The pain from the grief is physical

[Mom's Pookie]

I lost my mother on January 27, 2016.   My relationship with my mother was very different from her relationship with mI lost my mother on January 27, 2016. My relationship with my mother was very different from her relationship with my brother and sister. I guess if I were to be honest, co-dependent would probably most accurately describe it, but I've always preferred to think of it as "being a momma's girl." While it had been apparent for some time that my mother's health was failing, she had no expected "expiration date." Her doctor's had not told us that she had six months to live, a month, a week. The night before she passed we had just gotten her moved into what seemed like a wonderful 24 hour full care assisted living facility (a hellish task for a senior living on a fixed income). We all thought that the craziness was over and there would be time, at last, to take a breath and enjoy what little time we would have left with her. I had no idea that when I kissed her on her forehead and told her I loved her before going home that it would be the last time I would ever say those words to her again, the last time I would ever feel my mother's touch or hear her voice, ever. And I find myself stricken with thoughts that I should have said more. That I should have told her how truly deeply my love for her ran, that I was so incredibly thankful that I had been blessed with a mother as strong and kind and faithful as she had been.

 

I was working when they contacted me the next morning to tell me she had passed away in her sleep at 9:30 am. I began shaking uncontrollably, and collapsed to the floor screaming. Even now, I can barely recall the details of that moment, just a flood of shocked and worried faces flooding into my cubicle.

The pain that I have been enduring the last 12 days is unlike any I have ever known. More than any physical pain I have ever felt and more than the loss of any other loved one I have had to say goodbye to. And it is truly physical. I have felt on-going shortness of breath since the day she passed and a pain in my chest that feels like a battleship has been dropped on top of me. I honestly believed that I was having a heart attack (and even though this pain has been never ending since the 27th, I'm still not completely convinced that's not what is happening to me). My head pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears and no amount of Tylenol or Ibuprofen has helped. My neck and back have been so tight and painful that I can't turn my head without wincing. 

But the incredible loneliness and hollow emptiness I feel is becoming crippling. I have so many people who care for me and are concerned for my well-being, but I am unable to connect with them in any meaningful way. I feel them peripherally but even in rooms full of crowds I am utterly alone, and even more alone when I am around those people who love me most. I am the first of my friends to lose their mother and while all of them feel sorrow for me, not one of them is able to empathize or begin to comprehend the overwhelming sense of loss and aimlessness I feel. My mother was my best friend, my closest confidant and my guiding light. Without her I feel no sense of purpose or reason for living. My sister even told me that while she too feels my mother's loss, she knows that I was close to her in a way that my siblings never were and that no one could be feeling more pain or anguish over her passing than I do. It takes physical effort just to get out of bed every morning. And I feel like even the involuntary act in breathing requires thought and physical exertion to inhale and exhale.

I can't focus or think any more. I find myself sitting at my desk at work staring at her picture when I should be working. And when I do find momentary focus to begin working on a project at work, I can only commit to it for mere moments before I find myself staring blankly at a page or my computer screen struggling to recall what it was I was doing. I have read and re-read her obituary repeatedly in 30-60 minute blocks, asking myself, "Did I do her justice? Did I say enough about her? Does this little 16 line paragraph really sum up the greatness of her 81 years on earth?" It says nothing about the incredibly strong woman she was. About the abuse she lived through as a child and the amazing way she had recovered from it and never let it prevent her from fiercely loving her family and friends or allowing herself to be loved by others, or the life lesson she taught her children as a result. It did not speak of her resilience or determination. It said nothing about how she raised her three children as both mother and father to us after she divorced. Or how she work tirelessly to get her RN degree in a year, all while working full time and raising me when I was the last of her children at home. What it did say is that she is survived by her younger brother and three children. But I lied. Because what I am doing right now is existing. Barely hanging onto this world by my fingertips. What I am doing is barely breathing, but not surviving. I find myself listening to voice messages she had left that I forgot to delete just so I can hear her voice again. I burst into tears suddenly, frequently and without warning reminding me that she is ever present in my thoughts even when I may not be aware that I am thinking about her. I struggle to sleep through the night, but I want to do nothing but sleep on the chance that she might come to me in my dreams and say goodbye.

She gave my life purpose and joy and I can't imagine how I can continue to go on like this day after day. I know, I know. I've heard it ad nauseam over the last several days that in time the hurt will begin to lessen and that life will return to normal. But I cannot fathom that life will ever be "normal" again. I can't imagine a day passing that I will not feel like this world is meaningless and incomplete without my mother in it. And even if that day ever comes, how do I survive until then? How does one bear the heartbreak, misery, despair and torment of this kind of loss during this mythical healing process? I find myself isolating from my relationships feeling bitter and resentful because none of them can ever compare to my relationship with my mother. No one can ever take her place, and no love I ever feel again from anyone in my life will ever be as warm, and gentle or fulfilling as my mother's love. How could anyone ever fill the chasmic void left in my heart and soul by her passing? And why bother to let anyone even try when there is no way they could anything but fail miserably? I feel like I will never be happy again, and that I don't want to be happy without her.  How does someone even begin to recover from this?y brother and sister. I guess if I were to be honest, co-dependent would probably most accurately describe it, but I've always preferred to think of it as "being a momma's girl." While it had been apparent for some time that my mother's health was failing, she had no expected "expiration date." Her doctor's had not told us that she had six months to live, a month, a week. The night before she passed we had just gotten her moved into what seemed like a wonderful 24 hour full care assisted living facility (a hellish task for a senior living on a fixed income). We all thought that the craziness was over and there would be time, at last, to take a breath and enjoy what little time we would have left with her. I had no idea that when I kissed her on her forehead and told her I loved her before going home that it would be the last time I would ever say those words to her again, the last time I would ever feel my mother's touch or hear her voice, ever. And I find myself stricken with thoughts that I should have said more. That I should have told her how truly deeply my love for her ran, that I was so incredibly thankful that I had been blessed with a mother as strong and kind and faithful as she had been.



I was working when they contacted me the next morning to tell me she had passed away in her sleep at 9:30 am. I began shaking uncontrollably, and collapsed to the floor screaming. Even now, I can barely recall the details of that moment, just a flood of shocked and worried faces flooding into my cubicle.



The pain that I have been enduring the last 12 days is unlike any I have ever known. More than any physical pain I have ever felt and more than the loss of any other loved one I have had to say goodbye to. And it is truly physical. I have felt on-going shortness of breath since the day she passed and a pain in my chest that feels like a battleship has been dropped on top of me. I honestly believed that I was having a heart attack (and even though this pain has been never ending since the 27th, I'm still not completely convinced that's not what is happening to me). My head pounds so hard I can hear it in my ears and no amount of Tylenol or Ibuprofen has helped. My neck and back have been so tight and painful that I can't turn my head without wincing. 





But the incredible loneliness and hollow emptiness I feel is becoming crippling. I have so many people who care for me and are concerned for my well-being, but I am unable to connect with them in any meaningful way. I feel them peripherally but even in rooms full of crowds I am utterly alone, and even more alone when I am around those people who love me most. I am the first of my friends to lose their mother and while all of them feel sorrow for me, not one of them is able to empathize or begin to comprehend the overwhelming sense of loss and aimlessness I feel. My mother was my best friend, my closest confidant and my guiding light. Without her I feel no sense of purpose or reason for living. My sister even told me that while she too feels my mother's loss, she knows that I was close to her in a way that my siblings never were and that no one could be feeling more pain or anguish over her passing than I do. It takes physical effort just to get out of bed every morning. And I feel like even the involuntary act in breathing requires thought and physical exertion to inhale and exhale.





I can't focus or think any more. I find myself sitting at my desk at work staring at her picture when I should be working. And when I do find momentary focus to begin working on a project at work, I can only commit to it for mere moments before I find myself staring blankly at a page or my computer screen struggling to recall what it was I was doing. I have read and re-read her obituary repeatedly in 30-60 minute blocks, asking myself, "Did I do her justice? Did I say enough about her? Does this little 16 line paragraph really sum up the greatness of her 81 years on earth?" It says nothing about the incredibly strong woman she was. About the abuse she lived through as a child and the amazing way she had recovered from it and never let it prevent her from fiercely loving her family and friends or allowing herself to be loved by others, or the life lesson she taught her children as a result. It did not speak of her resilience or determination. It said nothing about how she raised her three children as both mother and father to us after she divorced. Or how she work tirelessly to get her RN degree in a year, all while working full time and raising me when I was the last of her children at home. What it did say is that she is survived by her younger brother and three children. But I lied. Because what I am doing right now is existing. Barely hanging onto this world by my fingertips. What I am doing is barely breathing, but not surviving. I find myself listening to voice messages she had left that I forgot to delete just so I can hear her voice again. I burst into tears suddenly, frequently and without warning reminding me that she is ever present in my thoughts even when I may not be aware that I am thinking about her. I struggle to sleep through the night, but I want to do nothing but sleep on the chance that she might come to me in my dreams and say goodbye.



She gave my life purpose and joy and I can't imagine how I can continue to go on like this day after day. I know, I know. I've heard it ad nauseam over the last several days that in time the hurt will begin to lessen and that life will return to normal. But I cannot fathom that life will ever be "normal" again. I can't imagine a day passing that I will not feel like this world is meaningless and incomplete without my mother in it. And even if that day ever comes, how do I survive until then? How does one bear the heartbreak, misery, despair and torment of this kind of loss during this mythical healing process? I find myself isolating from my relationships feeling bitter and resentful because none of them can ever compare to my relationship with my mother. No one can ever take her place, and no love I ever feel again from anyone in my life will ever be as warm, and gentle or fulfilling as my mother's love. How could anyone ever fill the chasmic void left in my heart and soul by her passing? And why bother to let anyone even try when there is no way they could anything but fail miserably? I feel like I will never be happy again, and that I don't want to be happy without her. How does someone even begin to recover from this?

[Everly]

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[JeannineDay]

It is difficult to recover this loss, but we have to live and spend our lives. Something similar happened with my friend. He shifted his mother to the senior community NJ to enjoy her leftover time independently and happily. But unfortunately, he was also not there with her mother in her last time. To recover from this huge loss he started working as a caregiver to serve others and help them. This gave him a little peace of mind. You may also try something like this. Caring and helping others always bring peace.