Reflections on 2012

So here we are at the end of another year. Thanks to Castorgirl for hosting this month’s Blog Carnival Against Child Abuse, and for suggesting the theme of reflections on the year. Like many, I sometimes struggle to see the positives (perhaps this year more than most), so it’s been nice to have a reminder. Thanks CG!

The biggest, baddest, and hardest part of my year has been the death of my mother. It’s been two and a half months now, and I still can’t believe I’m writing those words. Death. Mother. In the same sentence. Yet it was inevitable, really. Her passing, and my grief, overshadow everything; are sometimes overwhelming, yet somehow I manage to get up everyday and keep moving.

I don’t want to reflect on 2012, or look ahead to 2013. The more time moves forward, the more distant my mother seems. But, here goes…

My biggest hope for this year was that I would get to spend more time with Mum.Yep, I did get to do that. 🙂 I’m so glad that I did. We became a lot closer and I grew to understand her more. Of course we snipped and snapped at each other sometimes. And sometimes she drove me completely nuts, but I’m told that’s normal. It’s what made our relationship real. I would give almost anything to have her back, but at the same time I’m incredibly grateful we had the time we did. I’m glad I could be there with her until the end. Grateful, too, that her passing was quick and painless and peaceful. After all she’d been through she deserved those things at the very least.

I learned a lot this year. About life, and death, and the world. I learned that caring for someone with a terminal illness is hard, hard work. Much harder than I’d ever imagined. I still can’t believe how exhausted I was; how little time I had for anything. I think I’m still recovering. Though, of course, I would do it again in a heartbeat.

I learned that grief SUX. Big time.

Perhaps the most important things I learned were about myself. Thanks to a truckload of therapy. I had some moments of mindfulness. I’m nowhere near perfect, but I’ve had glimpses of what being mindful is like and I think I like it.

I learned how disconnected I was (am) from my body, and how difficult it is for me to establish that connection. Sadly I can’t share any wisdom on this one with you – I still get caught off guard when I notice something in my body.

I learned a lot more about my anxiety and how it manifests itself: in my breathing, in the tension in my shoulders, in my “ADD”, my worry about being late, etc etc etc. In learning about my anxiety, I also started to learn about what I want, or think I want, in work and in life, without the pressure of anyone’s expectations. And I started to learn about the kinds of things that stress me, especially at work, and how I want to manage or eliminate that stress.

I knitted. A lot. And I loved it. I loved discovering all the stitches and patterns and beautiful yarns out there and discovering some fellow knitting friends. 😉

One of my biggest achievements, I think, is that I built a relationship with Mum’s cat. An old, cantankerous cat who has hated me for much of her life. Who broke my heart when, after Mum passed, she’d come looking at Mum’s chair and ask me where Mum was. She trusts me now. Even lets me brush her and purrs while I do. I never thought it would happen, but it did and I’m proud of myself for having the patience and love to sit with her through all this, as she sits with me.

That’s it, folks. I’m going to save my “hopes” for 2013 for another time. I will leave you with one of the songs that’s moved me this year. A lovely little piece by Missy Higgins. It’s a song about losing her grandmother to dementia, and to death. It struck a chord with me.

PS. Actually I may have undersold myself. I think by far my BIGGEST achievement was allowing myself to feel my feelings in the wake of my mother’s death. Ordinarily my approach would have been to eat, drink, shop or otherwise bury my feelings, but experience has taught me that doesn’t work. No, it doesn’t. The feelings just get bigger and come back to haunt you later on. So, instead, I allowed myself to feel. I think it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done and it’s still bl00dy awful, but I’m doing it. There’s been a little bit of numbing, but really nothing compared to what I’d usually do. So while it feels like the most unnatural thing to say – go me!!

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Two months

It’s two months today since I lost my Mum. It’s a funny thing saying that you “lost” someone. Like you put them down somewhere and forgot where they were.

I know now that I will never “get over” this. I am forever changed. I know that the days become easier to bear, little by little. I am getting used to Mum’s absence. I no longer look for her on the couch when I get home, but the loss and the grief are always present. Like the other day I drove past a coffee shop, and though it was one I’d never seen before, it’s name was a word Mum and I used sometimes when we baked. It was another stabbing reminder that she’s gone.

The Back Up Therapist says at the moment it’s like I have a gaping wound, and everything like that coffee shop is like ripping the bandage off and reopening the wound. Again and again and again. Apparently one day I’ll rip the bandage off and the wound won’t be so raw and gaping. At the moment I can only hope so.

I try to pass the time. Even pass it healthily. The Back Up Therapist says that will make things easier in the long term. Thankfully, for once, my inner-self knows she’s right. So I eat (relatively) well, get regular exercise, don’t drink or take pills. And I feel those wretched feelings.

But I still miss Mum. For all her faults – and this blog recorded many – we had a close and enduring bond – better in the last few months of her life than for sometime before that. To say I miss her feels like such a ridiculous thing to say. There’s a huge hole in my life where she used to be and nothing – NOTHING – can fill it.

A friend said recently that the thought of losing her Mum is more than she can bear. I thought so, too, and yet somehow I have managed to survive the last two months. It seems incredible, but I have.