74 days

It’s been 74 days since my mom passed away.

74 days and, honestly, I still have trouble sometimes accepting and believing that this is real.  I can go about my daily life, laugh with friends and take care of the kids.  I can bring my mom up in casual conversations and talk about her with the kids daily.  But sometimes, reality hits me square in the face, the awful sadness overtakes me and I just can’t stop the despair that I feel knowing that I will never – in this life – see my mom again.  It’s hard for my mind and heart to accept this and yet, I have no choice.  It makes me sick to my stomach, but this is life now and I have to find a way to exist without her physical presence.  We have to find a way.  Because that’s the thing – it wasn’t just me that lost my mom.  My kids lost their Kiki and they are struggling too.

I remember the day we drove down to KY when I found out hospice had been called.  The kids and I drove down on a Wednesday night and I was so nervous because I had to tell them.  They knew Kiki was sick, but that was normal.  She was sick, she’d get her medicine, sometimes she’d have to stay at the hospital and then she would come home.  The doctors and the medicine always seemed to make Kiki ‘better’, at least in their minds.  They had never – not even once – asked me what would happen if the medicine didn’t work.  They would ask what the medicine was and if it hurt Kiki and they had even asked me why Kiki had to be sick.  But they had never asked me if she would die.  And now I had to tell them that she was.  I thought a lot about what to say and how to say it.  They are still so little, especially Mitch.  But they understand a lot.  As we drove down in the darkness, I told them that Kiki was in the hospital again, but that she would be home tomorrow.  I told them that the medicine wasn’t working and that Kiki was very sick and that sometimes, when people are that sick, they just can’t get better.  I told them that the doctors had tried their very best, but they couldn’t do anything else.  I told them that when that happens, the sick person will go to Heaven.  Evelyn immediately said “Well that would make Kiki happy because Aunt Linda is there and she really misses her”.  I took a breath and said “That’s right. Kiki will get to see Aunt Linda again very soon”.  There was a pause and a small gasp as Evie almost whispered “How soon?”.  I don’t really remember what I said after that, but I do remember the tears.  Evie and Mitch were so heartbroken as they finally comprehended what I’d just told them.  Evie just kept asking “Why?”  I didn’t have an answer.  All I could say was that we were going to see Kiki tomorrow and give her hugs and kisses and shower her with so much love.  And that’s exactly what we did.

Time has passed since that moment, but I still think about that conversation.  I wonder if I handled it correctly and I wonder if I’m handling things the right way now.  The kids miss Kiki so much.  Especially Evie.  I ended up contacting a counselor for her because I can see that she is struggling.  She’s acting out and breaking down over tiny things and losing her temper daily.  She’s so much like me.  High emotions bring about high anxiety which results in acting in sometimes unreasonable ways.  I’m doing my best to be a good mom, but it’s hard to be calm and reasonable when I’m struggling too.  I’m hoping that the counselor will give Evelyn some guidance and help her deal with all of the feelings of loss and heartbreak that she is experiencing and also help me find better ways to parent the kids through this.

This is hard.  Grief is hard.  There is a country song by Patty Loveless that I heard years ago and a verse in it resonates with me in this situation. 

Mama whispered softly, Time will ease your pain.

Life’s about changing, nothing every stays the same.

And she said, How can I help you to say goodbye?

It’s ok to hurt and it’s ok to cry.

Come, let me hold you and I will try.

How can I help you to say goodbye?