I’m sitting here at a desk at my job, this former jewelry store turned TV station, feeling a lot of things.
Grief is the first one… my mother passed away a week ago Saturday night. I’ll spare you the descriptors, I think we have all experienced grief in one form or fashion.
Sorrow is the second feeling. Sorrow is markedly different from grief. I feel sorrow for the circumstances. My mom could have lived longer. Sparing the details, let’s just say that lately she hadn’t taken proper care of herself, and it finally caught up to her.
That ultimately leads to guilt, something I think my grandmother, aunt and myself are all dealing with to some extent. I hadn’t gotten to talk to my mom in months. Not for lack of trying: I called, I called and I called. But everytime she was out, and she either forgot to call back or didn’t. Somehow I think she knew the road she was going down, and she would have probably not wanted to either lie to me or mislead me.
When I talked to my grandmother a few days ago to check-in on her, she let me in on something she found out. While talking to a friend a few days before she went to the hospital for the final time, my mother said that she was proud of me. Proud of being here at the station, proud that after so much work, so many false starts, and so many setbacks, that I was finally getting started in my chosen profession.
She was proud of me… and she never got the chance to tell me. Or I never got the chance to hear her. Both, neither, either.
I can’t pick one word that describes that feeling. It’s the same feeling you get if you miss the bus to a one-time only concert that you waited a long time for. A missed shot.
I feel fear. I’m about to start what’s likely to be several weeks of emailing, phone calling and gathering information, to get all her affairs put in order. It’s single-handedly the biggest responsibility I’ve had thus far in my adult life and it’s put the fear of the deities in me. I don’t want to make any errors in this process, and unfortunately that means I have to be patient and take my time. I hated waiting in the first place, but this will be long and painful.
I feel comfort in the fact that whatever pain or stress she had gone through during her life is now past her. I take comfort in the fact that she is beyond this and she can finally rest. I’m glad that many family members were around her when it finally came time. I couldn’t, but everyone says I wouldn’t want her physical state to be the last memory I had of her. I’m inclined to trust that judgement.
It’s all part of the grieving process, I know. I’m not asking for help, nor is there any, I think, that I need outside of what the family is giving me now.
I’m going to be okay.