Fountain of Sorrow

All I've got is a photograph

And I realize you're not coming back anymore.

How do you do it? How do you go on, day after day, acting as if everything is okay when you are completely broken? My personal fix has been alcohol, Xanax, and antidepressants, usually not all at once, but hey, whatever works.

My mom ceased to exist on Oct. 7. I thought I was doing fairly well until I suddenly wasn't. To say I am not a crier is an understatement. I think maybe five people have ever witnessed it because I've always been a 'suck it up and deal with it' kind of gal. Fuck me, this month has been the most painful, gutwrenching, raw sobbing until I can't breathe kind of experience I could never have imagined in my worst nightmares.

Some days, I feel as if I am merely a sand sculpture and a slight breeze might blow me into a million separate pieces flying through the air and disappearing on the wind. On those days, I try to remember how my mom would explain to me that I am the child she never worried about; that I am strong, outgoing, independent, resourceful, and smart. Then I fall apart because I feel like she would be ashamed of how truly weak I am. Then I realize that she would never be ashamed of me; she would merely hug me and tell me it's okay. And then I cry even more.

Some days, I remember the great things about her and the wonderful times I spent with her; her laughter, the twinkle in her eye, her occasional feistiness, our trip to Alaska, her and I taking a road trip to an NFL game in Washington, her swimming in our pool and having a hell of a time getting on a float, and hanging out on the deck as the sunset began to appear. Those days are what save me from the darkest depression I have only ever experienced in my life during this past month.

I am now the owner of the home my parents lived in for over 30 years. I am unable to stay in it and I continue to live in the guest apartment. It's all just too much. I'm not so much surrounded by memories as I am engulfed by them. I have closed off the section of the house where my mom slept and then passed away. I don't know if I will ever be able to sleep there.

A few days ago I took some of my mom's coats out of the closet to give to our local Hospice thrift store. I had to stop because I felt like I was throwing her away. Is any of this normal? Am I losing my mind? Does this grief ever ease?

I've never felt this way before. I've spent the past three years taking care of my mom and I don't exactly know who I am anymore. I guess it's time to start trying to figure that out.