Grief is not linear

When my mom died it almost felt like all the life I had inside of me slowly disappeared and all that was left was this human shell that was existing just to get shit done.

I remember feeling weird all the time, like I was watching my body movements, but I just couldn’t feel myself moving them. Bringing the term numb to a whole different meaning. I remember sitting quietly, almost in silence and not being able to control the tears that were pouring down my face. I remember feeling like I was actually living and walking through a horrible dream I couldn’t wake up from, subconsciously begging myself to wake up.

The first few weeks were a blur, there were people who traveled to see me, I don’t remember even seeing them. There were arrangements I made that I don’t even remember making, days of my life just missing. I don’t remember ever even eating or drinking, but I know there were people who were making me. I don’t remember if I talked to my kids for the first two weeks, I don’t remember even feeling the pain of my mom being gone.

Until a few weeks later.

Let’s talk about it.

A few weeks later, my family was returning to work. My partners were returning to work. My kids were coming home. And I hated everyone for it.

I hated everyone for continuing their lives.

It wasn’t fair, people needed to go on, life needed to go on. But I was stuck, I was stuck in the same place, like I was running as fast as I could to get away but when I looked down, I was really just on a treadmill standing still.

I resented everyone who wasn’t miserable, I resented them for being able to fall asleep rather than crying themselves to sleep. I resented them for being able to shower without crying through the entire thing. I resented them for being able to get up in the morning and enjoying their morning coffee instead of crying every time they looked at the coffee pot. I hated that they had this freedom from the pain, and I didn’t. I hated that they had the strength to keep going and I barely had the strength to brush my own hair.

They say grief comes in waves.

But I was just riding out one big tidal wave that wasn’t giving me a break.

They say that grief has stages.

But I was stuck in this phase of anger with no way or will to escape it.

I just wanted life to be normal.

But I knew nothing would ever go back to normal.

How could it?

How could I go on without my mom?

Who would I call when it was raining, and it was irritating me?

Who would I call to complain about my burnt dinner?

Who would I share my feelings with?

My minor life inconveniences.

Constantly, I would reach for my phone to call her for comfort and then it would hit me that her being gone is the reason I need comfort.

I had moved my room into my mother’s room.

I wouldn’t leave the room.

I wouldn’t leave the bed.

I didn’t leave to eat dinner.

I didn’t go back to work.

I didn’t go back to school.

I didn’t go grocery shopping or get my nails done.

I didn’t do the dishes or the laundry.

I sat, in my mother’s room, for all the hours of the day and all the hours of the night.

Fearing that if I left that room, if I left this cocoon I created of her things, of things that made me feel safe of things that kept me close to her that she would be gone. That I would move on, and I would go on with my life like everyone else that I resented so much.

I knew it wasn’t healthy; I knew that life needed to go on, I knew that I was making myself worse, I knew I needed to escape the prison I created in my home and in my mind, but I just felt like I didn’t have the strength to do it.

Until finally, I had no choice.

We were moving and I needed to leave my safe place.

Unknowingly at the time it was the best thing I could have done. It was a blessing. I was breaking free from this invisible chain that kept me stuck in that room.

& then slowly

Very very slowly

Life went on.

I was able to go to the store, to be a mom, to go to work, to do the laundry, to leave my bed, to shower without crying (sometimes), to drink a cup of coffee in the morning without crying, I was slowly starting to feel like me.

Life was going on.

It wasn’t the same.

It’s still not the same.

But it’s still going on.

I am still going on.

In times of trouble, in times of loss, in times of depression, in the times you feel like life will not go on.

In the times you feel like there is an invisible chain controlling your life.

In the times you feel like you’ve lost who you are.

In the times that you feel numb or feel like you can’t control your emotions.

In the times you really feel like this is the end.

Please remember this.

Life will always go on.

It may feel different. It may look different.

But it will always go on.