First Time Back to the Running Club

On Saturday, I returned to my local running club. I was back to leading Running 101. Not a big deal for the old Juana. But for the new Juana, it was an act of emptiness.

Not to say I didn't like meeting everyone. I always enjoy talking to and working with people who go through 101. I like to hear about how they got there and what there goals are. But this time, in the back of my mind, I knew I wasn't who I used to be. I was now talking to people knowing I couldn't go home and call Mama to talk about my experience.

I didn't have my mom to call to say how excited I was about the new group. And knowing that Mama should have been with me on that first day with 101 made it worse. She was supposed to be here, with me. Not mentally, or as a "spirit," but as my living, breathing, exciting, fun Mommy. My pal. My support. My inspiration.

When she died that all died with her.

As a consolation prize, there was one returning person. She reminded me that no matter who we are and how much we strive to move on with our lives, sometimes, we have to go back to the beginning, to reestablish who we are. Little consolation, but I need to grasp at the life raft, the one just out of reach...Mommy, I miss you. I love you.

Sending My Aunt Some Money

Yesterday I went to the bank to do a wire transfer. Mama used to send money to my aunt, her sister, regularly and I wanted to started doing it. But it so reminded me that Mom is dead that the rest of my day was extremely difficult. I'm still upset this morning.

I keep thinking if I could just feel rested maybe I'd feel a little better. But I know the truth is I'll never be the same again.

Tomorrow is Mom's Birthday

I can't say more right now. I got the following poem in an email from my Yahoo group moderator:

~Happy Birthday Mom~
My Mother is so special to me,
a friend who was always near,
someone I could turn to,
to listen or shed a tear
I know I told you often
how much I loved you so,
but I could never tell you
as much as you should know
Now that you are gone from me,
I think of so many things
that I want to tell you,
but the phone will never ring
Happy Birthday my dear Mommy,
I send wishes to the above,
of the joy you always gave me,
the joy of devoted love
~by Jill Hoel
© Jill Hoel 2005

I'll send it to Mommy in a balloon tomorrow. I love you, Mom.

Half a Person

Someone emailed Motherless2 last night and suggested we discuss what we were doing those few weeks/days before we learned of our mothers deaths. While I could talk about the call I made to Mom to tell her a new blue bird had moved into my back yard, a positive sign we thought, that is not my initial reaction to the emailer's suggestion. The following is my initial, gut reaction:

I was clearing out the in-law unit in my house in preparation to have my mom living with us. Our future was full of plans. My husband had plans to go to yoga and tai chi classes with Mama. I was going to run with her. Perhaps enter short races. We planned what nights I would cook and she would cook.

Randy had movies selected based on her taste. He had weekend trips planned for us.

Mama bought a new car in anticipation of the last long road trip she and I would take together.

Everything is dead now. The minute I got the call, my life went to spoiled and happy to the depths of despair. Everyday I wish I were dead because I don't want to live without her. And yet I must, for my husband and my sister...

My life is very different now. I struggle to get to work, to talk to people (I was very extroverted). I struggle to get out and exercise (I used to work out 6-7 days a week). I don't eat sweet things anymore, including fruit. I have no taste for it. I gag on sweet stuff.

I don't smile freely anymore. You can see it in photos. I have to remember to laugh at things I used to gaffaw at, i.e., my husband's silly jokes and tricks. I don't read much now. I keep my hands busy so I don't have to think. I don't enjoy relaxing because my mind will be free to think about Mama's death.

Honestly, I don't see when I'll be who I was. As my husband said, half of me died when my mom died. I'm just half a person now...maybe even just a shadow.

No Thinking Allowed

Weekends are incredibly difficult. And it's only getting worse as Christmas, Mom's birthday and New Year's Day approach. Yesterday in the car, I began crying again. The sickness came to my stomach again. Funny thing is, I've gotten so used to feeling the punch to my stomach that, even though it hurts as much as always, I just accept it.

Anytime I have a moment, even seconds to think, my mind goes to my mother being dead, that I will never again see her on this earth, except in my mind's eye or in photos. So I have to constantly keep busy. No resting, no relaxing anymore. I knit, I loom, I sew, I look at knitting magazines, I read what I can. However, I am not doing anything for my health.

I need to take care of myself. Mama would not want me to continue to ignore my own wellbeing. No way, no how. I'm going now to try to run. And try NOT to think...No thinking allowed.

Marshall

Tonight I sat quietly watching television and knitting a sock. Randy had gone to bed. I was watching The Amazing Race. A commercial came on. It was about the movie regarding Marshall University and the loss of the football team. I broke into tears.

Mom and I had been in Huntington on my last visit to see her. Mama wanted to see Huntington before she made her final decision to move to San Francisco.

So one day we got in the car and drove there.

Huntington had changed since Mom had moved to Athens, GA. Like most towns, it had grown. Mama was nervous as we drove in; she already sensed the change.

We checked into a hotel just on the border of the city. After we checked in, we got into the car and drove into town. It was busy and the streets seemed crowded, even though it was not "rush hour.” As we drove along one of the major thoroughfares, we came to a place, near Marshall, where one road was closed off. Mom remembered she’d heard they were making a movie about Marshall’s fallen team. The movie was being filmed when we arrived and so streets were blocked off.

That was on my last road trip with my mama. Our last road trip. I thought we'd have more in California. I thought we'd have one major one when we moved her here to our home. I feel alone now. I lost my mommy.

I broke down and started crying. I couldn't do it alone. I woke up Randy. I told him about the commercial and what it meant. He held me. I sobbed and sobbed. My heart is broken. My heart is broken and I don't know how to heal it. I feel so alone. I am lost...

Thank you, Randy, for being there.

Falling Asleep, Tears in My Eyes

It's been almost 6 months since Mama died. Such a short time that seems like an eternity in some ways.

On Tuesday, I didn't have much time to sit and think about my mom's death, my loss. That's always a bad thing for me. It means the next day will be horrible.

Wednesday, I did my best to try to understand why one day is okay and one day is so bad, mostly based on how much time I could spend thinking about Mama. I don't understand it.

As yesterday progressed and I thought about my loss and looked at Mommy's picture, I thought, "Maybe today I won't break down." That was so wrong.

I lay down to sleep and suddenly the tears came. Soon I was sobbing. My husband came in and lay beside me, hugging me, trying desperately to comfort me. His only words (and what more could they be) were, "I'm sorry, so sorry."

I wept until I fell asleep. I don't feel much better today. I don't think I ever will feel better again.

Memories: 1988 Trip to Honduras

Today, I was talking about the trip Mom, Randy and I took to Honduras in 1988. So many years ago. There are so many memories around that trip. Mama getting mad at us and putting her hand up to the back of her head, while saying, “You people.” At the moment it wasn’t funny, but a few days later, and years after that, we laughed about it. Randy and I initially imitated it, but then Mom started imitating herself, too.

Then there was the time we were traveling by bus and the bus was pulled over by a small battalion of very young soldiers. One began questioning me about my passport because of my birthplace, La Ceiba, and why I had an American passport. Randy didn’t know what to do and Mom kept saying, “Tell him, tell him!” It all ended okay. We were scared but survived to tell the tale.

There was also the time we were in Copan. Randy and I had wandered off for a bit while Mom sat and relaxed. When we got back, she was holding the hand of a howler monkey and rubbing his belly.



He seemed thoroughly enchanted with Mama. Randy took a picture of them together.

But when Randy attempted to take a picture of just the monkey, the monkey snarled at him and dashed toward him.

Obviously, the monkey was much happier with the quiet time he had with Mama.

While there are more stories to remember, these are the ones that really stand out in my mind today.

Dream: Rick's visit

On Thursday night I went to bed not feeling too good. Finally around 1:00 am yesterday, I got up and lay down on the sofa. I slept fitfully but during one of my restful moments, Rick came to me. Not Rick as a boy, the way I normally dream of him, but Rick, as a 24 year old, the age he died. He said to me that Mama was with him and they were talking a lot. Then I woke up.

While I'd like to analize the dream or judge it in some way, for now I will take it as it is. A comfort. A comfort to know they are together and chatting.

Last Trip to Reno

Weekends

Weekends are so difficult. When I drive somewhere by myself, I cry. When I sit and watch TV by myself, I cry. I cry when I'm cooking. I cry as I walk by the phone, knowing I can't call my mom anymore. I cry as I walk into the house and glance at the phone and see there is no message waiting for me from Mama.

I hate weekends.