This Business of Grieving

It's a funny thing, this business of grieving. Or more specifically, it's a funny thing, this perceived business of grieving. Why is it that people judge you by the way you seem to be grieving, or not grieving, as the case may be.

I just celebrated a milestone birthday. Many people were expecting me to be an emotional wreck as I approached the day, both because it was a birthday ending in zero, and it was the first birthday without my mom. I was not.  The age part didn't bother me in the least. And I miss my mom every minute of every day. I never understood why my birthday was such a big deal to her, far more so than to me, until I became an adoptive parent myself. Then the penny dropped and it all made sense.

One year ago on my birthday, I arrived at my mom's apartment to find a note on the table saying "Happy birthday, you were the best thing in my life. I love you." Mom was lying on the couch, weak, disoriented and waiting for it to no longer be my birthday so that she could die. You see, she promised me she wouldn't die on my birthday, but the next day all bets were off. When I arrived at her apartment the next morning, she had left me another note that said "I hope all this is over. I love you." That day, I took her to the hospital for a 27 hour wait, a two week hospitalization and the beginning of the year of hell that this blog has captured which ended with her death in November.

.In the last month before her death, mom often told me that she wanted to "move on" so that I could "get on with my life." I kept telling her that she was a big part of that life, and I was just fine with that. In the week she was dying, I changed my opinion. I told her that I loved her and would miss her, but it was time for her to go. Her favorite scripture passage was John:14-there are many rooms in my Father's mansion. She took comfort that there would be a place for her. Mom started dying on Tuesday and by then, sepsis had been confirmed. She was still lucid, and I told her that her room was ready. "Have you booked the movers?" she quipped, and I replied I was waiting for her to give me the date. And then I told her that it was time for her to go, and I would be fine. I told her that a few times over the next few days. I knew mom would fight to stay if I tried to hold onto her, and in the face of the extreme pain she was in, I couldn't do that. The hardest thing I've done was tell my mom it was okay to die. It was also one of the most loving things I've ever done.

In a weird way, I did too good a job of being "okay." I couldn't grieve and I couldn't cry. I think my subconscious decided that if I broke down, I wasn't keeping my promise to mom about being okay with her dying. After 2 weeks of insomnia, debilitating back spasms and complete numbness, I told mom that I needed to be able to grieve for her. I've cried a bit since then, but it's still a loss deeper than tears. Let me be clear. I miss my mom every minute of every day. My whole life needed to be restructured and reshaped and I'm still working on that.

My mom knew about my plans for a birthday celebration. My last birthday celebration was probably my 15th birthday. I was snowed in on my sweet 16 and nothing much has happened since. Mom thought it was grand that I was going to have a party. She also thought I was nuts, but anyway...

I think some people were surprised that I went ahead with my birthday celebration. People expected it to be a sad day, whereas I welcomed the new age and was thrilled so many of my friends came to help me celebrate. Confession time...I had a party in high school, my only one, and it was an unmitigated disaster. No one came, and the couple who did come left. It scarred me for life and entertaining has not been something I've enjoyed since. The fact that people came surprised and thrilled me, although I had been posting tempting things on Facebook all week...I baked myself into a stupor but I wanted it to be a thank you to all my friends, as well as a celebration of the new decade of my life. So many times in the last year, my friends were the ones who got me through, let me vent, let me cry,  and supported and held me up through the worst year of my life.

Mom may not have been there in body, but she was certainly there in spirit. One of the last conversations we had before she slipped into a coma, I told her I knew she would never be able to let me dress myself and would always be whispering in my ear. She left and said that was probably true. She was certainly not going to let a little thing like death slow her down. The morning of my party, I chose an outfit that I really liked until I looked in the mirror. Clear as a bell, mom's voice in my ear said "that's not going to look very nice in pictures, dear." And mom was right, so I went and changed. Later, in one of the group pictures of friends I have known since high school there is a very distinct orb in the photo, right beside my head. It's not in the next picture of the same group. For angel workers and intuitives, orbs are clear signs that angels and spirits are present and I am a firm believer in the presence of both angels and our loved ones. I felt mom there all day, so she popped in to show me. She was still a part of things.

I got the sense that some people feel I'm not grieving enough because I had the party anyway. My mom would haunt me for all eternity if I had called off the party because of her death, just like she would have haunted me for all eternity if I'd cancelled my daughter's Christmas party because it fell the morning after mom died. Mom was very stoic and matter of fact about things, and living and dying was something we talked a great deal about. She was emphatic and firm about me moving on with my life after she died. One of the last conversations we had revolved around that topic. I also know she's in heaven using her influence to throw new opportunities my way. And I know she's around me always.

Grief is personal. There is no right or wrong way, no time frame and the only way to get through it is to go through it. I can manage the big things, but the little things will trip me up, like watching the Queen's Christmas message alone for the first time in my life, or finding something in mom's handwriting while sorting through a box. I promised mom that I would be okay, and I mean to keep that promise. She also made me promise that I would get on with my life, and I'm trying to keep that promise too. She had little tolerance for "moping" when she was alive, and I doubt that has changed. My mom would never let a little thing like death stop her from communicating with me, and I'd like those interactions to be positive. So I straighten my shoulders, raise my head and keep moving through this, some days better than others. It's how my mom expected me to cope.