Saturday, February 2, 2013

Thank god I have friends who do not give up on me.
Liz and Kati came out this afternoon with teas and beer and cookies and flowers and tissues to cover every eventuality and then sat on the back porch with me and let me blabber on about how weird things have been, how crazy, how very, very odd.
I feel somewhat ashamed that I let myself go on the way I did. I think there may be a statute of limitations on how long you get to play the my-mother-died card and I am pretty sure I've passed it. I know, I know, there is no such a thing as a statute of limitations but I think mine is getting a bit stale anyway.

I didn't get shit done today. I didn't feel quite as good as I thought I would. I did manage to write two thank-you notes for neighbors who had brought me food after Mother died. I took those and some beautiful eggs to those sweet people and returned a platter. I took another coma nap. And that was about it.

I'll just say this right now- the aftermath of death is funky. Just when you start feeling one way, your emotions get together, have a quick meeting and decide to take the elevator down to the basement and they don't bother to inform you, either. I think that right after a death occurs, things burn real clear and hot, not unlike the fire that Mr. Moon has going right this second to cook our supper on. But then things burn down, leaving you with the ash and residue and you still don't dare to really stick your hand in it because it still has the capability to burn you, buried coals still carrying enough heat to sear your skin right off the bone.
It's tricky. And unavoidable and not to be unexpected in that each death brings up every other death and when it's a parent's death it's a whole entire lifetime of stuff that comes along with it, memories and feelings and regrets and rationalizations and defenses and relief and every kind of a thing and all you can do is try to surf it, try to ride whatever wave comes along.

And if I haven't mixed enough metaphors for you, come back tomorrow because there will probably be more.

I think my azaleas might make it. I sure am hoping they do.

I'm glad to have some of Liz's azaleas from her yard in town where it is always a little warmer, where things bloom a little earlier than they do here out in the middle of nowhere in Lloyd, which, reminds me that Miss Martha, our postmistress, is retiring after 35 years and the postal service is going to cut the PO hours to four a day and I received that news when I went down to check the mail today with a bit of sorrow.
Things change.

Hold on.

Abide. What else can you do?


  1. Never apologize for letting go to your friends -be grateful that you have the ability to let others comfort you. Some people don't, and hardness and bitterness that develops as a result is one of the saddest things I've ever seen.

    I'm glad you've got such good ones that make an effort to come to you. That's huge.

    Sleep early and well.

  2. I think that tomorrow should include a reading of Eudora Welty's "Why I Live at the P.O.", preferably aloud to Mr. Moon.

  3. "It's tricky," is so, so true. Just when you think, "Ah, this isn't so bad; I've made it over the hump," you find yourself on the ground lying flat on your back wondering how in the world you got there.

  4. Well, if there is a statute of limitations, it's got to be at least a year out for the death of a parent. Please don't be so hard on yourself.


  5. That's 3 retired post mistresses in the last 7 years! Wow. I spoke to her a few days ago to thank her for helping us with our forwarding stuff which got messed up due to Marc's home business. It was nice to hear her voice.

    As to the death card... Please be easy with yourself. It IS a big deal, and you need to allow the process. Your friends all know that. Seriously. Take your time, and remember how much you are loved.

  6. Isn't it great to have such great friends??? I'm glad you do. I'm sure you always will judging just by your blog follower friendships. Be as kind to yourself as you would be to any one of us who had gone through all that you did. My gosh, she's only been gone a few weeks and you are thinking you should be back to normal? My dad has been gone 5 years now and Monday was his birthday and the memories still came tumbling in about his life and his death. Just let yourself feel - the only way thru them is thru them. S, Jo

  7. "Why I Live at the PO" -- ha! I love that story! Glad Elizabeth brought it up.

    Reading about your experiences helps me know what to expect, God forbid. I never feel like you're letting go too much.


    When I made that comment about the statute of limitations on griefon my blog years and years after my mother died, I wonder what your comment was? I bet it was kinder than the one you just made about yourself. It's been a few weeks. What are you like? Have you even read about stages of grief? Why do you think it's a fortnight?

    Of COURSE you get to talk on and on about it. Why do you think your friends came with cookies and tissues? C'mon! Don't do their friendship a disservice by expecting them not to want to listen, you know? Lord, Mary. You are too hard on yourself.

  9. Reading your story helps me understand what my own mother is going through. So thank you for telling it.

    You must be a good friend, to have such good friends. You wouldn't expect them to hurry up and move on. You get the same deal.

  10. SJ- You are right in every aspect of that comment. Thank you, baby.

    Elizabeth- I am trying like hell to remember if I ever read that story. If I did, I don't remember it. I should, shouldn't I?

    Nancy- Seriously. How did I get here?

    Julia- I know. I do know.

    Ms. Fleur- How can there be a Lloyd without the Post Office and Miss Martha? She's been there for thirty-five years, part time. How will we get the news? I hate it when things change like that.

    Sweet Jo- You want to know the truth? I don't only feel as if I should be back to "normal" I feel like I should be happily embarked on my new life. Perhaps this is just another sign of my insanity.

    Steve- Okay. I'm going to read that story. Or reread it. Whatever the case may be.

    Jo- I loved that. "Why do you think your friends came with cookies and tissues?" Ha! You're right. Plus, that song is amazing. Thank you.

    Vesuvius At Home- I know. I just feel like a bad friend and a very stuck woman right now.

  11. Madame Radish King- I do not know why your comment did not show up here but I got it via e-mail. I thank you. I love you too. I think I am probably doing pretty well, all things considered.

  12. Death is tricky. Very strange. I wish that it were going easier here. But it is taking its time. And the process is haunting. I hope your happy days will increase and the bad sad ones fade.

  13. My mom's been gone for three years and I still go to the basement. Today is her birthday.
    Death DOES resurrect the sadness of all our previous losses. Vie often been crying about missing a person, then caught myself missing a dead dog. It's all very surreal.


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