Saturday, March 2, 2013

Wah-Wah-Wah

So did you see where a man in Brandon, Florida was in his bedroom and then a sinkhole opened up beneath him and he's gone? Gone. Just...gone.
Florida. You can't beat this state for weird ways to die.

I can't help it. I love Florida. Today is a gorgeous day. But it's going to freeze tonight. What? What? Oh, March. You will break a girl's heart.

I had a little breakdown last night. I cried and cried. I told Mr. Moon that it used to be that if something happened that was life-staggering that you could say, "Well, let's go to the beach for a month."
I don't even know why I think that's true but maybe it is.
Anyway, I was crying because since my mother broke her ribs and then died I haven't had a good fifteen minutes of a break. Not even the night she died because we had house guests. Whoa. That was weird. I haven't even discussed that. I probably won't either but trust me- weird. One of the weirdest nights of my life.
And then life just kept on going, as it will, and then we got sick and then I hurt myself and the only breaks I've had are when I've been flat on my back with the sick or with the injury and I've popped back up and done whatever needed doing and it all caught up with me once again last night and so I cried.
Before I broke down I took a bath and I have one of those bath tubs that has a shower-head attachment and if you don't get all the knobs going the right way and you turn on the water, you might get a rainstorm in your bathroom and that's what happened to me last night and I literally had to leave a towel on my dresser because of the great drops of water on the ceiling above it which were bound to fall in the night and it was just one more mess to deal with, the drying off of everything and the sopping up of the floor wherein I used every towel in my bathroom and maybe that was the straw that broke the camel's back. I don't know.
I wanted to shoot someone. I wanted to shoot the UNIVERSE. That's who I wanted to shoot. The universe but the universe wasn't at my house so I got angry at my husband who had done nothing but wash the dishes and help me with the boys and I'm old enough to know that really, he is NOT a stand-in for a cruel world and so after my bath I got in the bed and when he got in with me, I just cried and cried, no longer angry at him, just so very sad. Sad for my mother and for her death which was horrible and her worst nightmare because she died and they brought her back and sad because when she was finally allowed to die and I was with her, I didn't have the right words to say because we'd not had the right relationship for me to have those words in my heart and I did the best I could but the whole situation was just sad. Sad because she had to suffer her whole life and sad that she couldn't ever figure out how to love and be loved, not really. Sad because everyone suffers, there is no getting around it but some people seem fated to have to suffer more than others and often not because of any action they may have taken or not taken, it's just that they got the short straw (and I am NOT speaking of myself here) and sad because I don't even know how to take care of myself on any level and sad because I am not of sweet spirit in my heart and am resentful and mean sometimes and sad because I hurt in my leg and my wrist and my hip and sad because I'm not a good wife sometimes and sad because the older I get, the less able I am to do anything FUN which involves leaving my property and sad because I'll die and just be a memory for Owen and Gibson and that's life but it's sad.

You know. All of that and the wet bathroom and my looks which are gone, baby, gone.

But today is beautiful. It is. And no, we're not going to the coast. God dammit. It's just going to get so cold and the dogs (the fucking dogs!) can't be left with the doors wide open so they can go outside and that's too much to ask a neighbor to deal with, them and the chickens too, and the cat, the cat that is not a pet but just a feral gray thing that whines and complains outside and who may be a hundred years old by now and my plants which need covering up and besides- this bed we've been sleeping on. Oh, that damn bed. We put it in the guest room but now we're sleeping on it because it's so good, that bed, and it cushions and cradles me and it eases my soreness and I can't bear the thought of sleeping on a regular bed. Not now when my whole body is a rack (wrack?) of pain. And even the idea of sitting in a car for the two hours it would take to get there seems impossible. So.
But I tell you what. I am not going to do one thing today that requires any strain on my body.
And even with that vow, I know I probably will and I'm still a little weepy.

I just feel so useless. Honestly. If there's one thing I believe that the universe requires it is to glory in the goodness and I have not been glorying in the goodness. Not one bit. Okay. That's a lie. Even here in my house and my yard in Lloyd, Florida I have taken note of and gloried in the cardinals, the tiny dove sipping from the slimed-over little pond, my grandsons and everything they do, the miracle of my marriage and family and friends. I do glory in all of that.

I just want to go away for a little while but I don't want to leave. I want to suddenly and miraculously be on a balcony over the sea. I want to suddenly be on an island. I want to be at a table set with silverware and napkins and maybe a bowl of ceviche and some pico de gallo and chips and the sea right there, an entire universe of underwater not five feet from me, warm and something I could slip into and the pain of gravity on my body could be relieved.

Well. I just want a lot of things, don't I?
I guess I'll go make a fucking kale smoothie. Ooh boy.

And rest. I need to rest. And cry if that's what I need to do. Right here in Lloyd, Florida where I probably won't be suddenly swallowed by a sinkhole but who knows? The universe would not care if I was and that is at once horrifying and reassuring.

I just feel so useless.

And it's getting so very cold.

24 comments:

  1. I feel your pain through your writing and I am sorry for your losses and how you are feeling right now. I am glad you are doing exactly what you want and need to do for yourself. S. Jo

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  2. Damn it. A kale smoothie is not ceviche by the sea. Getting older is not being young. But you are beautiful. You are loved. And it is sad when times are so hard that love just does not tip the scales. As one mother/grandmother extraordinaire to another, I'm thinkin' that you are tapped out right now. Those folks that love you and who are old enough to read....well, I hope they read this post through again. You are grieving something huge. You are tired. You are giving constantly. Right now, for awhile, for maybe even more than a weekend, the river needs to reverse its flow. Lie back. Float.

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  3. Wow. I could feel and hear every bit of your emotion in this. You know? I love that you share the sunshine and the rain with us. From us watching Gibson's home birth to you processing your mother's passing. All of it makes us better, more connected.

    At least, that's what I think. I'm sorry you've been sad and tired. I am.

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  4. Mary,
    I hear you and I wish you peace. Listen, death and loss are hard and probably harder when it doesn't go the way we want...even harder when we wish the relationship was different. Honestly, you have to take care of yourself and you have to let Mr. Moon care for you. Then, you have to just let it go. Put your thoughts into the lessons learned, the sweet, loving relationships with our children and know we are doing what is good, right and holy...and somewhere we got the tools to deal with things and do it right!

    Sleep and rest well. The Peace will eventually come...
    Terry

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  5. I read all of this and felt your sadness and understood it, too. And then I thought about hiring a sort of hitman for dogs.

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  6. "...the universe wasn't at my house," made me laugh.

    I'm sorry that the thought of you someday just being a memory to your grandkids made/makes you sad. And I know what you mean. But they will be SO MUCH better off for having that memory.

    Hang in there. This will pass and it will warm up.

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  7. You poor darling, dealing with all the feelings of anxiety after your mother's death, and the useless frustration of all things that should have been so much better.. you have your meltdown when you need it.=!!!!. it clears the air... doesn't change anything, but gets it off your chest.. you are having these mood swings because she has gone, and they are undeniably awful and make you feel so wierd and lost and bad.. But you are not Bad or Mad Mrs M, you are just you... and that you tried to be the daughter she needed, she did not know in time to react back at you in the right way... [In the society she grew up in, the son was always the one... daughters less so.. I saw that in my own mother.. I did know that she loved me, but she loved him more..] I am sending you big hugs and huge wishes that you can relax a little today, and feel close to those amazing little men of yours, we all love to hear about them... and the pure unadulterated love they give to you, because you are you... a very special person to them.. feel deep in their love and it might help a little with the awful pain that you are feeling right now.. Dear Friend, I hope you will float above all this and be yourself soon, the sun is shining and all's well with the world.. take care..janzi

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  8. Oh, Mary. Sounds like you've fallen into your own sinkhole - I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Small words, but I am thinking of you.

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  9. I think they had it right a long time ago when you hung a black wreath on the door and you went into mourning. After my dad passed I gave myself the luxury of three months on not doing ANYTHING I did not want to...mainly thought about my dad and was sad and cried and just grieved for him. Everyone would say to my husband "What is wrong with Sheryl"?..he was my guardian of the door...He would just say there is nothing wrong with her...she is just so sad from losing her dad. It is just such a hard time...you really can't run away from it....though I do think a week on a beach might be good for you.

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  10. I believe the grief is just now settling in in earnest. No matter what your relationship with your mother is/was, you will grieve her. And grief is something that while unique to everyone, also makes us think of all the universal conundrums in life. That'w what I think anyway.

    I would love it if you could think of yourself as not you, but a friend... None of us are as hard on our friends as we are on ourselves. I mean it. Give yourself permission to have a weekend off! If you simply cannot, maybe Glen can. :-) And just be... or do anything that soothes you.

    much love,
    xo

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  11. I think about you daily and wish for good days.

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  12. I think you should start smoking weed.

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  13. Darlin'-

    That's all I got. You're a darlin' dear human woman. Remember when we were young and death was nowhere near, at least for us? Now we KNOW things, if we're honset, about loss and grief and disappointment.

    And mothers! I tried to be a better mother than the one I had. I think it worked out. But the bad and mean, yep, there they are.

    The full catastrophe is what it is.

    From here the camillas are blooming and the daffs are poking up and right now, that's enough.

    XO Beth

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  14. My mother's death was a hot mess of misery, confusion and ... fuck up.

    Ugh. Ugh. I will eternally regret it.

    But... my friend told me that during one of her near death experiences, as she looked down at her family gathered around her body, she felt nothing familiar to you and me - no pain, anger, blame, fear... it was nothing the same as the expectation her chemical, emotional life had created.

    I don't know if your mother would want you to agonise about this. Maybe she would? But it wasn't really your responsibility to fix your relationship. I don't want to leave that hanging over my children, do you? I'd hate to leave them with such feelings as we have. I know my mother would hate it too. If she could hate anymore... which I don't think she can or would care to.

    I don't know how to let it go, myself... but I know that's the only way forward.

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  15. Yep, your grief has caught up with you, Dear One. It is not easy dealing with the fact that you didn't get the relationship with your mother that you wanted and now neither she nor you can ever change that. (At least in this life.)

    Be tender with yourself and your family. Sending big hugs from here. x0 N2

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  16. Sweet Jo- I wish I knew what it was that I needed. I really do.

    Denise- Lord. That which sustains me is hard to say no to. I did float today. I did.

    gradydoctor- You understand grief. I know you do. I'm sorry.

    Terry Joy- I love you, baby. You are, as always, my mentor.

    Elizabeth- I love how you know me all too well. Thanks.

    Stephanie- I miss you, honey. I hope all is well.

    Janzi- You got me crying again. I need to cry. So thank you.

    SJ- You are so good at finding the threads and the themes, even when I do not recognize them. Thank you.

    ain't for city gals- You were wise. You knew what to do and you did it.

    Ms. Fleur- I do try to do that. To think of myself as someone else whom I might love. It does help Thank you.

    Nancy- And I think of you daily too. And hold you in my heart.

    Mr. Downtown- You might be right, my darling. You might be right. What is stopping me?

    Beth- The full catastrophe. That's what it is. Aren't camellias the most beautiful? They don't even need scent. Thank you. I love you.

    Jo- I believe that too. That when we go on, we don't have the need for all that chemical hormonal bullshit. That it's pure. I hope so.
    Thanks, sweet friend.

    Betsy- You know I'm sort of in love with you via your words, right? Thank you. And isn't this ALL a science project?

    N2- I'm trying. Tender is such a beautiful word. In all regards.

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  17. Yay! That's a great thing to do.

    And at the risk of sounding totally woo woo, you can try to remember, that when you are beating yourself up inside your head, all the people who love you that would run to your defense... if only they could... Like all of bloggies, your kids,your grands, Glen, Billy, Shayla, Liz, Lis your bros, etc.. and on and on... They would like you to be good to you. :-) You deserve it.
    xo

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  18. Mary, I admire SO MUCH your ability to be forthright and honest and to so skillfully weave funny and sad together. Reading your blog is a joy.

    You're obviously still working through all the emotional fallout from the last couple of months, so I'm not surprised you break down from time to time. Between your mom's death, the family stomach flu and your joint trouble and all the other drama, Good Lord, you deserve to be able to pop the cork now and then! Just take care of yourself and let the grieving happen.

    And yes, you DO glory in the goodness. You do it every day when you post photos of the boys and your yard and the birds and Baby the chicken. I wouldn't keep coming here and reading if you didn't glory in the goodness. Even when you're writing about pain there's an undercurrent of appreciation of life.

    "A fucking kale smoothie" -- LOL!

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  19. Dear sweet Mary Moon. I don't think I took a breath through your entire post. There is nothing I can say except that you are one of the most beautiful people I know because you are so REAL. I crave people like you. I can't explain it very well right now.

    As for being gone one day and being just a memory to your beautiful grand babies. I know I have said it to you before but I had three grandparents that were crazy in love with me and I them. They are more than just a memory. They are part of my soul. They are a life force behind me. I can't explain it very well right now either.

    I say don't have a kale smoothie. Go get yourself a pineapple milkshake from Dairy Queen.

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  20. This is grief, dear Mary. You loved your mom, even if she wasn't a perfect mother. Maybe the grief is all the more complicated by all that you wish had been, and can now never be. Let your self grieve and cry as often and a deep as you need to. Crying can be cleansing sometimes, especially a good committed exhausting cry. I love you.

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  21. Ms. Fleur- The problem for me is trying to determine what being good to myself entails.

    Steve- I cherish every one of those words. Thank you. So very much.

    Birdie- I hope that someday I, too, will be a real part of my grand children. A part that reassures them that they have a place on this earth and that they are loved. I really do. Thank you for reminding me of that possibility.

    Angella- It's so funny. I start to cry but then it just turns into this pathetic little leaking thing. Maybe more like a seeping than a weeping. Am I stopping it before it can become a deluge? Am I scared of what might be underneath? Or is this really all I have? I do not know. But I'm thinking about it.

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  22. Sorry that you didn't make it to the beach. Hopefully, that will be soon.

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  23. I step away for one day of painting and all hell breaks loose!

    Um, this might happen again, you are cracking open. Trust me, the sadness will seep out and eventually the light will be back in you. First you gotta let the sad seep.

    Luckily, you have a blog full of grief counsellors and support personnel! :)

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Tell me, sweeties. Tell me what you think.