope they do for you, as well.

Here’s to better writing days ahead.

*Author’s note: I am in no way affiliated with the above websites and I receive no payment or compensation in any way, shape or form by featuring them here.

The fabulous Lala has tagged me with the Pink Sisterhood tag. It’s very early in the morning, and after yesterday, I am way too tired to figure out how to post the logo and all that jazz.

I’m tired because yesterday was spent among tears and photos at my sister’s house, where my momma spent the last four years of her life. Three of those years were spent fighting breast cancer. Of course, none of us get out alive, and momma passed on August 22 of this year, less than three weeks before the birth of her first great-grandbaby. She was 71.

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Breast cancer is a formidable adversary. Momma underwent chemo first, then surgery, then radiation. It was Stage 3 (out of 4) when it was first diagnosed; chances were not good that she was going to beat it, but she sure gave it her all. After a very short time of remission, it recurred, and this time, it would have what it wanted. Again with the chemo — but in the end, it spread to brain, lung and liver.

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This is very difficult for me to talk about. The last 65 days since her death have been spent in a daze, if I’m to be totally truthful here. I honestly don’t have the stamina at the moment to become an advocate for early breast cancer detection, free mammograms, or to raise awareness. I wear my pink bracelet and right now that’s about all I have energy for.

I look at my breasts as loaded weapons.

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October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. You know what you need to do — click on the above link to help women who can’t afford mammograms, get your OWN mammogram, and self-exam.

Every day is Breast Cancer Awareness Day for some of us. Please, do what you can.

Pretty In Pink

Image via Wikipedia

Not unexpected, but I’ve had a rough few days here in Wonderland. I’ve dropped my basket, lost my funny, and have indulged in enough tears to bathe a herd of elephants, and what good does it do? I’m not familiar with the grieving process as it applies to losing a  Major Personage, as my momma was the only parent I had.  I don’t like this part. Nope, not digging it at all.

Still, one foot in front of the other. One tiny step at a time, and then, next thing I know, there will be lots of tiny steps behind me, and things will change. That’s my hope.

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Baby Watch 2008 continues — no baby yet. Today is the due date of my first grandchild, and the Little Mama is looking ready to pop. (I forgot how huge a woman can get during pregnancy! Some memories are best left in the “I’m Never Doing That Again” bin. Heh.) Every time she moves, I’m jumping. It’s quite comical, really, and the Little Mama thinks it’s funny. MackDaddy and I are not so amused. 

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Next post will be Flash Friday, and I hope some of you catch the Flash Buzz and play along. Writing and music have always been my drugs of choice, so I’ll post a prompt and roll around in some words…take a trip to somewhere different, and I hope you’ll pack a lunch and come with me.

I’ve got dibs on the bologna sandwich, but I’ll trade you an apple for those chocolate chip cookies….

Image via Wikipedia

*This is a cross-post from my personal blog. I plan on returning to regularly scheduled blogging at some point — but I don’t feel I can until I process some of this. Thanks for your patience.

According to the recent reading I’ve done, there are five stages of the grieving process:

• Denial
• Anger
• Bargaining
• Depression
• Acceptance

Another list I found detailed this:

• Numbness
• Disorganization
• Re-organization

I think I relate more to the second list than the first, although I’m not discounting any stage. That would be dangerous.

There is no set time frame, or order to either list. Any one of these things (and probably more that don’t appear on any neat list) can hit at any time. Everyone processes grief their own way and in their own time. In my own particular circumstance, I think the grief is further complicated by the imminent arrival of our most beloved Muffin. It is also common to grieve big changes in our life, to include the loss of a job, a change of environment or any one of a dozen situations.

Change is neither good nor bad. How we deal with it – that’s where the “good and bad” come into play.

I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. I’m guessing I’m just trying to figure out the process so I can cope. This is a part of the Mad Survival Skillz Set.

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I have spent the majority of my life taking care of other people. This is not a complaint or a whine – it is what it is. The one person who has been consistently on the bottom of that list is….me. I do believe it’s time to change that, to a certain extent. Or at least to change the order of the list. I often wonder if I’ve put other people ahead because I don’t think I’m worthy to be ahead of them on the list, or if it’s because it is such a habit to me I don’t know how to behave otherwise. Or is it because I have been equally blessed and cursed with an overabundance of empathy, and it hurts me, really hurts, to see other people in pain and not try to alleviate it as much as I’m capable, at the cost of spending too much of myself.

I don’t know. I feel like I have all the questions, and very few of the answers.

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I think Numbness is a coping mechanism I’ve utilized frequently. I’m very good at disassociation, because when you get too close to the fire, it burns and it hurts. I don’t want to hurt anymore.

The truth of the matter is, I’m shook to the core. To the absolute bedrock. To know it’s coming is not the same thing as going through it. I recognize the stages, and looking back, I can see where I went through some of the stages already. There’s no denial – hellfire, the writing was on the wall from the first. I knew, from bitter experience, there is no bargaining. That’s self-delusion, more than anything else, and actually, I consider that a part of the Numbing thing. Anger – yes, I did have a period of anger, especially when the cancer came back again. And “anger” is really not what I felt – I was fucking pissed off. Still am, to a certain extent. But Momma always told me life is not fair, and I suspect she meant death, as well.

Depression and I are friends of old, dating back to childhood. No surprise there. Acceptance – hey, we all know the score. Death is inexorable, inevitable, and part of the natural order. I don’t have a beef with death. I do think that in many cases, death gets a bad rap. Death is what set Momma free, and my belief is she’s reunited with the people she loved most in this life. I firmly believe I will see her again.

What I seem to be struggling the most with is this feeling of aloneness. No one ever has, or ever will, love me like my mother. She didn’t love me the most, she loved all of her children equally, but she loved me best. Do you see the distinction? She was such a force of nature. She used to tell me, if you can get through me, you can get through anything. She was the Professor in the School of Hard Knocks, and I learned so, so much from her. She was not a saint. She was not, by her own admission, even a good mother for most of her life. Alcohol and hard circumstances played a big part of that. She was a real person, can you dig it, and to me, that is more important, with all the foibles and faults of any of us. She was not perfect, but she was real, strong, and very, very special. The relationship with my mother has defined me in so many ways, made me into the person I am, and now she’s gone. Where does that leave me?

*regroup*

We didn’t always have a good relationship – there were years that were very dark, and hurtful. We were able to reconnect and forge a better relationship, stronger for the fires we endured, and I am more grateful for that than I am almost anything else in my life. I almost didn’t take the risk – but thanks to Baby Sissy, I did, and I am so, so glad I did.

She was my safety net. I was hers. I don’t know if I can stand without her.

I am so scared and heartsore.

*regroup*

Image via Wikipedia

no matter how prepared you think you are for someone’s passing, you’re not. Momma and i talked about death extensively, through the years, not just when she received her cancer diagnosis. part of that was the nature of our chosen (early) careers — i became an LPN at 18; she went through the same program some 20 years later. the other part was just metaphysical conversation…i know at one point she didn’t feel like she could talk to anyone else without freakouts and tears, etc., so we would chat about death and what we thought and how we felt about it, and in some way, it pulled the fangs from death.

in NY, she had it all set up that her body would go to Syracuse U (snooze and loose, buggahs) and it was very important to her that those she left behind not be saddled with the oh-so-barbaric wake/funeral thing. she made the same arrangements when she moved to KY (the state, not the jelly) and so she was bound for the U of L. she was hoping maybe in playing with her naked body, they would find something that would help other people.

honestly, i think it was one of the kindest things she ever did for her children. we all plan to do the same thing. well, i might be laid to rest with the knight — but no wake. nothing like that. i think that’s an awful custom. i can see how some people need it for closure, but i am so thankful i don’t have to deal with hordes of people, well-meaning though they would be, and all the arranging thereof. i’ve had about all i can take.

****

the call, although expected, brought me to my knees. i was alone (thank you, Universe, the GC did not need to see me like that, a howling mess) so i got a lot of it out of my system before she got home. i tried to put on my Big Girl Pants, and i’m pretty sure i was a dismal failure.

when i got in the car, i kid you not, the song on the radio was Ozzy Osborne, singing, “Mama, I’m Coming Home.”

okay, Ma, i get it.

i arrived up on the farm in time to give her one last “see ya later, old woman.” i thought seeing her dead would freak me out, but it didn’t. she was still my Momma, and i rubbed her beautiful head, and kissed kissed kissed her most beloved face. i remembered that night in the hospital, when i told her how much i love her and that she was the perfect mother for me. how she kissed my fingers.

*regroup*

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they took her out (the gentlemen were very kind) and loaded her up, and down the lane they went. it was almost like she was keeping an important appointment, or going on vacation. you’re so right, Kat — missed, but not gone.

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i sat in her favorite chair with my face buried in the quilt i had made her, the quilt she never slept without. it smelled like her.

*regroup*

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my brother and sister and i sat on the porch and talked about all kinds of things. the time she made spaghetti for Aunt Jean and it turned out in a big, goopy ball. how much she loved the little theater and the people involved. we brought up well-loved names from the past, and many other anecdotes.

some hard things were said, things that made me bite my tongue so hard i thought i was going to have a hemorrhage. it was not the time nor the place, so i just let those things go. there *will* be a time. oh, yes, there will, but that wasn’t it, and i know Momma would be proud of me.

****

i’m trying not to feel angry. i’m trying not to feel betrayed. i’m trying to spin it to the best possible light, but i’m not doing so well with that at the moment.

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Now if you’re feelin’ kinda low ’bout the dues you’ve been paying,
Future’s coming much too slow.
And you wanna run but somehow you just keep on stayin’,
Can’t decide on which way to go.
Yeah, yeah, yeah…

I understand about indecision,
But I don’t care if I get behind.
People livin’ in competition,
All I want is to have my peace of mind.

****

i came home and jumped in the hottest bath i could stand, trying to get rid of the smashing headache i had acquired. a conversation with Baby Sissy did a lot to ease the smashing heartache.

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i didn’t sleep much last night. my eyes are quite swollen, and in the mirror this morning i almost didn’t recognize myself. i spent much time reading my mother’s JS — and it brought such peace.

she had a hard life. she really did. but i take great comfort knowing the last years, she was content. maybe not happy — but content with peaks of happiness. she appreciated each and every little kindness that she was shown, and i know she loves each and every one of her JS friends dearly. she was so touched at the companionship and love that she was shown here. in the last few weeks, she would positively light up when i told her the latest news about her family on JS.

*regroup*

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with her journal on JS, and her “Wierd World” columns (she always knew how the deliberate misspelling of “weird” drove me crazy, heh) i know anytime i want to visit, i can. to me, that’s the true gift of blogging — and no one will ever know how grateful i am i have that of her, and that other people do, too.

she is a magnificent woman. perfect? oh, hell no. she was flawed and made magnificent mistakes. but who doesn’t love a flawed heroine?

****

when i left the farm, i kid you not, the radio station played three Eagles songs in a row. her favorite.

okay, Ma, i get it.

but she wasn’t done. the next song they played was Boston’s “Peace of Mind.”

okay, Ma. OKAY ALREADY.

heh.

Now everybody’s got advice they just keep on givin’,
Doesn’t mean too much to me.
Lots of people out to make-believe they’re livin’,
Can’t decide who they should be.

Take a look ahead, take a look ahead. Look ahead.

****

i’m not crying for her. she’s moved on, and left me behind, but that’s the natural order.

i’m crying for me. it’s totally selfish. i’ve lost my best friend, the person that knows me the best and loves me anyway, accepted me for who i am and always challenged me to be my best, try my best at least, and never chided me when i fell short, which is a common occurrence.

*regroup*

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i know it will stop hurting in time. i know it will.

i don’t think it will be today.

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thank all of you, so much for reading and hanging. thank you for the loving thoughts, and thank you, most of all, for contributing such love and friendship to my Momma. she loved you all, you know. she really did.

your comments and email help so much. you just have no idea. bless you all, bless you.

*regroup*

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and now?

All I want is to have my peace of mind.

Image by vaca_maldita via Flickr

If Death is Kind

Perhaps if death is kind, and there can be returning,
We will come back to earth some fragrant night,
And take these lanes to find the sea, and bending
Breathe the same honeysuckle, low and white.

We will come down at night to these resounding beaches
And the long gentle thunder of the sea,
Here for a single hour in the wide starlight
We shall be happy, for the dead are free.

~Sara Teasdale

i will miss her more than i can possibly express.

rest in peace, momma. i love you.

Image by Bob AuBuchon via Flickr

As you can see, I’m farking around with my theme here, and I think I’ve got one I can live with. Although I have a predeliction for the dark, I’ve been told it’s hard on the eyes, so I’ve gone more traditional. Tell me what you think, and don’t blow smoke up my ass.

A huge shout-out to my fellow goddess, Lala, who baby-stepped me through the process via G-Chat (which I hate only a little less than the phone.)  I have a lot of tweaking to do until I’m satisfied, and it might take me a few days. I appreciate you being patient and bearing with me. The truth is, things are not going well for my momma and it’s going to get a lot worse before it gets better, can you dig it. Tomorrow morning I’m heading up to my sister’s farm, to give her a break and visit with Momma. We don’t have much time.

I can’t really express how I feel right now. My mother is the only parent I have ever known, and as the eldest, we have a relationship that’s different from the other siblings. I’m not saying my pain is greater; it’s different. Her battle with breast cancer has been four years long — we all knew this day was coming. She’s determined to make it until my daughter has her baby, but the price, my friends, is way too high, IMO. Still, she will have what she wants, as long as the Universe allows. My daughter, known as “the GC” (GirlChild) in blogging circles, is due September 7th. In cancer terms, that’s a long way away.

Until then, if Momma can endure, so can I. It’s time for the Big Girl Pants, and all I can do is the best I can do. That’s all any of us can do.

So, if I’m a little spotty on blogging, tweaking or dropping, that’s the reason. Be assured I will return all drops, comments, link-love etc. as best I can until things settle. Until then, if you have some good vibes to spare, I’ll take all I can get.

And call your momma. Lord knows mothers can be a pain in the ass, but believe me when I tell you there’s no one like your mother. Call her and tell her you love her. Please.