Grief is a really weird thing.
This is, I assume, a revelation to no one. Except it is for me, now that I’m experiencing it firsthand. Intellectually I know all the right things, the five stages, everyone grieves differently, people don’t know what to say, etc etc etc.
But it’s just now that I’m really learning how I grieve. And it’s fucking odd, let me tell you. I want to come up with some very writerly way of describing grief, some brilliant metaphor that would make people gasp at my genius, but “fucking odd” is all I’ve got.
I haven’t cried nearly as much as I thought I would.
I have been angry, and although keeping it to myself, really kind of bitchy.
It seems I grieve internally, without needing a lot of comfort, which makes no sense to me at ALL. I’m always talking about how lonely I am and how much I want a partner and more friends and then people reach out to me and I’m all “NOPE NO NO NOPE.” I don’t say this out loud of course. My mother, rest her soul, did teach me some decorum.
There’s certain music I feel afraid to listen to now, although I managed to get through an entire Sarah McLachlan concert without a single tear, so maybe I shouldn’t be so afraid.
There’s been no bargaining. She’s gone. If there’s a god he’s not bringing her back. This whole process has made me wonder about the afterlife though. Generally – whether there is one or not. I don’t have a solid opinion right now, but I know that I am far more invested in the answer than I have ever been before. I definitely WANT there to be an afterlife. I want my mother to be somewhere, happy, watching us, free from worry. I don’t want her to simply be gone. I don’t want there to be nothing after this because it seems so radically unfair. She had a shit life, went through things I can’t even describe to you, and dead and *poof* gone is all she gets? Hell no!
But generally I’m just ok. Not great, not horrible. I miss her fiercely, but I am doing ok, and as someone said, maybe that’s a testament to her – that she raised strong children.