The Formalities of Dying

It has been two weeks since my mom passed away. It is amazing how it still feels like it was just yesterday. But, yesterday marked the two-week moment, and I remembered her by getting a tattoo of her handwriting on my foot. It directly faces me, so I can see it all the time. I love it. It's beautiful, but a little haunting. It really is shocking how something can warm your heart and break it at the same time.

Today started out alright, but I all of the sudden had a set back, but I'm not sure what triggered it. My friend and I are up in Cleveland, and we took a four-mile walk around the neighborhood. I looked all of the trees, their leaves turning orange and red, and I felt warm inside, knowing how much my mom would have enjoyed the view. But it started to rain on the way home. So I took a warm shower, and I listened to relaxing music and lit some candles. And I still felt warm inside.

As I dried off, I looked in the mirror at my face. I have dark circles under my eyes, my skin looks gray. My eyes look so empty. So sad. And I just started to cry. Mostly for myself, but as soon as I start to feel this way, then I get sad for my mom. I'm so sorry that she had to go through all of that, just to lose her life. It almost feels like it was for nothing, so wasted. And then I think about the thing she kept saying to me when I would get upset that she was going through such an ordeal: "Well, I have to try. Or we'll have the same outcome." And then I feel proud of her, that she went through such a scary thing, because either way, the same thing would happen. Except, she didn't give up, and she was so brave to face all of that. Just to be with us. I am so happy that she tried. During the last hours of her life, she looked at me and said, "I'm trying. I'm really trying." I just held her hand and patted her head and said, "I know. You're doing such a good job. We're all so proud of you," as I tried to fight back tears. I didn't want her to know that she was dying, and I didn't want her to know that I knew she was dying, and most of all, I didn't want her to be scared. I hope she wasn't scared. I pray everyday that she wasn't scared.

I am still running every day. It gets easier all the time. I have my sights set on a half-marathon, which is 13.1 miles. There's a big one near my house, and it's next September. I can't help but think that while it will be exciting and a monumental accomplishment, it won't be as fulfilling without my mom waiting for me at the finish line. I missed her so much at my 5K, which is for breast cancer, and she worked at that event for the last 9 years. I was so proud of myself to run across the finish line, but my heart felt a huge pang knowing that she could have been there waiting for me, but she wasn't. And she won't be. Just like how she won't be at my graduation, or at my wedding, or when I bring a child into the world. And while I know that she will be "there," in spirit, she won't be there. It is not the same. It will never be the same.

It's weird how the first couple days after someone dies feels so surreal and so shocking. You feel like you're in a haze, and your brain keeps asking, "Did that really just happen?!" But it is even weirder how your body finally processes it after weeks of them actually being gone. Things really have sunk in now, and they seem very real, which is a lot more heartbreaking and a lot more challenging to deal with than actually watching them die. I wish I could pick up the phone, first thing in the morning, and tell her everything that is going on in my life, like I used to every day just two weeks ago.

I looked at some pictures of her today, and because they were so recent, that confusion and disbelief flooded my brain. How surreal. And while you are trying to deal with processing and understanding the new dynamics of your life, you have to face the "formalities of dying." Despite the fact of being completely distraught and fighting the urge to curl in a ball and cry for hours, you have to go to a funeral and stand in a line for what feels like days, greeting people and listening to them tell you how sorry they are for your loss. And then you have to write thank you notes to people who have sent flowers and cooked you food. And then you have to sit for hours to complete schoolwork that was due two weeks ago. And on top of all of that, you have to go back to real life, and see the look of pity in people's eyes as they see you for the first time after "the news." That whole "Did you hear the news?" business that goes through the entire school, through your entire workplace...and then the whole "You poor thing" act that goes on when you come back. Exhausting. Yet comforting.

I have such mixed emotions about all of this. While it is comforting to know how much people care about you and how much they love you, it is difficult to see the way they look at you and to notice how extra-nice they are to you, just because they feel bad for you. I wonder if this type of thing helps people recover, or if it somehow hinders them, because it reminds them of what happened two weeks ago and how their life will never be the same again. I am confused, obviously.

But, I will be stronger because of all of this, eventually. I hope it happens sometime soon.