La Llorona Juana

First Time Back to the Running Club

2007-01-15T21:37:00.000-08:00

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

2007-01-10T07:55:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-29T11:38:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-06T07:00:00.000-08:00

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

2006-12-04T07:02:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-26T21:34:00.000-08:00

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

2006-11-09T07:08:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-31T17:10:00.000-08:00

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

2006-10-28T06:59:00.000-07:00

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

2006-10-08T08:26:00.000-07:00

Weekends

2006-10-08T08:23:00.000-07:00

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.

Holes

2006-09-28T13:43:00.000-07:00

There are brief but horrific moments when I experience a hole in my stomach, like it's shot out. Then the hole in my heart opens up. The moment passes but there lingers a pain that only slowly subsides.

Thoughts from Friends

2006-09-25T08:36:00.000-07:00

I wanted to begin capturing thoughts I get in emails. I need to store them somewhere. My blog seems appropriate.

From Elaine W, 6/26/06:
Juana,

Thank you for the wonderful and thoughtful gift that you placed on my desk. I will bring it with me for sure and use it whenever I need to.

I really needed it over the weekend. I attended my niece's wedding. It is also the first wedding I have been to since Tim is gone. They were introducing the families for both side and we have to stand. When it was my turn: they said (Bride's auntie- Mr. & Mrs Wong. ... I almost did not get up but I did. Later on my other niece came over and given her apologies and I started crying out because I could not hold it in anymore.

That is why it is okay to cry whenever you need to. It is also okay to move on; because we have to....... My thoughts will also be with you when you travel to visit your sister.

From Cindy S, 06/28/2006:
I'm not sure if I like this or not. I question "God" and the trials of life in general, but have a read and see what you think.

If there is a God, then he/she can't possibly be a saviour. What kind of person/God would allow such attrocities to happen to mankind?

(Cindy's brother was murdered last year in a random drive-by shooting.)

From Joan Z, 07/05/2006:
Hi Juana,
I am so sorry...and...I know what you are going through...It's been 7 years for me - this month..... and "tough" doesn't describe it.....it's kind of surreal....
So, you will cry - and cry - and as my dear friend from childhood told me and consoled me with " sometimes - when you've stopped crying - you'll think of her and start crying " When you can - talking about it helps.....but...that's up to you. You have my deepest sympathies, Juana....sincerely .....

I did hear ( I think in WW) that you had a family emergency.....that was all .....I know that you had just recently gone to visit your mom right? I recall you telling me about your visit.....call me - visit me - whatever you want.

"as long as you remember what they taught you, you are never really apart".....
jaz

My First Birthday

2006-09-25T07:25:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was my first birthday without Mom. I didn't really want to celebrate it. Randy respected that so didn't get me anything that would be "cheery" as that is not where I am right now.

I went to church to get a birthday blessing. I did it in remembrance of my mama's love of going to church. I did it for me to help my sorrow.

I told the priest this was my first birthday without Mama, as she leafed through her prayer book. Suddenly she put it down and said this day deserved a special blessing. So she gave me a special prayer to help me. Somehow, I think it did.

Randy and I then went home, changed and headed out to John's for omelets. I was pretty pleased with the way I was feeling, managing to keep my deeper parts of sorrow at bay. We then went to Costco's and I got myself an iPOD. Don't know when I'll use it but I wanted one for my birthday.

I've lived 52 years now. I think I am lucky to have had Mom in my life most of that time. I just wish I didn't feel so sad.

I asked Randy to make me a special meal - that was the gift I wanted from him. So he fixed me some bruchetta. And I ate that until I was so stuffed, I fell asleep. When I woke up an hour later, we watched The McGlaughlin Group, while I paid the bills. Then we watched an HBO DVD, Rome. That finished out my first birthday as a motherless child. And yeah, I shed tears knowing this...

My Mom's Angels

2006-09-22T16:39:00.000-07:00

The angels keep coming. One day I was talking to my friend, Janice. I told her that when I run I cry. When I cry (or even begin to feel really sad), someone comes by and says "Good Morning." Or I see a bunch of birds. Or I see a bush full of flowers. Janice said Mom was sending me angels.

I thought about that. I thought about what I'd told my boss earlier. That more people talk to me than ever before.

People have always talked to me. People always talked to Mama. But after she died, more people approached me. Gene, my boss, said, that can't be; it's just I'm more sensitive to it.

What's funny about people is that before Mom died, I was very outgoing and spoke to them just as much as they spoke to me. But when Mama died, I became very withdrawn. I even come in super early and leave super early because public transportation is less crowded.

Now that I'm shy, people are taking up the slack, replacing my outgoingness by more frequently approaching me! But who are these people I'm talking about - I'm talking about TOTAL strangers.

It began the day I got back from bereavement leave and it's still happening - up to yesterday! It all started on the elevator. It was 6:15 when a woman I don't know got off the elevator she and I had been riding and wished me a good day - it was too early to speak, really but she turned to me as she got off and made her comment.

Not a big deal right? But then two days in a row people stopped me for directions. I walk with my head down and yet they didn't mind stopping me. No one ever asks me for directions, either.

Then one day as I sat on the bus, an old Chinese man and his young grandson got on. The man sat next to me and started talking to me. I turned and said, "I'm sorry I don't speak Chinese. He hesitated, acknowledged it was okay and continued to converse, as he would on subsequent sitings.

This experience was followed by one on BART. In this encounter, a Chinese woman about my age kept saying, "Good" as she watched me knit. She would talk to her friend, watch me knit again, and again say, "Good." She suddenly grabbed my knitting and knit until we got to our stop. While I was surprised, I thought it was cute. I could see in her face a memory of a time when she knit. Possibly when she was in her teens, certainly before family and a job put high demands on her time.

Since then I've been greeted by strangers as I run. I've had people hug me, pray with me or offer me words of kindness as I cry. I've now had a family talk talking to me on one of my most recent dark days. And yesterday, another knitter engaged me in conversation.

As one of my friends mentioned to me when we were getting off the elevator, "If I was on the elevator by myself, those people would not have spoken to me." I don't know what it is. Randy suspects people sense something in me. But what? Sorrow? Need for connection? What is it? Is it really angels Mama is sending me. I like to think that's it. Whatever it is, I am thankful and grateful to be so lucky at such a dark time in my life.

Rose Garden

2006-09-16T21:54:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I suggested that perhaps today Randy and I should take a walk. Randy didn't forget my suggestion. This morning Randy reminded me we were going to take a walk.

We went to GG Park, the Rose Garden to start. What a beautiful morning. We got rolls and coffee beforehand and ate them in the car right outside the Rose Garden. We watched runners going by.

I suddenly noticed runners I knew. And I knew I wanted to get into the Rose Garden as soon as possible, because people I knew might run by at any minute and I didn't want to deal with that.

We made it across the street to the Rose Garden before anyone I knew ran past. It was only around 9:00 am when we crossed over into the garden. Immediately, I smelled the roses. The volunteers were out raking between the flowerbeds.

It was a bright day, a little chilly, but so so sunny. All of the beauty, the beauty of the roses, the fragrance, the day made me ache. I should have been sharing the moment with Mama, as well as Randy.

Defining Spirituality

2006-09-13T17:57:00.000-07:00

I wish I understood my spirituality more because it is hard for me to express or know my own spirituality. Mama always said she loved nature and it was meaningful to her in a very spiritual way. She never used those words, but I always understood what she meant when she said things like, "I want to be in nature."

When Mom looked out over the vastness of the Pacific, her eyes looked beyond the ocean. I could see she saw beyond the physical manifestation of the salty water in front of her. She looked as if she became one with the water and the sky and the gulls flying by.

Somehow that is spirituality to me. Being part of a physical state while at the same time being one with something beyond you mentally and in the heart. Mama's look always spoke to me that way. One with where you are, what you see before you.

I miss her.

4th Month

2006-09-12T06:30:00.000-07:00

Today marks the fourth month since Mama died. I would up trying to deny her death. I asked Randy if disassociation was part of depression. He didn't know. But I could tell I was trying, in the back of my mind, to disassociate myself from my life events.

It didn't last. I was carrying a book about crocheting, Happy Hooker. Last really vivid memory about reading it was when I was visiting Mom in April. I started crying as I entered the BART station. If I could have collapsed on the steps to cry, I would have. But I pushed on, down into the station. Crying.

I'm lost. I don't know what to do.

9th Run

2006-09-10T07:42:00.000-07:00

Since Mama died, I've run 9 times. I have run so little, I can count them.

It's hard to run. I cry on every one of them. At some point during each run, my heart breaks. Every time this starts to happen, Mama sends me an angel. A reminder that she loves me and that I must run for her, with her.

One day, Mama sent me a group of geese. They walked right down the middle of the road. Although I do not have a picture of them, I have a picture of another group sent to me one day.

Mama sent me flowers one day. And a beautiful view of Lake Merritt. Each run, she sends me something to show me what nature meant to her.

Mom often spoke to me about how all she wanted to do was spend time in nature. That the thing she loved most was being outside. This from a woman who suffered so terribly of allergies. But nothing would stop her from her great love. Nature filled her senses - and her heart.

So, when I run, she sends me reminders. Look up, she says to me. So through the tears, I look up. I look for her.

What if Randy Dies: A New Anxiety

2006-09-08T16:52:00.000-07:00

Over the last three or four weeks, I sometimes think to myself, "What if Randy dies?" or "What if Felicity dies?" These are only momentary thoughts that scare me and then I force myself to stop thinking.

Finally this morning, I went through a list of people near me, thinking "What if" thoughts. I stopped myself, wondering what this was. I'd never before thought like this before.

I saw my grief counselor today. Jerry explained that this was normal, however, research shows that this kind of thinking can lead to anxiety disorders. Especially if a person holds these thoughts within. Fortunately, I have said my thought out loud.

Jerry said my saying these things was good. And he encourages me to talk to my husband, and possibly my sister, about these thoughts.

Jerry also assured me that what I am feeling, this fear is normal considering the suddenness of Mom's death. It is a fear both of losing someone so suddenly and a fear of possibility that this can happen again.

The fear of losing Mom so suddenly and unexpectedly has injected me with a fear of experiencing sudden loss again. It's not just about the fact I'll never see Mom again or the feelings of having been deprived of her so soon. It's also about the horrible shock I went through in the days and weeks that followed.

It was a horrific blow to me in many other ways:
- Loss of plans with my mom
- Loss of me as I have always been
- Loss of the person who has known me all my life
- Loss of confidence to walk or do things as I had done before her fall
- Loss of my traveling companion
- Loss of my guide through life

I don't want to go through this again. And so I have thoughts of "What if?" I need to work on how to accept my mom's loss and the potential that life could do this to me again. After all my brother died in an accident. But I also have to live moment by moment. I have to express the love I have for those close to me. I need to show them my appreciation for who they are to me.

I believe by expressing my love and appreciation, I can hope to find the path to healing this new anxiety.

Dropping Randy Off

2006-08-31T06:17:00.000-07:00

I have today off. So, Randy asked me to drop him off at the gym. He drove over to the gym and I drove myself back. About three blocks from the gym, my heart started. My mind caught up.

The last time I'd driven that route was in December, on a wet and drizzly morning. Next to me was Mom.

I drove on, tears in my eyes. Trying once again to understand what has happened to me. Trying to understand my life as a motherless child.

Baby Brooke's Bib

2006-08-25T07:42:00.001-07:00

My obsession to knitting leads me to
constantly scan recently published books.
In June, after Mom's death, I scanned the books at Stacy's. A somewhat odd title caught my eye. "Mason-Dixon Knitting: The Curious Knitters Guide." I didn't actually like the title and the cover threw me off a bit. But as I flipped the pages, I found some wonderful, yet easy projects to make. Including a pattern for a bib and burpy towel. I immediately thought of Baby Brooke.

Carol, her mom, and I have been friends for several years now. We met through work and, after a couple of months of working together, we found we shared something in common - a need to be bratty.

After a few years of wondering if Carol would ever marry her long-time boyfriend, it finally came true. Her marriage was in its second year when Carol happily announced to Rudell and me that she was expecting her first baby.

I wasn't confident enough to think I could knit a baby blanket, much less a baby's outfit, I bought ready-made gifts. And I continued learning about knitting.

When Mom died, I needed some therapy. In comes knitting. It's helped me focus my fears, my loneliness and my deep deep sorrow into something I can see and feel without being completely overcome by desperation. As I've continued to knit, my skills have increased. And with the discovery of the Mason-Dixon Knitting book and its easy patterns, I decided to knit Baby Brooke a bib.

The Proud Parents

Last Long Road Trip - Only a Dream Now

2006-08-23T07:02:00.000-07:00

August 11th was the day I was going to fly to Mom's house. We would spend the weekend packing up what was left to pack and fill the back of her new car. On Monday or Tuesday, we would begin our last cross-country trip. After this one, we'd still take road trips, but short ones.

Friday I envisioned us at the border between Arizona and California. Sunday morning, we would arrive at my house. My mom's new house. Monday would mark the first full day Mom would spend in her apartment, my in-law unit. Dreams shattered by a fall.

Mama, I love you.

Running for Mom

2006-08-14T17:35:00.000-07:00

Today I did my 7th run since Mom died. Yes, I count them. I'm not sure why, but I do.

I began running again Tuesday, August 1st. I couldn't run or walk or do much the first month after Mama died. My fear of people was so strong. My fear of falling stopped me from doing much; even walking down the stairs was an ordeal. During the second month of Mom's death, I started thinking she would not want me to live like this, without exercise.

Mama started running when she was 48. Her doctor told her to either change her lifestyle or expect to die young. That meant exercise, a change to her diet and stress management.

Mom started changing her life. She quit drinking alcohol, stopped eating pretty much all fat, drank more water and began running.

Running was the best thing that could have happened to Mama. She ran year round, a challenge for someone living in Huntington, WV. Mom ran on sunny days, when it was raining, and through freezing snow. I remember her telling me how sweat would freeze on her face, but it didn't stop her. She kept on running.

Mom ran until she died. She's probably still running in heaven and she probably was a little upset that I had quit.

At least that's what got me going again. My mom - in memory of her I tied my running shoes back on.

My Heart Hurts Every Moment Every Day

2006-08-07T20:30:00.000-07:00

My heart is in pain again. But then again, when did it stop hurting. I ache every waking moment. My body hurts even at night. It wakes me with the pain of sorrow.

Will this pain ever stop? Will it slow down? I hurt. I ache. My heart is so broken. I ask myself, "Why? Why?"

No answer comes. I hurt, I ache. My heart is so broken.

Knitting to Help Forget the Pain: Elaine's Worry Towel

2006-08-03T18:15:00.000-07:00

I live in the fantacy that the more I knit, the more I'll forget the horrible pain in my heart. Since May 12th, I've finished a yoga mat carrier for Randy, my husband. It's the yoga mat carrier I started when I visited Mom for the last time. The last time I saw her alive. I made a second on my loom - I had enough yarn to make a second one.

I then made my sister two towels to catch her tears. Felicity told me she carries them with her.

After those projects, I knitted Elaine a worry towel. Elaine's husband died four years ago. A heart attach. She got the call at work. It was horrible. Her scream scared me. Her sadness overwhelmed me at the funeral service.

Elaine rarely talked about her pain. Actually I don't remember the time she did until my mom, my best friend died. Elaine now tells me about her experience. But why did I knit her a worry towel?

One of the first things we talked about was the trip she was going to make with her kids. The trip Elaine and her husband had planned to take the summer he died. For the last three years, she's told her children she wasn't ready for that trip. I don't know if I'd ever be ready for that trip if I was in her shoes. Elaine has a lot of courage.

The flight was going to be Elaine's first big challenge. She was flying to Hong Kong. It's a tremendously long trip, well over 12 hours, I think more like 17. Flying and sitting like that would mean a lot of time to think about her husband and the trip they would never take together.

I know the hardest times for me are when I am sitting still and thinking. A worry towel for Elaine seemed the most sensible thing. If you experience death of someone you love so much, and it's sudden, your heart feels ripped open and you cry when you have time to think. And you worry and fret. I knit her the towel to help her take some of her worry, some of her tears.

I chose the pattern I did because it reminded me of the story of my mom's vision. We all have them and either we toss them away from our minds as meaninglessness or we wonder for the rest of our lives what the vision meant.

Mama told me when she was young, she stepped into the backyard after dark. Mama's home was in Juticalpa, Honduras. She lived there when there was very little electricity to light up the town. So the dark then was very black.

Suddenly in front of her, a star fell to the ground. When Mama looked at it, it was not a small meteor. It was a star lying on the ground. A six-pointed star. Although she never told me how her experience ended, I like to think that it faded into the dark ground as she looked at it. It sounds like such a beautiful experience. The pitch black of night and the star lying there on the ground, shining its light on her.

The pattern I chose was reminisent of a star. And that's one of the reasons, I selected yellow cotton - like the color of stars. The other reason is that I thought the cheery color might help lift Elaine's heart, maybe not much, but at least a little. What Elaine is doing takes a lot of bravery. It means she is continuing to redefine who she is, without that love of her life. The man she'd loved so much and hoped to share so many more years with.

I knit Elaine the towel to grab her worry and her tears. I knit the towel for Elaine to thank her for the hugs she gave me when I first got back to work after Mom's death. I knit the towel to thank her for her continuing support and continuing hugs.
_________________________________

The pattern can be found at
http://www.knittingonthenet.com/patterns/clothflower.htm

It looks like this

Shaky Ground: Random Thoughts and Lots of Tears

2006-08-01T07:06:00.000-07:00

I woke up Sunday morning, quietly uttering the words, "This is when Mom and I were supposed to begin our trip and now she's dead." I don't know why I woke with those words, but I lay there and cried a bit as I woke. We were scheduling to move Mama to San Francisco mid-August. Is that where those words came from? Unconsciously knowing August was just around the corner?

Yesterday I was particularly tearful. My stomach hurt. Someone's thoughtful and encouraging email caused me to break down and cry for several minutes. I couldn't understand why I was so sad yesterday.

Then I remembered. July 20th, my brother would have been 46. He died September 29, 1984, five days after my 30th birthday.

I never really mourned Rick's death. Mama even commented 10 years after that tragic day that I was the only one in the family that never really cried about his death. I kept it bottled in.

I think sometimes, since Mom died, when I cry, I cry for both of my losses.

Of my immediate family, there is only my sister and me now. Thankfully, I still have my sister in my life.

Mom had been busy packing...

2006-07-30T11:18:00.000-07:00

Mom had been busy packing and getting rid of what she could easily replace. She was moving from GA to San Francisco to live with my husband, Randy, and me.

Mom was an active senior, so I had plans of running with her - she loved to run. I had plans of bird watching with her.

My husband was so excited because he would have a partner when he went for his first tai chi class. He would have someone to go to yoga classes with. He had saved up little personal jokes to share with her.

Mom and I were going to craft together. She was looking forward to showing me how to crochet. And quilt. It's all over now. All our plans, gone in seconds, minutes at most.

My life is over. Randy, my husband told me when she died, half of me died. He's right. He said every fiber of my being is connected to her and now those connections are gone.

I compulsively knit and play computer games when I'm not at work. I still can't eat anything sweet, not even fruit. I can finally go shopping but I don't look at people. I try to pretend I'm alone, that others don't exist.

I ran twice last week, once for 10 minutes, once around Lake Merrit. I've taken two yoga classes since May 12th. I used to exercise up to twice a day but since Mom's death, I can't be out much.

I don't read books any more because I can't focus. I can read short articles in magazines.

I visited Felicity for nine days. She made me go out. I'm glad she did. It was hard. I panicked a few times, but I came back able to function in public more. I still panic, like yesterday in the grocery store. But I was able to go to the bank and I was able to ask questions about my new cell phone at the kiosk in the mall earlier yesterday.

I still mostly come straight home, sit down and knit or play computer games. That's my life right now. My life without Mom.

My Mom’s Death; My Sister’s Nightmare

2006-07-30T11:02:00.000-07:00

My sister, Felicity, woke on May 12th with an uneasy feeling. She didn’t know what it was but she felt so uneasy, that she left early to pick up her sons, Clayton (11) and Maxwell (10) who lived in my mom’s town, Athens. Early in the afternoon, still feeling funny, Felicity, with her boys drove to Mom’s house. They knocked on the door. There was no answer.

They knew she was there, because her car was in the carport. After several attempts at knocking, Felicity started circling the house, trying to find a way in. All she could do was part her SUV up close to the back of the house, where it was two stories to get to the kitchen. Felicity then hauled up a latter on top of the SUV and had the boys climb up and through the open back porch window.

The next thing that happens is that Felicity gets a call from inside the house. Clayton, who turned 12 the week of my mother’s funeral service, told her in an urgent tone to get in the house immediately.

Felicity rushed in. Mom was lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood. Her hands were folded in prayer. She had fallen and hit her face on the hard tile floor. It looked like Mama was going into the bathroom, when she tripped. Signs indicate she tried to stop her fall. Mom’s right cheek and nose were shattered. My wonder, beautiful mother had died alone. On a bathroom floor, in a pool of blood.

The coffee pot was still on when Felicity and my nephews arrived that afternoon. Mama must have died early in the morning. Her coffee was still brewing when she fell.

My poor sister and her 11 and 10 year old boys had discovered my poor mama. That will always be in their memories. I live in the horror and guilt of not being there. But my sister and her boys live with the memory of discovering my beloved mama.

Lord, why must these things happen. Why, why, why!

The Morning My Mom Died

2006-07-25T17:19:00.000-07:00

The morning Mom died, I called her around 6:30 am. There was no answer. This was not unusual because Mama was a runner (at 75 yo) and often she left the house early for a 3-miler. About fifteen minutes after I left a message that I would call her later, I was in the shower. Suddenly, my body went tingly, like I was having a heart attack. My chest and stomach felt so tingly, I was scared. I began to assess myself, based on symptoms of heart attacks in women. My arms felt fine, my shoulders didn't hurt, my neck was fine. About 5 minutes after it began, the tingling stopped.

I didn't think about it anymore. Now I think about that morning and what I experienced all the time. Did I cause my mother's death? Did she hear me and try to get to the phone? Did I cause her to trip and fall?

I think about how I failed my mom. Not only was I not there when her accident happened, but I wasn't aware enough to call 911 to check her to see if she was okay. Could I have saved her?

Thoughts of guilt and failure to help my mom come through my head. My life is over...My life as I've always known it. My husband continues to refer to the day she died as a nightmare. It truly is a nightmare, even now.

Why Blog About My Mom's Death?

2006-07-11T07:52:00.000-07:00

Right after I typed out my first post, I felt a wave of relief. Rereading my words, trying to grapple with the events of May 12th, I began to realize the power of journaling. I also realized that I cannot write things down in a bound book. Every time I sit down to write in a diary, with it's blank pages sitting there, waiting for my scribblings, I freeze up. Or rather my mind does. Writing has always been laborious. Laborious to the point that when I was in 7th grade, my English teacher asked me to stop writing in cursive and to just print-write my assignments. She saw what a struggle it was to me to script and that my thoughts seemed to flow more easily while printing. With printing, I could focus on the art of writing, not the mechanics of writing.

From then on, I printed my work. However, I still had the "stigma" of not being able to script. In fact, I'll never forget the day someone told be that because I printed my signature, vs writing it, my signature could easily be forged. He suggested I learn cursive. I tried to once again to write in cursive. And once again it was a struggle and I went back to printing.

I guess I could have typed my thoughts out. But typing was also a mental strain. Once you typed something, you couldn't correct errors. Again, the focus was on the mechanics, not the thinking process. Finally, in the 1980s, after returning to college, I was introduced to the computer.

I was introduced to computing out necessity. I needed to type up research papers and this was the easiest and fastest ways to do it. Typing on a computer allowed me to quickly get my ideas down and then to edit and reedit. I became dependent on the computer.

There was still the problem of storing my writing. After all technogology changes, so new computers are purchased. That requires downloading from one computer to another. And waht if the computer crashes and I lose all of my journaling? In comes blogging.

I understand the value of journaling. And with a computer and a blog, I'm freed from the constraints of execution of writing to explore the value of writing. I'm free from worrying about where to store my thoughts. And since very few people read other people's blogs, I don't worry about what I write and who sees it.

All I know now is, my thoughts enter my mind and transfer to my fingertips. My fingertips apply the pressure for words to appear on a screen directly in from of my eyes, "the mirrors of the soul." My eyes reflect the writing to my mind and the cycle begins again. With ease. To allow my mourning to flow from me to a journal.

After the Call: the Circle of Women

2006-07-06T07:08:00.000-07:00

This is an extremely difficult thing to talk about, the day my mom died. I have to write the events in short spurts. There is no other way I can deal with it, but I feel that I must, if I am ever to accept what has happened, how my life has changed, how I have become a motherless child.

After I dropped the phone, all I could do was scream and try to find a way of escaping. I wanted desperately to escape from my skin, from my life.

I started running. I went to the door across from my cubicle and threw it open, my mind in a blur. All I could think was I must run away. I ran into the hall and I didn't know where to go. I saw the women's bathroom door. I thought I could run in there and hide, but how could I hide from what I'd heard, what I was trying to understand.

I ran 5 feet and collapsed. I dropped down into a squat. I was crying, moaning, unable to act.

Suddenly arms surrounded me and all I heard was, "It will be okay." I knew in my heart it would never be okay. But I knew Deborah was trying to comfort. She held me close and let me cry. Edna, the next person I was aware of through the pain, was touching my shoulder, saying similar words as Deborah. Words attempting to comfort and ease what they saw in me. Nonie was next, trying to figure out how to help. I felt nothing but kindness and concern from the women surrounding me.

Linda was next. She had finished talking to Fred and was there to help me with whatever I really needed to do next. To get me to my husband and then on to my house to start making arrangements to fly to my mom's current home in Athens, GA.

Before she lifted me up, she held me close and told me to cry. I remember her telling me, "It's okay to cry. Cry." So I did as she kept me there in the comfort of her arms.

After I cried a little more, Linda helped me stand and led me back to my cubicle. I knew I needed to call Randy, my husband. I couldn't reach him. I called the main number to track him down. I didn't know what else to do at this point. I only knew I was stunned and crying.

As I sat in my cubicle, I became aware of someone. Cassandra was there, standing in my cubicle. Arms folded, looking as if she would challenge anyone who approached me. I felt her concern but I couldn't do anything but continue to cry.

Linda came toward me and told me Randy had been contacted. She would drive me to his job. She said she would take me downstairs to the lobby and I was to wait there until she got her car.
As I sat in the lobby, my feelings of deep despair and confusion flooded me again. I broke down and sobbed. I stood weeping by a window.

One of the security guards approached me. While I couldn't remember her name at that moment, I knew she had lost her father in Katrina. She asked me if I was okay and I just told her simply, "My mom is dead." She grabbed me, pushed my head onto her shoulder and let me cry. Corlettie (as her name turned out to be) told me about losing her dad, as we waited, me with my head resting on her shoulder. She told me about seeking counseling through our employee services. Corlettie told me the day she had her first appointment, her boss walked her to the counselor's office, as he had promised when she returned from her bereavement time-off.

Corlettie offered to take me to my first appointment. While I did not go with her to my first appointment, she had impressed upon me the importance of grief counseling. So much so, I made my first appointment as soon as I got back to work and had found someone to go to; Cindy referred me to one.

That afternoon, the afternoon I found out my mom was dead, was like a nightmare. Only one I will never wake from. But I found that afternoon, the inner strength of women and their willingness to show it. I learned how women share a bond of concern and caring. Not all of the women who helped me that day have faced loss but they all understood the universality of death. They responded in ways I'm not sure I could have. Without Deborah, Edna, Nonie, Cassandra, Corlettie and, especially, Linda I don't know how I would have gotten through that horrible, horrible afternoon.

Loss of My Best Friend

2006-07-03T17:43:00.000-07:00

On May 12, 2006, I received a call I never expected. I heard a straining voice. A voice straining with pain and tears. My sister. Her words, "Jane, Mom is dead."

Unable to hear her well, unable to accept what I heard, I said, 'What." It was a disbelieving statement. Not a question. This couldn't be true. Again, Felicity repeated what she'd said. Again, I said, "What."

The next voice I heard was my nephew's. Clayton said, "Gran...Your mom is dead." The third voice I heard, my sister's ex-husband, Fred, said in an angry tone, "Who is this?" When I responded with, "Juana," Fred once again repeated what I couldn't understand, what I refused to hear, "Your mother is dead."

All I could do was scream. I dropped the phone and continued to scream. My mom is dead? My best friend is dead?

And so my present ordeal began. A life without the love of my mother. A life empty of my one life-long anchor. A life without the one person who had always known me, from the minute I took my first breath. Gone. After 51 years, she was gone in an instance.