Feeling like a broken record

There's an entry I started a couple of days ago that's still in the draft stage, but as it's hopefully going to be one of the more upbeat posts, at least all things considered, I decided not to mix it with tonight's writing and thus taint it.  Hence the broken record part - this is more about how I hurt.  I'm sorry, but it's not like I know much else right now.  I wish I did.  Part of the reason for this blog in the first place is to try and work through it, since to write about it, I have to organize my thoughts somewhat.

So, I'll have to ask the indulgence of you, my reader friend, though if you're taking the time to follow this, that's quite an indulgence anyway.  I'm finding that although the initial shock and pain of my mother's death was absolutely brutal, it almost seems easy now when compared with trying to deal with the loss.  Granted, part or all of that may simply be perspective, and trouble dealing with this loss is nothing new, but I've been pondering the immense breadth and depth of it a lot more lately.

You see, my mother and I shared a tremendous amount and were an integral, daily part of each other's life.  While we each had our own friends and our own interests, we also had some of both in common and spent a majority of our time with each other.  We shared meals, did the shopping together, went to movies, etc.  While some people may not be able to understand that fully, I can only say that I was blessed to have my mother also be one of my best friends.  Perhaps it's not common, but being different is certainly not new for me, nor was it for her.  She was the person who I could always count on, who always loved me, and who was always there for me and I was that person for her.  

Given this, her death not only leaves me without a mother, but without my closest friend with whom I shared my daily life.  So, in short, life as I knew it, as I have known it for years,  has been smashed into fragments.  I literally have wandered around - in my house, at the grocery store, anywhere - just feeling lost and not knowing what to do.  My weekends have no structure or purpose anymore.  I haven't cooked for myself since my mom died.  At some point, I'm supposedly going to be creating a new routine for my life, but how or when that is going to happen, I have no clue.  I don't have another person's schedule to take into account, and since my boss is jerking me around at work, I don't even have that for a framework.  I'm just ... floundering.

I don't know if this is normal as a part of the grieving process, though I wouldn't be surprised to find it was.  But the feeling of being lost extends to making it so that there's nothing I'm looking forward to right now, big or little.  This would normally be my favorite time of the year, and of course the holidays aren't too far off either.  Instead, I don't care what day it is, assuming I even know, and if there were some way to avoid December entirely, I'd take it.  Right now, I'm just taking each day as it comes, as empty as they all are, and muddling through.  People say I'm being strong, when truly I'm just managing to survive, and only because there's really nothing else to do.  Some irrational part of me still hopes, desperately, that I'll wake up from this horrible, hellish nightmare than I've been trapped in for six weeks.  In the meantime, I deal with things as best as I can, however good or bad that may be, and hope that it will all even out one day. 

But damn ... feeling this lost and this empty hurts more than I can possibly describe.

I miss you, Mom, so very, very much.