In the course of just one day, I go through so many moods in dealing with my mother's death. Last night, at the grocery store, I finally saw one of the main managers whom I had been looking to speak with for weeks now. Although most people aren't aware of it, this particular location has a true florist in the floral department, and he did most of the arrangements for Mom's celebration. They were gorgeous - cherry alstroemeria, stargazer lilies, and yellow roses - so I wanted to pass my compliments and thanks to management.
The manager I spoke to was one both Mom and I knew by sight, and vice versa. We were in this store, singly or together, two or three times each week. He'd often stop to speak with us. Actually, a lot of people did that with Mom. She was amazingly friendly and able to speak to anyone. At any rate, I predictably began to tear up while speaking to him. At least I was ready to check out at that point, and was in my car shortly thereafter, when I proceeded to lose it entirely for a few minutes. I suggest not trying to drive while sobbing hysterically, for the record.
This happens at random, though at least more infrequently now. I don't expect it to stop anytime soon. There are usually also several moments in the evenings, when I have to simply stop, take a deep breath, and will myself not to start screaming or crying. There's still some part of me that wants her back so badly, even though I know it's not possible, that the grief and need just become overwhelming.
As if there isn't enough to deal with, I'm in the midst of wrapping up her financial affairs and working with the insurance companies, which is another of the very hard things. It was terribly important to Mom that she leave me with as much security as she could. I never, ever thought I'd have to be claiming any of it this soon. She'd bring it up periodically, and I'd always shy away from it, telling her that I'd much rather have her alive. Now I feel badly for the way I would try to evade talking about it, and I certainly know that I don't deserve it. Mostly though, I'd give away every single bit of it in a heartbeat if I could have just one more hour with Mom. More than anything, I wish I could tell her that I was happy to have shared my life with her and that I could tell her that I loved her one more time.
The manager I spoke to was one both Mom and I knew by sight, and vice versa. We were in this store, singly or together, two or three times each week. He'd often stop to speak with us. Actually, a lot of people did that with Mom. She was amazingly friendly and able to speak to anyone. At any rate, I predictably began to tear up while speaking to him. At least I was ready to check out at that point, and was in my car shortly thereafter, when I proceeded to lose it entirely for a few minutes. I suggest not trying to drive while sobbing hysterically, for the record.
This happens at random, though at least more infrequently now. I don't expect it to stop anytime soon. There are usually also several moments in the evenings, when I have to simply stop, take a deep breath, and will myself not to start screaming or crying. There's still some part of me that wants her back so badly, even though I know it's not possible, that the grief and need just become overwhelming.
As if there isn't enough to deal with, I'm in the midst of wrapping up her financial affairs and working with the insurance companies, which is another of the very hard things. It was terribly important to Mom that she leave me with as much security as she could. I never, ever thought I'd have to be claiming any of it this soon. She'd bring it up periodically, and I'd always shy away from it, telling her that I'd much rather have her alive. Now I feel badly for the way I would try to evade talking about it, and I certainly know that I don't deserve it. Mostly though, I'd give away every single bit of it in a heartbeat if I could have just one more hour with Mom. More than anything, I wish I could tell her that I was happy to have shared my life with her and that I could tell her that I loved her one more time.
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