[I had initially written this after the first week had passed, and then reconsidered it entirely, deciding to “do it” much later]
It’s been one month since the most important person in my life changed station. I like looking at it that way – someone (out of hundreds) put it that way, and I really like it. Other words one would use would be to say “my mom passed away”.
Between June 2013 and April 2014, I got my heart broken twice. Or so I thought. I thought I knew what love, or loss, or heartbreak was…I was sitting talking to a beloved friend about it, and she managed to capture the perfect word for it – perspective. Hahahhahaahahha. What an idiot.
She was also able to verbalise something I hadn’t been able to articulate – void. There is now this space, but what is the strangest is that it’s only sometimes that I realise that it’s there…
I catch myself saying things out loud in past tense, and I hate it. I hate thinking things in past tense “my mom loveD this….my mom DID that….” I hate saying and hearing things in past tense. I am not in denial about what has happened (present continuous) [or maybe I am, what do I know?] I get what has happened. Initially, I hated hearing “My condolences” or “sorry for your loss”. If one more person had posted that “do not stand by my grave and weep” poem I would have gone hulk. I’m done with hearing things I already know like “she is so happy” or “stay strong” (what else am I going to be??) or “she is always with you” - I know she is always with me. I’m being ungrateful now I’m sorry. (and that’s also difficult and a lie because I’m ok with hearing them from certain people, and not from others).
I’ve noticed that there are so many people in this club, this “half-orphans” club, this “no-moms” club. This club sucks. How did you all do it?
To be honest, I am overjoyed for my mother – I am happy that she is happy (I KNOW that she is). I am happy that she is free from the limitations of this world and that now her legend and gigantic soul is no longer bound by everything.
When I cry, it is not for her (although….maybe… I should explain this better). When I cry, it is for me - my own stupidity; it is for my own selfishness (irony), and idiotic idiotness, it is for my own complete self-centred-and-absorbed-wrapped-up-in-my-self-ness, my lack of attention, and my insensitivity. I had initially set out exactly what it was that had upset me, but I’m editing that out now. Instead I want to ask you, to squeeze your people, sit with them, pay attention, and above all, make sure that they KNOW, unequivocally and without a doubt, how much you love and admire and want them and need them around. This certitude…
Face-tsunamis are triggered by small things; songs, smells, places you had planned to go to, handwriting or colours. There are sinkholes of memories, things you’re dying to remember that wont come to you, and are instead engulfed again by a void. It’s the permanence of it, the physical eternityness – that’s the suckerpunch right there. And yet, at the same time, (and that’s why I specified it), it’s merely the physical eternityness of it, it’s NOT permanent. The Baha’i writings and perspectives bring such a sense of chill, a sense of “well-that-makes-sense” relief. “This separation is temporal; this remoteness and sorrow is counted only by days.”
What I have learnt and continue to realise is that pain does not preclude contentment. My mother was/is the most solid example of never letting pain, or size or energy or age or anything, stop you from serving, and smiling and being content. Even when she’s not “here” she teaches me lessons. Everything has a new layer.
There is a tenderness, and a violent shell of solitude all at the same time.
This is a special kind of ache.