Calcified

Hey Mom,
December 23 feels like yesterday to me still. I can feel, hear, smell the actual moment
and I relive it in my head often. It isn’t because I want to; I just can’t help but think about
it. I will be honest, by the last few weeks of your life I though it would just be better
if you passed on because it was not earthly life for you anymore and I couldn’t stand
watching Dad and Chase watch you suffer. After coming to peace about this thought I
thought that I had pretty much prepared myself for your death. However, as you struggled
for breath those last few moments my heart sank so far that I thought I was going to be
sick. Every time you skipped a breath I was praying to God to give you another breath,
give you more time…
Your death was not what I expected. It was a pretty traumatic moment for me and the
second you took your last breath old memories flooded my brain. Old memories that I
thought I had lost for a while because you had been sick for so long that I started to forget
the old you at times. I was so mad at myself for that; to be “used” to the way you were
near the end. Looking back at it now, I think it was just me unconsciously blocking those
memories out for a while. I had convinced myself that as long as you were here then it is
ok that we can’t have it “all”. You were here and I would take whatever I got. In order for
myself to accept this concept I started to block out the old you and start to accept the new
you. At one point, I thought I had lost many old characteristics of you and could only
remember the sickness. I was reassured the second you died that that was not the case. I
remember everything about you, and it has brought me back 1,000 steps in the grieving
process. Either that or I never really let myself grieve. I am not sure which one it is to be
honest, all I know is that I feel calcified at this point.
Mom, JT doesn’t always understand me and I feel so bad for that, but I don’t even
understand myself anymore. I do not know how to open up to him because sometimes
I won’t even open up to myself. One thing I have discovered is that grief affects you in
areas of your life that you don’t even realize. I want to be my old self again, but I know
in order to be that way you need to be here. Your death has changed me and I know I will
never go back wholly. In some ways it is good I guess, but in some ways it just isn’t. I
used to look at the future with arms wide open and so excited. I am still optimistic, but
there is always going to be some dread now. I want you here, to see, to cheer, to be my
fan when new things happen.
As I write this first letter I wonder if you will ever see or read them. Will God give you
eyes to parts of this earth? Either way, I will continue to write to you, because if there
is any slight hope that you do see these I want to take advantage of it. A very old friend
shared her blog with me that she has been writing in for 2 years. She lost her father in a
car accident and her struggles along the way have been documented. I have decided to do
this, as well, but I don’t care if anyone sees this. I just hope that somehow you are.