The wrong angle

Today I received a note from a long-lost high school friend expressing her sympathy for my mom. I thought notes like this were done and over with, seeing as it has been almost a month and a half since she died. So I was a little surprised when I read it and realized its subject.

She mentioned that she had heard of my mom's passing from another long-lost mutual friend from high school. My heart dropped. This wasn't a life-altering fact or anything like that, but just the simple fact to know that I have become "that" girl that people now talk about, that was a little bothersome.

Since high school, whenever someone would catch hold of terrible news about one of our classmates, it would spread like wildfire and before too long, everyone knew about it. "Hey, did you know so-and-so's mom died?"; "I can't believe so-and-so got into a car accident!" Things like that, and I was one of those people. Not out of spite or to gossip--I genuinely was heartbroken for these people and often wished the news to be false, especially when hearing of someone's mom passing away. I would think to myself, "I just can't imagine what I would do if that was me. That poor thing." Now, unfortunately, I know.

Oddly enough, this subject comes up quite a bit when you work in a hospital. My friends and I, after hearing of a death or an ill mother, we would all fret about losing our own. We all were very close with our moms. My one friend would always say, "If anything happens to my mom, you all can just take me to 5B!" 5B was the psych ward. We would always laugh and agree, "Yeah, me too." And then we would go back to normal, go back to thinking about our own lives and how wonderful they were to have our mothers in them, while someone on one of the floors above us was mourning the loss of their own.

Now obviously I realize that I have made my mom's death somewhat of a spectacle, placing news updates and notes on Facebook about her health from time to time. I also did the same with aunt Polly. Our family is huge and we have numerous friends, cousins, and co-workers on the network that were curious as to both of their statuses. So I played news reporter and wrote weekly, sometimes daily notes updating everyone. The three that stand out the most, of course, are the one that announced aunt Polly's death, the one that announced mom's diagnosis, and the one that announced her death. What I'm trying to say is, I know none of this stuff has been private, and I truly believe it shouldn't be. Reality isn't always necessarily a bad thing, and many people have no idea what it is like to live in someone else's shoes for a day. So, am I surprised that so many people know about my mom's death? No. But part of the reason I have made it public is to avoid discussion and gossip. However, the biggest reason I did this was to enrich and enlighten people, to show that to be thankful for what they have, and to demonstrate my love for my mom in a way that sheds light on their own relationships. This blog did not start out with that thought, it was to release my feelings and energy to keep from going crazy. But after numerous emails and messages and comments on how it was helping others in their lives, I decided maybe it was the right thing to continue.

I have to admit, though, that I do not write with a sense of purpose, or even for someone to read it. I know that people actually do read it, which is still a shock to me, but I like to know that my thoughts have touched them in some way. I have been told that my posts have helped process a loss nearly two years prior; I have been told that my posts are the exact reflection of someone mourning the loss of her father from the past year; I have been told that my posts have changed a mother-daughter relationship for the better. Who would not be pleased about this?

I guess my point is that while I do not write for anyone else but myself, I am happy to know that it is helping others in some small way. But, just so you know, I will not change my view on why I write my blog, and I hope to therefore maintain its integrity and purpose. I enjoy its release and its reality, and I can't help but view it as a small ray of sunshine within these dark clouds having over me.

I must admit that recently I have been having some trouble continuing to process my life. My beautiful mother is now my angel, and I would give anything to have her here with me instead, but I know that she is no longer suffering and I must be selfless and accept that she is in a better place. This is a difficult concept, especially on your birthday. Especially when you're applying for jobs. Especially when you're rounding the corner to graduation. I have to say that I have been throwing myself quite a pitty party lately, and I almost feel more sad and lost now than I did when she first died. I think it needed time to really settle in, and it has most certainly done that.

So, as a sad girl with no mother and no job and what feels like no hope, I have begun to question what I am supposed to be doing with my life. I am about to earn a Master's in an area that has set me up to work in a hospital. My stomach churns at the thought of working with patients again, which does not leave me with many options. While I am highly qualified to be doing several things, the fact that I am a new graduate doesn't look appealing to many employers, and I have already had the door slammed in my face more than once despite the fact that I have only been searching for a little over two weeks.

What in the world am I supposed to be doing with myself, then?

I really have no idea, but this doesn't mean I will stop looking. Someone will want me, someone will want me to help them in the way that I know how. And I'm good at it. And most importantly, I love it like you wouldn't believe. But in the meantime, I am being encouraged by several people to continue to write. My best friend told me that I was "born to tell stories." I don't know if this is true, but with so many things in my life lacking, writing really has brought a sense of accomplishment and fulfillment that, when I started all of this, I never dreamed I would find. More importantly, writing has helped me heal, more so than medicine and doctors and counselors. I would love to help people through their loss and through their struggles, and helping to encourage better and stronger relationships wouldn't hurt either, I suppose. While I will not write with this in mind, I myself am encouraged by the fact that I am starting to help even a handful of people, which is what I've always said my "career goal" was. Maybe I was just looking at it from the wrong angle.