Writing the Grief

Stuff I’ve written on Facebook and elsewhere since my mother’s death:

June 1, ~10 AM

 

The thing that’s bothering me most today is the fact that my mom won’t be able to see me get married. We were going to Skype her in, use live webcasting, something. Now she won’t be there to see it. I don’t believe in ghosts, heaven, souls, etc., but I know those who do would say now she has the best seat in the house, with no disease, no fear, no worry. Sometimes I like to believe that.

June  ~12 PM

Right after my mother died, the only comfort I found was in poetry. It was the only thing that made sense. I’ve been struggling to figure out what I want my life to be about for the last few years. Now, I think I know. Thanks mom. I miss you already.

 

June 1 ~7PM

It’s not the same house without my mom. I had taken to calling it “my father’s house” a while ago, partially out of anger at my mother, and partially because my dad was the parent I was able to interact with the most. Now it truly is “my father’s house” alone and that is really really fucking sad. The gut ripping despair and agony I can deal with. It’s this ongoing, low grade, background-radiation sort of sadness that’s hard to deal with. When I start to relax, I remember that mom’s dead, and then relaxing becomes impossible, something I can’t have and don’t deserve.