Mom:
I wish I could schedule my grief, sort of the way I schedule the rest of my life. It would have been nice today, for instance, if I had it already penciled in. Tuesday: Work 9-12:30, Errands 1-2:30, Meeting at school 3-5:30, Moment of grief while meeting with Academic Counselor 4:50-5:05, Dinner 7-7:30, etc. I'm still getting used to how it comes over me at the oddest of times. And how completely unprepared for it I am.
I was sitting in the academic counselors office, going over my schedule for the next TWO YEARS of my life when she asked me what my ultimate motivation is for finishing my degree. She said, "When you call and you're 5 classes away from finishing, but you tell me you just can't do it. That you're too tired. That you need a break. What do you want me to remind you of? What will motivate you to continue?"
And I lost it. You are the reason I'm going back to school. I mean, let's face it, in an attempt to make sense of losing you I've rearranged my entire life. If I get 5 classes from the finish line and feel like finking out (your word... remember?) all I will need to do is think of you and of how proud you would be of me for doing this. It's all the motivation in the world that I need.
So I was sitting there, at that poor woman's desk, crying buckets, when all she expected was for me to say "Remind me of all the Manolo's I can buy with my big fat salary after I graduate" or something similar. Instead, I had a much more personal and intense reason. My motivation goes to the core of the change that happened within my soul the night you died. No, the change occurred prior to that. It happened in your hospital room on Tuesday, July 17th. When Gary The Best Nurse Ever looked me in the eye and told me that you were going to die. You were just laying there in that bed, and it seemed like you would wake up at any moment and smile your big smile and take my hand in yours. But you didn't. I took your hand in mine, instead. And was changed.
I'm not the same person I was, Mom. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I have about ZERO tolerance for people who don't live up to my expectations (and as you know I had very little tolerance to begin with and I've always set my expectations SUPER high). But seriously, those "friends" of mine who didn't bother to show any signs of support to me while you were in the hospital or after you died? Those people can fall off the face of the planet for all I care. I certainly wouldn't miss them.
And on the other hand, I actually CALL Grandma now. I know! I can't believe it either. As an even bigger shock, sometimes SHE CALLS ME. But only when she has plenty of minutes on her calling card, as I'm sure you've already guessed. Ha! I'm sure she still dwells on the past money I owe her or whatever, but I think losing you made both of us realize how petty we were being. What is more important than FAMILY? She is the reason you were born. The way she raised you turned you into the person who ultimately raised me. I know she was a far from perfect mother. She is a far from perfect grandmother! But she is the only one I have left.
Sort of like how Dad is the only parent I have left. This dwindling of my family has changed me. When I think of the holiday's looming ahead without you I sort of panic. WHAT WILL WE DO??!?!? And then I think, "It'll be okay, at least Dad will be there."
My whole value system has changed. (Who I value, not what. Because you and I both know I'm probably always going to value expensive footwear, no matter how many people I love die on me.) I value the friends I know I can count on, the family I have left.
I value my memories of you and what you represent to me in your death. Your death is creating my future. Your end, my beginning. There is beauty in that cycle. From mother to child.
And finally, I value my grief. I value the tightness in my chest right now and the tears streaming down my face as I type this. Because it makes me human and sometimes Mom, sometimes I feel so far removed from the human race that I actually worry about myself. I CAN'T schedule this, I can't predict and control it. Oh how I wish I could! But I have to allow myself to feel it, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how much I want to stuff it down and pretend like it doesn't exist. Grieving over you is part of the process. Missing you is not something I will ever recover from.
Love,
Sarah
PS - I know you can't tell from the tone of this letter, but I really am excited about going back to school. Thank you for providing me with this opportunity. I'd trade it for just one more hug from you in a nanosecond but that isn't possible. Your end, my beginning... Your end will not be in vain.
I was sitting in the academic counselors office, going over my schedule for the next TWO YEARS of my life when she asked me what my ultimate motivation is for finishing my degree. She said, "When you call and you're 5 classes away from finishing, but you tell me you just can't do it. That you're too tired. That you need a break. What do you want me to remind you of? What will motivate you to continue?"
And I lost it. You are the reason I'm going back to school. I mean, let's face it, in an attempt to make sense of losing you I've rearranged my entire life. If I get 5 classes from the finish line and feel like finking out (your word... remember?) all I will need to do is think of you and of how proud you would be of me for doing this. It's all the motivation in the world that I need.
So I was sitting there, at that poor woman's desk, crying buckets, when all she expected was for me to say "Remind me of all the Manolo's I can buy with my big fat salary after I graduate" or something similar. Instead, I had a much more personal and intense reason. My motivation goes to the core of the change that happened within my soul the night you died. No, the change occurred prior to that. It happened in your hospital room on Tuesday, July 17th. When Gary The Best Nurse Ever looked me in the eye and told me that you were going to die. You were just laying there in that bed, and it seemed like you would wake up at any moment and smile your big smile and take my hand in yours. But you didn't. I took your hand in mine, instead. And was changed.
I'm not the same person I was, Mom. And I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I have about ZERO tolerance for people who don't live up to my expectations (and as you know I had very little tolerance to begin with and I've always set my expectations SUPER high). But seriously, those "friends" of mine who didn't bother to show any signs of support to me while you were in the hospital or after you died? Those people can fall off the face of the planet for all I care. I certainly wouldn't miss them.
And on the other hand, I actually CALL Grandma now. I know! I can't believe it either. As an even bigger shock, sometimes SHE CALLS ME. But only when she has plenty of minutes on her calling card, as I'm sure you've already guessed. Ha! I'm sure she still dwells on the past money I owe her or whatever, but I think losing you made both of us realize how petty we were being. What is more important than FAMILY? She is the reason you were born. The way she raised you turned you into the person who ultimately raised me. I know she was a far from perfect mother. She is a far from perfect grandmother! But she is the only one I have left.
Sort of like how Dad is the only parent I have left. This dwindling of my family has changed me. When I think of the holiday's looming ahead without you I sort of panic. WHAT WILL WE DO??!?!? And then I think, "It'll be okay, at least Dad will be there."
My whole value system has changed. (Who I value, not what. Because you and I both know I'm probably always going to value expensive footwear, no matter how many people I love die on me.) I value the friends I know I can count on, the family I have left.
I value my memories of you and what you represent to me in your death. Your death is creating my future. Your end, my beginning. There is beauty in that cycle. From mother to child.
And finally, I value my grief. I value the tightness in my chest right now and the tears streaming down my face as I type this. Because it makes me human and sometimes Mom, sometimes I feel so far removed from the human race that I actually worry about myself. I CAN'T schedule this, I can't predict and control it. Oh how I wish I could! But I have to allow myself to feel it, no matter how much it hurts. No matter how much I want to stuff it down and pretend like it doesn't exist. Grieving over you is part of the process. Missing you is not something I will ever recover from.
Love,
Sarah
PS - I know you can't tell from the tone of this letter, but I really am excited about going back to school. Thank you for providing me with this opportunity. I'd trade it for just one more hug from you in a nanosecond but that isn't possible. Your end, my beginning... Your end will not be in vain.