I can't believe it's already been over a month. I have been without my mom for one month.

Some days, I still have that nagging feeling to call her. Friday was one of those days. It was awful. That morning, I had to set up the conference room at work, so I was just by myself, running around, thinking. No matter how hard I tried to reason, I would get this feeling that I needed to call her. Clean the tables, pause and think, "I should call mom later". Roll silverware into the napkins, pause, think "I can't wait to talk to Mom". Get ice, teas, water, I kept imagining calling her and she answers "Baby girl!"  It was so frustrating. If my brain knows that she is gone forever, why can't my subconscious hop on board as well?

Friday night I had a public cry-fest. I don't know why the crushing feeling of loss hit me at that moment, triggered by something Will said, completely innocent and unrelated. I could not stop sobbing. I had to go to the bathroom, try to take deep breaths and as soon as I got back to our table, I was still tearing up. I felt bad because Will's friend was visiting and we were trying to have a fun night out. So the harder I tried to calm down, the worse it was. We got our check and I went straight to bed as soon as we got home. I blubbered myself to sleep while the boys continued their visit.

The next morning I felt fine. Felt at peace again. Motivated to keep myself happy while having her in my heart.  Before Friday, I would lay awake and remember the bad times. I even questioned where I fit into her life when I would remember certain things. Maybe I felt guilty for concentrating on so much negative that I just had to let it out and then I felt better. It must have been something I had to do, because today, I can only remember the awesome things she did for me.

 So the weekend was fun. Saturday night I had some girlfriends over. Sunday was uncharacteristically warm, so we spent some time outside with the pups and ate at my favorite Chinese restaurant.

I had some good news regarding my cycles being back on track and I'm staying hopeful we will conceive soon. I was trying to imagine what it would be like having a baby and not being able to share it with Mom. When I found out I was pregnant in November, I told her that we needed to talk. I explained to her that she was not the best person for me during stressful times and I imagined childbirth is probably as stressful as it gets. I don't even know if I want Will there. I need that moment for myself, at least. She seemed to understand. I told her I wanted her to visit and stay with us as long as she'd like to once the baby was born. She was so happy. Then I read in her journals that she was devastated I didn't want her there.

Frustrated doesn't even begin to cover it.  When someone is mentally ill, there is no reasoning with them. There's nothing left for you. They can't be a support system for you. You have to take on all the responsibility of being there for them and walking on eggshells to make sure everything will make them happy. And while half of me thinks I failed my mom, I wrestle with feeling cheated out of a Mom. Not blaming her. She was cheated out of her whole life because of this disease.

I am really stressed out about what to do with her car. I want to donate it since I don't know anything about the car except that it was probably going to need a new transmission soon. At most, I could only get a few hundred bucks out of it anyway.  I won't be able to sell it until I get a death certificate, which in an overdose case, can take months because of toxicology reports.

An exhausted and irresponsible part of me wishes the apartment complex would just tow it and I could keep pretending I don't have to deal with it.

I've been painting lots of pup portraits. There's 3 at Lucie's now. I have two more requests to paint and then I could do another one that I choose. I would be so lucky if someone would take interest enough to commission me.

sunshine cleaning

That asshole Old Man Winter finally relented and I was able to go do some more cleaning on Mom's apartment. I started the trip out feeling pretty good, this has been in the back of my mind since she's been gone, and it'll feel great to get more done. As I started getting further down the interstate, that nervous feeling hit me in my stomach. Going a couple hours down I-81 doesn't seem like such a trek anymore and I always ask myself "Would it have been so hard to visit more?"

But then I think of when I was living on campus in college and I visited many weekends and during every break and we were fighting the whole time over nothing. My eyes would water and I'd sneeze, wheeze and cough, and she'd keep on smoking right in my face.  I'd take a shower to try to smell clean, but I'd have to dry off with towels that smelled like ashtrays. She'd make me food to take home and I'd open the container and the smoke had permeated everything.  Superficial? Yes. I could have dealt with it. It's an addiction like any other.  Not to mention that I stupidly started smoking in 2007 and continued the habit for 2 years. But for some reason, her smokey homes always made my allergy symptoms unbearable.

I guess it was hard to visit more. I remember my bags getting packed for me on the 2nd or 3rd day of a long visit. The comments about my weight, the comments about my drinking. "Your teeth are getting so crooked!" "Are you a lesbian?" Constant criticism. Then, when I'd show my agitation, she'd tell me I was beautiful and chuckle. I could tell her to do one thing that would make me very happy and she'd find the exact opposite and laugh and do that.

The last couple teenage years before moving out consisted of her yelling how much she couldn't wait until I moved out. I'd get up some mornings and she'd be furious at me and not speak to me. I never knew why. Push, push, push. She pushed me away until I never felt welcome anywhere she lived ever again.

There's always the time I came home for Christmas and saw a strange truck in the driveway. "This is Paul." Paul was an incoherent redneck she met "through a friend". They'd been dating for months but I had no clue who he was and now they were living together. And we would be expected to spend Christmas together like a family. My bedroom was overflowing with furniture and clothes and craft supplies. I always had to sleep and hang out in the living room. I wanted to leave but she made a huge ordeal about me having to stay.
Paul was a smoker too. Fuck my allergies.

Then when it was time to load the car and go back to Radford, the apologies came. So I'd finish the drive home in tears.

Last summer, when Will got back from Afghanistan, I needed a ride to the Raleigh-Durham airport AND a babysitter for Powder. I had a couple options, but Mom volunteered. I was in complete shock when she really drove the 2 hours by herself to Radford and then 3 more hours to the airport with me, then however long it takes to get from the airport to Lebanon.  She kept saying how scared she was and how she couldn't do it. She made it home safe and sound. She was so proud! She reminisced about how much she used to go, go, go. I got on the plane and let myself silently cry. I missed my mom so much. Whenever she did something extraordinarily nice for me with no strings attached, I didn't know what to do but cry.

At any rate, we got another good bit of things cleared out. It's so strange going through a dead person's things. They have no say over what you take. You could pack everything into trash bags and throw them out. Throw out their whole life. They're dead. They know nothing of what you do with their things. Guilt is for the living. So you pick up an object, determine its value. Sentimental or monetary. Nothing? Donate it. Trash it. But that's a brand new lotion from Bath and Body Works. . Oh. I think that's what I got her that one time. It's never been opened.

I guess I'll take it back then.

come on, sleep

It seems like since my mom died, the worst times for me are at night. Everything slows down.  The pups are tired and  their antics and capers over for the day. My super hardworking love has to be in bed by 10 or so.  So that leaves me and my thoughts. I could go out from time to time, but during the week it's not that practical.

I wake up every morning feeling so relieved. It's a brand new day. I'm happy. Excited for what this year will bring. 2011's my new chance. Time to stop existing and time to start living. Since I rarely have to be at work before 1 or 2, I usually do a few things around the house. Eat, play with the pups and run errands. Or just relax til it's time to work. That's what I've been doing the most since I can't sleep at night and I'm pretty tired.

It usually starts something like this. I see a date on tv or a name. Or anything that reminds me of my mom. Then the guilt starts. The what if's. I replay our last conversation over and over in my head.

She had originally told me since we wouldn't be seeing each other for the holidays, she was going to send me a card. Fine, I thought. She doesn't want to see me, I'll spend it here. I won't even worry about making the trip down there.

I got her card in the mail. She sent a check for $500. I didn't want to cash it and I told her I wasn't going to. "That's too much", I insisted over and over. She told me it was fine and made me promise I would.

Sunday before Christmas was the last time we talked.  I was at my work's Christmas party having an awesome time. I gorged myself with delicious food and played intense rounds of Catch Phrase. Then I looked down at my phone and saw a text from my cousin. My mom called her and told her she was going in the hospital and I needed to come get this "gray tote" from her.

I panicked and called my mom. She was so terrified and certain that she was going to the mental hospital. I said "I can't take this right now, I'll call you when I leave". I went back to the games and put on a happy face. I called Mom back on the way home. Turns out she had no reason to believe she was even going to the hospital. She panicked me for nothing. I said again "I CANT TAKE THIS. ITS TOO MUCH. Why do you create this stress for yourself? You are on disability. You don't have to work! You wake up everyday and the day is YOURS."

"I know. You're exactly right," she said with a hint of sarcasm.

Unconvinced, I asked "Is this the part where you tell me I'm fat?".  Commenting on my weight was her only way to get back at me when she felt I was being mean to her. "We both need to lose weight".

"Will you come home for Christmas?" she asked. "No, you said we weren't seeing each other for the holidays." I was so bitter about that. She could have apologized but instead she just said  a disappointed "Ok". A true picture of our relationship. After she assured me she knew she wasn't just going to be locked away in the hospital, we got off the phone. I don't remember if I told her I loved her. I do remember that I was very harsh.

The next day, at work, she left me a voicemail. So cheerful. So reassuring.  "Just wanted to let you know everything's fine, and I'm feeling better!"  I hadn't heard that tone in so long. I was so happy. Mom was in fact no longer flipping out. I got off work late that night and didn't call her back.

Tuesday, Will had the day off. We went shopping with the money she gave me. I was feeling great. I just knew she was alright and maybe I could go visit her after all. When we got home, I asked Will if he wanted to thank my mom. He said yes. He'd never talked to her EVER. I know how weird this sounds. I'll get to that in a minute. So this was going to be a huge deal. They were going to talk!

No answer. Hm. Weird. I kept trying. Nothing.  I went to bed a little uneasy thinking she had actually ended up going to the hospital. Wednesday. Nothing. Her voicemail box was full. Cell phone dead. Oh yeah, she's definitely in the hospital.

Thursday came. Her high school friend called me and wondered where the heck mom was. I told her not to worry and explained how on Sunday Mom was so worried that she would be in the hospital and that I just knew that's where she was. Her friend seemed to feel better after we talked.

Christmas weekend went by and I didn't hear a thing.

I just knew something was wrong. If she was in the hospital, they would have for sure let her use the phone for Christmas. I think it was finally Sunday when I began to think she could be dead.

I'm sick of telling the story of how I found out.

There's nothing to match the pain and emptiness I feel. Even as horrible as our relationship was at times. I can't believe she and Will would have had the chance to talk.

This type of thing is the exact reason why I never felt comfortable letting him meet her. For someone who doesn't truly know mental illness, I didn't think Will could really understand it all. So I kept them distant.  How could he go with me to visit her and slowly watch her push my buttons? He loves me after all, so he'd feel compelled to take up for me, but then there's that weird awkwardness where she's my mother and he'd have to be respectful. That's how our visits always were, no matter WHO was around. I already did that with my last serious boyfriend. He hated her and it was no fun dealing with it. So with Will, I chose to not deal with it AT ALL. I don't regret that decision one bit.

I can't believe that when she chose to kill herself, she knew I suspected I might be pregnant. I wasn't. But at the time I truly thought i was.

I guess I don't feel guilty when I sit down and think it through. We each have a personal responsibility to continue living. She had a personal responsibility to herself and her family and friends to see that tomorrow could have patched things up about a Christmas visit. But her illness wouldn't let her. So my guilt is replaced by anger. I'm so angry that someone's mind can get sick just like anything else.  Coming to terms with that will be the worst part of it all.