I’ve been grieving hard this week, alternating between anger, sadness, restlessness and vegetation.
This weekend is sadder than the whole week of shiva. Today I feel like my mom is dead and gone. Really, really dead and really, really gone.
Just heard Stevie Nicks singing Landslide and broke down crying while driving to get my hair cut. Mom liked that song and wasn’t that much older than Stevie Nicks.
I see the pain in my face
Yet I see her too
Calling Social Security and my mom’s bank is actually therapeutic, in that I get to make it real that my mom died, which just feels so unreal.
Had my first good cry since my mom died. In the bottom of her handbag, I found a brand new white coin purse with plenty of coins in it, but I also found this old leather coin purse I made for my mom when I was seven years old. It had only two coins in it, and she didn’t need it in her handbag, but she kept it in there anyway. It — I — meant that much to her.
I’ve said a couple of things about death this week I never thought I’d hear come out of my mouth. The day before my mom died alone in her apartment (sad news, I know), I tried talking her into signing a DNR so she could go into hospice. She said she wanted them to do everything they could to save her life. I said, as gently as I could, “Well… Mom… people who know they’re dying don’t ask people to save their lives. Death is part of the dying process.”
The next day, when I got the call that she died, I was in shock – not surprised, sadly, but shaken. I told my (gentile) husband I wanted to sit shiva but needed a refresher on how. He went to get one of my Jewish books for me, and instead of bringing A Handbook of Jewish Living, he brought The Jewish Holidays. He was looking in the index saying, “Shiva… Shiva… I see Shabbat but nothing about shiva.” I looked at the cover of the book and said, “Death is not a holiday. “