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.
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