On “Getting Over It.”

In a week it will be two years since my Mom died.

It’s funny, a part of me has expected all along that I would have some sort of ‘aha’ moment by this time…  That the pain would feel more like a Hallmark Card sentiment and less like a bowling ball to the chest.

I was wrong.  It still hurts.  It still feels fresh.  It still seems as though Mom should just be somewhere else and biding her time for a visit.  I still expect her to be somewhere doing Mom things.  And at the same time she feels so much farther away, and the time passing reinforces again and again that she is all the way gone and never coming back.

It’s been especially raw for me lately.  I said earlier that Baboo 2’s arrival has something to do with that.  The anticipation of the anniversary day also weighs things down like lead and of course brings me right back to those days.

At my six-week check I found myself in tears, talking about the deployment and missing my mother.  I was relieved that my doctor didn’t seem taken aback that I was sitting there blubbering away about something that ‘happened two years ago.’ 

There’s just no timetable as the websites, books, and experts might say.  There is no ‘getting over it,’ as those who have not experienced a signifcant loss expect.  The missing of my Mom is just always there.  Somedays it manifests itself as my inner little girl crying, “Mommy!” and other days it is just a quiet knowing that she is gone and it still hurts.  Some days it still stops me cold, and other days I walk with it tucked away in my pocket never letting on that it’s even there.

I miss her.  I want her to still be with me.  I suppose I have, ‘accepted’ that this cannot be the case, but it’s not what I want.  I want to share Baboo 2 with her.  I want to cry on her shoulder.  I want to laugh with her. 

I’m  not over it.  And I never will be.


5 thoughts on “On “Getting Over It.”

  1. Well…this is not encouraging to those of us who were also waiting for that Aha! moment. (just kidding :))

    My biggest fear is that I’ll never be able to really relate to other people again…to be part of that mundane everyday existance…I fear that my grief and anger will perpetually keep me on the societal fringe.

  2. I feel so much like you do. You described it so beautifully that now I am in tears. It never does go away, does it? I think of her every morning and every night before I go to bed. When I see my boys do something she would have liked, I think about how she would have liked to have been here so much. My oldest doesn’t even understand that I don’t have a mommy on here on earth anymore.
    I think having a child and the anniversary of her death so close together just has to magnify your grief. I know it did that to me.
    To Amanda above, you will be able to work through your anger to a point where you only feel it sparingly. At least that has been my experience, and I was VERY angry.

  3. Amanda–

    You know… I think maybe experiencing a loss that cuts you so deeply can actually allow us to infuse some positive into society in the long run. We’re given the chance to be the ones who can spot that person whose eyes are empty when everyone else is laughing. And you know…. we can be a much needed reality check. When everyone else is going on about how outrageous the new Paris Hilton news is we can be the ones who look over and go, “Dear God! Get a freaking life!” 😉

    In some ways it is easier. My life *IS* happier than it was two years ago or one year ago. But I’m not any less sad about losing Mom, if that makes sense.

  4. I’m so very sorry that you are facing this pain of grief and loss of your mom at the anniversary and facing it with your husband away. And this is awkward for me to say and I hope it doesn’t sound terrible, but as someone who hasn’t lost anyone immediate family close (one of the lucky ones and knocking on wood, counting my blessings, etc.) I thank you. Because we DON’T get sometimes that there is no ‘getting over it’ even though with the other losses that I experienced I still have the pangs of grief that I do. I think I’m understanding because of that place of not understanding, for the most part, but it is good to be able to hear the words of the experienced.

    So thank you for your candor. wishing you peace at this time…

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