How Can it Be?

How can it be that my mother is gone and yet her DVR is still recording show after show from her line-up? It is a cruel irony and is something that makes me especially sad. I told my father he should just have the service cancelled on her TV. I guess he can't bring himself to do it. Maybe, in some small way, he is comforted by the very thing which makes me feel frustratingly sad. We are learning how to deal with our grief as we go along. Just another day without her.

I Did It.

My last post was desperate and truly reflected my anxieties and stress. For a moment there, as irrational as it sounds, I did not think I was going to find the wherewithal to get my daughter to her First Holy Communion. But I did. I don't know how to explain it, but my faith comes through for me when I need it most. When I woke up, I had my tea, some cereal, and I woke up my daughter to get her ready. I didn't even think about it, and I certainly went about things with a kind of amnesia about my desperation the night before.

Oh yes, I had wished that my mother would be there. And I couldn't envision being able to get through the day without her. But the day dawned and we got to the Church and I realized that she WAS there. It sounds trite and cliche, after all we are meant to believe that our loved ones are with us after death. But love, and faith and all that I had learned from my mother surrounded me that day. I felt almost strong - as if she were holding me up.

I will always miss my mother: the way she clarified things for me, the way she made me laugh, the adventures we shared. But she is with me. I know it. She is a part of me and my children and all the love we share. I don't know how I know it, but I do. I think she was proud of us all that day. And I was proud: of being her daughter and of trying to be the mother she taught me to be.

I Can't Do It

I absolutely cannot do this. I cannot get my daughter ready and myself fixed up and get to the Church tomorrow for her First Holy Communion. Oh, I was so hopeful and even proud, but I realize now, sitting here with a migraine and nausea, that I cannot do it.

My daughter is the love of my life. She has exceeded all of my hopes and dreams. And she is with me because of my mother. It was my mother who held on to my dream to adopt a baby girl. It was my mother who never let me lose sight of that dream. There were many many setbacks and I lost hope that I would ever hold my baby in my arms. That was ridiculous to my mother. It was not just a dream to her: it was a reality. And to her, my daughter was waiting for me. She never ever let me think otherwise.

My mother was supposed to be here with us when Lily made her communion. A lapsed, but believing Catholic, I really only baptized her for my mother. And my mother was her godmother just like her mother had been mine. Forget about the fact that we did not shop for the dress and veil and shoes together. I realized tonight that none of that really matters and perhaps that is why I was able to do it alone. My mother was supposed to be with us. She was supposed to see her granddaughter make her First Holy Communion. And I cannot do it without her.

I can't do this. What am I going to do? I can't do this.

Additionally, there are bags and two suitcases on my foyer floor. There is garbage and clothes and bedding in my living room. My two teenaged sons have trashed my home, nursing their individual hurts and problems. I know they are stressed and unhappy, and I don't want to make it worse, but I am stressed and unhappy too. I need my apartment to remain tidy after I clean - at least until the next day. I am having my Dad over tomorrow after the communion. I cannot possibly get everything ready and clean up after two grown boys. My mother would know how to handle it. She would tell me what to do, or at least offer some sympathy for my stress and fatigue. The awful part is that I can't hear her voice. I can't imagine what she might say to me. I am too profoundly tired to see through all that needs to be done and know how to do it. I feel underappreciated, taken for granted, and alone.

I CAN'T DO THIS WITHOUT HER. I NEED MY MOTHER, MY FRIEND, MY SUPPORT. I CANNOT DO THIS. I JUST CAN'T.

First Holy Communion

On Saturday, my daughter will be making her First Holy Communion. It is a big day which has entailed much planning and preparing. My mother was supposed to do all of the shopping and preparing with me. She could not. And so, bereaved as I was, I picked out a dress, shoes, and accessories without the one person I needed as my guide and support. As bereft as I was, I went to Mass every Sunday so that my daughter could attend religious instruction classes in preparation for the sacrament. Many times I sat crying in the pew because the music and the prayers just made me too sad. But I did it.

I'm not writing this because I expect some kind of special credit. I am writing this because I am shocked. I am shocked that I have done all of this work these past four months while I have been mourning my best friend. I can't believe that I didn't just cancel everything and tell my daughter, "Well, we'll just have to do it next year, I'm too sad to do it now." I am proud that I didn't. It would have been selfish, no matter how hard it has been on me.

I've been experiencing a lot of disbelief lately. Just as I can't believe that I have actually done all I need to do so that my daughter can make her communion, lately I can't believe that my mother is dead. Even though it has been four months, I am breathless when I realize that she is gone. My mother? The person who was always there for me? The one who I laughed until I cried with every night on the phone? The one I would meet for coffee, go shopping with? She is gone? Forever? How did this happen?

Sometimes it is all about me. My pain, my grief, my disbelief. But then I am reminded that those I love are reeling too. My daughter was talking excitedly about her big day on Saturday. Then she got quiet and said, "I really wish Chon-Chon was going to be there." I tried to console her as she has done for me so many times as I've cried for my mother: "She will be there. We won't see her, but she will be there as surely as we will." And I found my breath and I breathed a sigh of relief that somehow I found the strength and wherewithal to keep on keeping on so that my daughter could have her big day and that I could help her deal with the fact that her grandmother is not with us bodily, but certainly in spirit. It's all we have.