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The more complicated reason is that I’ve moved into the angry part of grief. From what I’ve read there are at least five stages of grief: denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. These five stages don’t happen to everyone and they don’t necessarily follow the same order. I’ve been through the denial and isolation, don’t plan to bargain with God to give my mom back to me because I know she’s whole now, out of pain and happy. I can accept that she’s dead although sometimes I still pretend she’s alive and well in Florida. I even find myself reaching for the phone to call her with some news. So that leaves the anger part. And frankly, I’m pretty angry at my mom. That has led to a little depression.
Woe is me, I say.
As I think back over my life and the time I was fortunate enough to have a loving mother and father, I’ve had to accept that they were not just my mom and dad, but human beings. It’s taken me three and a half years since my mom’s death to get to this point. I’m a very slow learner. Family and friends that I’ve talked with agree with me that a mom is a mom and a dad is a dad period. They are not people, they are moms and dads. It turns out though that they are also real, living people with the same strengths and weaknesses as every other human being.
Recently I read a description someone was giving about her friend, “Jane.”
Upon meeting “Marilyn” Jane said: “You are very pretty.”
“Marilyn” thanked “Jane” and remarked that people didn’t tell her she was pretty so the compliment was very much appreciated.
“Jane” then told “Marilyn” that others didn’t tell her she was pretty because she was so fat.
This could have been written about my mother! She was the "Jane" person. Mom was very direct, very frank, had a very quick wit, and was often brutally honest without understanding that what she meant as a compliment could quickly be misinterpreted as something hurtful to the point of negating the compliment. My mother would counter that “Marilyn” already knew she was fat but she didn’t know she was pretty. She’d be surprised to find out that “Marilyn” had already forgotten the pretty part and would forever remember the fat part. Family stories like this abound and they are usually told with a great deal of love and laughter in the telling. She was always upset and hurt when she realized that something she said might have been hurtful. It was never her intention. I miss her humor. Her take on what life threw her way and life’s situations was always unique, brilliant, often hilarious.
That was the human part of the person who was my mother. She grew up in a home where everyone was outspoken, opinionated, witty, faithful and religious, loyal and loving. My father, in contrast, grew up in a quiet, private, loyal and loving, faithful and religious family. Note the quiet reference. Life was exciting and often volatile in our house because of their differences.
Stay tuned. But for now let me wallow and be self indulgent for another day.
As I said before, woe is me.
A couple of weeks ago my cousin Paul passed away. My father had 18 nieces and nephews and since Daddy was the last of 7 children, some of his nieces and nephews were born while he was still living at home. He loved them all and each of them is very loved and special, yet I think everyone in our family would tell you that Paul was exceptional. His father passed away when he was just eight months old and everyone had a part in looking after him and his 3 sisters. This family of grandparents, aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers and cousins made certain that each person had a sense of love and family. Paul carried that tradition on to his wife, children and grandchildren and gave all of us the gift of love and family by his example. At our last reunion Paul thanked his wife, Barbara, for his wonderful life. Paul gave so many of us an example of what a family truly was and how wonderful life could be. He was greatly loved and will be greatly missed.
