One of the most stereotypical, clichéd things happened to me, and while it no longer hurts, I still can’t wrap my head around how someone can walk out on his family by going to work one day and never coming home again. And I’m glad it doesn’t make sense to me. I’d hate to be the kind of person who thought of that as a normal thing to do. Boggles the mind, really it does.
This was not the topic I’ve been thinking about writing about for the past few days. But I looked at that memories thing on facebook this morning, and saw what I posted 7 years ago (which was not specifically about ex leaving), and remembered the significance of today’s date.
It’s been 7 freaking years. No wonder it seems like a lifetime ago. It was. When I think of everything I’ve done, gone through, or dealt with since then, I’m kinda impressed with myself.
It hasn’t been easy, but I’m still here.
My mom died last Sunday. That’s what I’ve been thinking about writing about. But those thoughts have been jumbled up with other things, as I think about the last 5 years of my mom’s life, in particular, and the last 8 years of my life, in general.
I’ve been through some shit, haven’t I?
And now I’m processing the loss of my mom. One more thing to get through, but at least I wasn’t blindsided this time, like when my dad died. Mom’s death, while not exactly expected last weekend, didn’t come as a traumatic surprise. She had dementia, was declining, and was 79. Death was the inevitable conclusion, and I had made my peace with that.
What’s left now is the emotional bits and pieces I pushed aside because there hadn’t been time or energy, mostly energy, to deal with it all. Some I’ll have to take apart, look inside, and put back together in a way that works for me. All the rest, I think I’m going to let it drift away.