Week seven

Yes, I know the title is counting things.  I mentioned before I didn't think that "not counting" thing made sense.  I miss her so ...

Life is going on, though, and I finally seem to be making some baby steps towards resuming living mine.  Last night, I cooked dinner for myself for the first time since ... well, since.  It wasn't anything fancy at all; I actually made breakfast.  Grits, eggs, sausage, and toast.  It was easy to do, and I knew I had the needed ingredients, which was a key factor consider the sorry state of most of my refrigerator's contents.  It was unplanned and bittersweet, but I realized that the last meal made in my kitchen, seven weeks ago last night, was when Mom made Nassau Grits for us for dinner.   Maybe that's supposed to be some sort of sign, who knows.

I can joke a little with friends now, which is good, I suppose.  One of my closest friends called tonight, and in talking with her I was able to laugh some.  It feels very, very weird.

This isn't to say I'm through the woods, and at that, this may just be a clearing.  I did break down yesterday when I had to go to the courthouse at noon.  When I got there, I ran into a judicial assistant who had known and worked with Mom.  A lot of the people at the courthouse fit that description, actually.  Anyway, she asked me how I was doing.  I can manage to make it through the days okay, right up until someone asks me something like that.   Before she left to go back to her own office, she made the comment that losing one's mother would never stop hurting.  I had already started tearing up, of course, and that comment really struck me.

When I got to the clerks' counter, I was trying not to cry.  Fortunately, since it was lunch, the place was largely empty.  I apologized and since they had obviously overheard the JA's comments, I simply said that my mom had died recently, and that coming to the courthouse was hard because she had worked for an attorney as well.  That led to the clerk asking which attorney it was, and when I told her, she immediately said, "I didn't know Margie was your mother!"  That led to a conversation with her and another clerk in the office.  Yes, I cried.  They were very nice and understanding, however, and had some lovely things to say about Mom.

I pulled myself together once again, completed what I needed, and turned to leave.  The first person I saw in the lobby outside the glass door was my former stepfather, whom I hadn't seen since Mom's death.  I was crying again before I made it through the door.  He hugged me, asked how I was, and we talked a bit.

After all that occurred in succession, by the time I made it back to my car, I simply lost it and started sobbing, which lasted until I got back to the office. 

I think it was somehow cathartic, though.  For what reason, I couldn't tell you, but I came home and gave the cats tuna for dinner as a treat, and decided I deserved one myself.  Normally that would mean not cooking, and perhaps even going to a good restaurant.  After the last several weeks, it was the reverse last night.  As I was preparing everything, I thought about having made the actual grits while Mom was cooking the rest of the Nassau Grits that night.  I thought about how she always referred to the way I liked my fried eggs as frambled and how she usually cooked them for me since I liked hers better than when I cooked them.   She'd always make me come season them, though, because she could over-salt them for my taste.

It feels very weird to be ... living again, even in little bits.  I feel vaguely guilty, like it is some how inappropriate, but not really.  Sometimes, I even wonder how in the world I can be managing to laugh again at all. 

I don't think Mom would mind, though.