Whole Again

"If I give my life, if I lay it down, can You turn this life around? Can I be made clean by this offering of my soul, can I be made whole again?"

I had a fabulous weekend at home. On Friday I took Amy to see the yacht club and brought the centerpieces to Nancy's mother's house. She will make them amazing. We brainstormed ideas for the seating arrangements, so exciting how it all comes together! We started at a salon to meet with someone about hair/make-up packages for the big day. We were sitting there, talking, hashing out the logistics, and Amy helped me realize it was a waste of time, energy and money to go somewhere that morning. As soon as I told her I may have someone come to the house we decided to ditch the salon. I thought a lot about mom, and how if she were here she would have helped me reach that conclusion long before I sat waiting in a salon. Sometimes the fog of grief is awfully thick.

Friday night I hung out with Dad, we watched Ray, with commercials, which was no good, but still fun. Dad talked about one song that came out when he was 8 years old. We sat in the living room, the fire had burned out. We kept watching the movie and talking during commercials, and then finally a little after ten I said "we should go to bed!" and we did.

Saturday I dropped off the dress swatches at the florist and talked to the caterer about table linens. I went through Mom's summer clothes and got the hippie top that I always made fun of her for wearing. We were together when she got it at the GAP. I hated it. Now, of course, I can't get enough of it. I tried it on last night, fits perfect. I found some other good stuff too.

I'm dreading the bereavement counselor this afternoon. I need to make a list of things to talk about so I stay organized. I know that she's going to ask me questions and make me cry and I do not want that. But I know that it's good for me.

I've been having bad dreams about my mom. I have them when Adam isn't home, when I sleep by myself. In the dreams mom is dying again, with the details of what happened getting jumbled and different. I wake up and feel physically different, in pain, my body feels so funny.

Now, wait a minute, I was writing about my wonderful weekend at home. Saturday afternoon we went to Aunt Annie's for a family barbeque. My mom's older sister, Tante Peachie was there, for a long weekend visit. It was so great. I feel whole again. I feel like I'm discovering all the new relationships that are happening in this great loss. It's really quite amazing. I didn't miss Hoboken this weekend. I didn't miss the noise and the people and the frustrations of living in my crap-tastic apartment.

Make Me A Witness

My Aunt Peachie told me in e-mail yesterday that my Dad wrote her letter telling her how much he misses my mom. There are depths to this grief that I feel like I will never discover. My father is simply amazing. Of course he writes a letter. He is so romantic. And so smart. And I'm reminded of how much he is suffering and how little I can do for him. When I see him, especially with people, I feel like he is fine. He talked at Easter about some trips he'll be taking with his buddies to car shows and other events this summer. I'm so proud of him. I love him so much.

When she was dying, she called for him a lot. Every time she was moved, touched, disturbed in the smallest way, she called out "Stephan, Stephan!". As soon as he came she was calm. He would cry when we touched her, when we had to bring the commode over so she could pee and he helped me get her onto it. His face, the tears, the pain he was feeling, seeing her like this. He didn't know how to handle her. And she moaned and her breathing was heavy and she was disoriented and she kept saying "I can't, I can't". And he couldn't either.

I am so blessed. I am so honored to have witnessed my parents living their marriage vows. It excites me to begin living mine.

More on this later, as my fiance just got home and needs a quiet, calm ear to listen to him.

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Okay, so, this isn't the only place I'll talk about it. It being my mother's recent death. I met with a bereavement counselor this week and it was really great. She's also a social worker. She offered to see me again next week. I went to work after seeing her, I hadn't cried off that much make-up, I was impressed with myself. I served lunch and checked voicemail, after an hour and a half I left. I came home, Adam and I talked, I cried some more, it was good.

I've been thinking that I ought to make a grief bag to keep in my purse, with some tissues, make-up remover and some powder and mascara. So I'll be prepared everywhere I go. I posted on a message board about how I was so excited for spring, that I was tired of keeping tissues in my purse. Now my nose will run for different reasons. Oy vey.

I found a Meet Up group of Motherless Daughters in Manhattan. WOW! How cool is that? I may also go to a "drop-in" group next week, after speaking with another bereavement counselor at another hospice agency. I feel like I'm double-dipping. I kinda like it.

I'm getting used to hearing myself say "motherless daughter". It's so empty.