After 6 months: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well.
After 12 months: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well.
After 2 years: You may be feeling a sense of deep sadness, along with many occurrences of happiness, though if you're feeling neither that is fine too. Feelings beyond the realm of language are quite likely as well. You may feel as though you're re-experiencing the loss all over again, other times you may feel afraid that a time may come when you don't think about them every day, because you can feel your life existing without them physically beside you. All, none, and some of these are normal.
Grief is not an affliction, it is a way of life. Stages cannot be prescribed as your grief is as unique as you and the loved one you lost.
The other day I was standing on the beach with Eric, and I felt a story of my past come up and instead of suppressing it as I would usually do, I let myself talk about it. I described fall in NH, how the paths in our neighborhood would be covered with vibrant dead leaves and I'd pile them up and serve pretend food to my mom. And then I broke down crying, realizing that I was utterly terrified that someday I would stop missing her.
Over the past year I have slowly allowed myself to shut my mom out of my public life. I didn't mean to, but talking about her inevitably led to talking about my grief and that made people feel uncomfortable.
So here is my mom:
Her name is Mary Ann Johnson, so yes, my last name is her maiden name. She grew up in Minnesota, a state I had the privilege of living in for a short stint last summer. I meant to bury some of the small items that belonged to her in the state, but I'm bad at enacting my ideas. I also don't have many memories of her from Minnesota, most of them are from Kentucky.
I remember that when I was young she would comfort me when I was sad, and then at least tried to comfort me when I was a teenager and denying comfort was my forte.
I know she liked to dress up when we would go out to see theatre performances, which we attended often because my family is entrenched in theatre. She would put on a necklace and make sure her shoes matched her dress and sometimes dab on a little perfume--to her wrists and her neck. She really liked the honeysuckle perfume that I believe was a present from Kate.
I remember she would sometimes work impossible hours, often 12 hours a day because she needed to be there for her patients--I see this in myself, this need to overwork if it is going to help others, so if you see that in me, thank my mom, it is her.
I remember that because of this she didn't end up cooking from scratch very often, even though she enjoyed it and when she did cook from scratch it was delicious--spotzan, lefsa, monkey bread, banana bread--most of her recipes came from her mother and were kept in little brown boxes in the kitchen. She also loved Oreos; and enjoyed sharing that joy with others such as when she bought Gjon, my foreign exchange brother from Germany, a giant box bigger than his head of Oreos for christmas.
I remember she would call her siblings every Sunday and quite enjoyed sitting on the hammock with Jewels in her lap and pepper under her while she chatted. I picked that up too, but it is now an impossible memory to re-create.
I remember she would send me care packages for every holiday, even St. Patricks' day, and they always included special socks, which is why I now have nearly an entire drawer-full of seasonal socks. She even sent me a care package when I was in NZ and it included a beach ball that was sadly never used as I was there in the winter.
I remember she loved hanging out with her friends, but, like me, she also needed her alone time.
This is not even close to all of her, just the things I draw from the top of my head. I need to start talking about her again. And I don't need pity or a heartfelt "I'm so sorry" I just need you to know her, too.
Mom, tomorrow it will be two years since you left. I know you aren't really gone from me but it still feels like that sometimes. It does still suck hard and I'm still pissed at cancer and wish you were still alive and thriving. But my life is okay, it is full for sure. I am surely floundering about well, as those in our early 20s do--confused and terrified and excited. I do wish you were here to guide me, but you set me on a pretty good path and gave me the tools I needed to be okay long after you passed, so thank you for that. I love you past forever.
"The end of this month is reserved for honoring the dead by many cultures around the world. Our gardens now begin to show us what was believed by the ancient druids to be the closing of the natural cycle of the year." –Seattle Tilth gardening book
To two years of freedom from cancer!-A toast to you.
