Please pardon my utter honesty as I use this space to process my heart ache.
It's 5 in the morning, and surprisingly, I can't sleep. I could blame it on the fact that I work night shift, but that would be some bull hockey. I can't sleep because it keeps hitting me. Like waves that continue to splash along the beach, grief and sadness continue to slap me in the face... wave by wave.
Don't get me wrong, I am so incredibly happy and grateful that my mom is no longer suffering, that she is now truly in paradise. Tears of joy slip down my face as I picture her in the arms of her creator and reuniting with her sisters and parents. I don't cry tears of sadness for her, just for us on this side of heaven.
But for those on this side of heaven, my heart hurts like all those before me who have ever lost a parent.
This is normal. Death is a part of life. Losing a parent. But for some reason, it feels anything but normal.
After sending out my S.O.S. for prayers last night, my mom became more comfortable. She no longer woke up or moved herself. She no longer seemed to be in pain. So we did what we could to keep it that way. We were all at the house, in and out of the room, sorting through pictures yesterday. Because breastfeeding brings your right back to reality, I had gone in the bedroom to pump when I realized that my mom was being welcomed at heaven's gates. All it took was one glance at my sister and everyone surrounded her as she took her final breaths.
As I held my mom's hand, I felt my heart rip in half with mixed emotion.
I was relieved, I wanted this. I was desperately sad, and wanted her back. But I didn't want back what I had in that moment, I wanted all of her back.
So we kissed her goodbye and all broke down. What felt like an eternity, waiting for that moment, was gone in an instant. I assume for a while I will continue to cry as I slowly realize the brutal reality that she is gone.
I am trying to quiet my heart. I am trying to quiet the anxiety that is yelling out the "what ifs." I am trying to quiet the regret of not asking enough questions. I am trying to shut up the panic that screams that I don't know how to make her favorite fudge recipe, or that I can't ask her parenting questions. I know it is O.K. to have all these feelings, but I also want to remember that what needed to be said, was.
I loved my mom, and she knew it. My mom loved me, and I knew it.
My mom passed away and I didn't have anything left to say, at least not anything of true importance. My aunt can teach me how to make fudge, and there is a village of support who can rally around us as we parent our child. The "what ifs" don't really matter, because you cannot change the past. This was our road to walk. Every single step. From the original heart attack, through the ups and downs of those scary nights in late June, to the hope of a transplant, the generosity of a fundraiser, the insane support of pictures and prayers, to the crushing reality of hospice. This was our road.
I don't really like my road at the moment. I also don't like the fact that I am awake right now, as my baby sleeps for the longest he has ever slept before, yet once again breastfeeding has thrust me back into reality as I woke up and could not go back to sleep until I resolved the issue that I had boulders for boobs. Thank you for sleeping 8 hours sweet baby. Mommy appreciates it. If you continue such things once my body adjusts I would appreciate that as well.
Hopefully I will be able to go back to sleep. I know that time will heal, and things will get easier. While I don't want my life without my mom to become my new normal, it will. These very raw moments from the end will fade, and I will once again be able to celebrate and remember the amazing woman she truly was. But for now I will keep walking my road. I will keep putting one foot in front of the other and let the waves of heart ache and relief hit me simultaneously.
I hope my mom's first day in heaven was a blast. I hope God find's "Sexy Back" appropriate, so she could dance with the angels to a song she loved.