Entrance into Green by Wim Lassche (Pixdaus)
“Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.” ~ William Shakespeare, Macbeth
Tuesday afternoon. Sunny and mild, low 80’s.
People around here are still reeling from the 5.9 earthquake from earlier today. I, however, slept through it and am glad that I did. Last night, I took three Seroquel to ensure deep sleep. You see, my mother-in-law died yesterday afternoon.
We had visited on Sunday, and it was obvious then that she did not have very long. She was not conscious, but her breathing was labored. We talked, and I rubbed her arms with lotion and massaged her hands. I cleaned her teeth as I knew that she would hate to have dirty teeth. When I left, I told her that I loved her and said that I would see her later. I had every intention of going back yesterday or today.
Now, she’s gone.
Her body will be cremated, and there will be a memorial service at her church. It will have to be on a weekend so that Ann’s daughter can get back from Virginia Tech. Since next weekend is a holiday weekend, it will probably be the weekend after that. She had said that she would like for her ashes to be buried beneath a tree or spread in the Pacific Ocean.
I have volunteered to write the obituary, which is what I should be doing at this moment but cannot.
“When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving much advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a gentle and tender hand.” ~ Henri J. M. Nouwen
Ann called me yesterday afternoon. The rehab center had called her as she was on her way home from taking my niece to Blacksburg. I had Brett with me in the car as we were on our way to do school errands, and I called Alexis and Eamonn. I was also the first to reach Paul. In the midst of phoning everyone, my mother called, and I was crying. Her response was to tell me to stop crying.
I love my mother, but she refuses to acknowledge grief.
Actually, at this moment, my face and head hurt from the effort that I’m exuding not to give in to tears as I do not wish to be consumed at this moment. To be honest, I do not want to feel, do not want to acknowledge everything that is coursing through my heart, my head, my soul. It’s just too much at the moment.
Perhaps later, I will write about the woman that she was, the things she loved, the memories that I have. But not now.
“Joy and sorrow in this world pass into each other, mingling their forms and their murmurs in the twilight of life as mysterious as an overshadowed ocean, while the dazzling brightness of supreme hopes lies far off, fascinating and still, on the distant edge of the horizon.” ~ Joseph Conrad
The sink is full of dirty dishes, the bed unmade. The laundry hamper is full. Frankly, I don’t care. I cannot make myself care.
I was supposed to see my pain doctor today, but I rescheduled. I don’t want to see anyone, don’t want anyone to ask me how I am, don’t want anyone to touch me.
If I had a shell, I would retreat inside and hide from the world for as long as it takes, but of course, I don’t have a shell. So I will just shut myself off for a while. Yesterday, I kept myself busy until the moment I got into bed, the logic being, of course, that if you are busy, then you cannot focus on other things; if you cannot focus on other things, you cannot think too much.
I always think too much.
I don’t want to think at all. I don’t want to feel anything, let alone sorrow, and certainly not grief. I’m not in denial. I know what has happened, or at least my brain knows. But I am in postponement. I actively choose to wait to feel. This membrane between normalcy—the moments in which everything is as we know and expect it to be—and loss—after everything has changed—is far too thin. I have chosen not to let the knowledge of her death reach my heart yet.
This is all for now. Let me close with these words:
8 thoughts on ““Beauty is ever to the lonely mind a shadow fleeting; she is never plain. She is a visitor who leaves behind the gift of grief, the souvenir of pain.” ~ Christopher Morley”
it’s been ages since i’ve peeked in on your blog.
i’m so sorry for your loss. we all have our ways of dealing with the loss of a loved one and i can completely understand how you feel. i’m so impressed with how eloquently you can write about it.
i’ve moved to north central illinois to be with my boyfriend richard. it’s kept me from working on my blog, but i hope to get back to work on it soon.
please take care.
I had wondered what happened to you, if you were abandoning your blog completely. It’s great that you have made a move to be with someone you love. I will check in on your periodically to see if you have updated.
Thank you for your kinds words. It is always nice to hear from you.
Oops! (RahRah, is a nickname, Andi is my real, lol, nickname still, Andrea is my real name.)
You’ve signed Andi before. No probs.
Poietes, my heart goes out to you and yours. When you are ready, I give great hugs, and offer you a great big Texas hug! ~Andi
Thank you for your kind words. Virtual hugs are almost as good as the real thing.
Peace be with you, Lita. Wish you could walk among the green of these pictures you have posted. I’m sorry to hear about your loss.
Thank you. I would like to retreat to a forest or mountains …