It’s just a new phone. It’s not a big deal.
When I bought the thing two and a half years ago, I knew that one day it would need replacing or that I would indulge in an upgrade.
This is the phone I bought about seven months before my Mom passed away. No, I don’t have sentimental attachment to the phone, but rather the texts I’ve saved. A handful of texts from my Mom that we exchanged during the last months of her life.
Somehow, locking the texts in my phone kept a bit of her here, which is silly I know. That’s just how I feel.
I was given an iphone by my in laws for my birthday/Christmas last week, and I received it in the mail yesterday.
Maybe I’m acting overly-cautious, but I decided to type out the texts here, so that I will have them always. I’m keeping my old phone and I can certainly turn it on and look at them if I want. It just won’t be the same as having saved in my current phone, though.
ANYWAYS, this is for me. I just needed to type these out for my own peace of mind.
July 9, 2009: I love you!! (This was her first “official” text to me. She didn’t learn to text until that month)
July 14, 2009: Ok love you. Call me when you get home. Bye.
July 23, 2009: I’m sitting outside and it feels nice. What are the both of you doing?
Ok. See you later. Love you Meredith.
August 13, 2009: Love you Meredith. Talk to you later.
November 2, 2009: Love you Meredith.
November 8, 2009: How is my beautiful daughter?
November 21, 2009: You looked beautiful last night, just truly truly beautiful!!! You wear your birthday coat like a dream. Fabulous pick! You look marvelous!
You are so silly. You have always been beautiful inside my belly and out. I wish you a wonderful life. Love you.
December 31, 2009: You are funny Meredith! Talk to you later. Love you honey.
January 9, 2010: Great honey!! You are a wonderful, beautiful person. The bonus is that you are my daughter I wish you a fabulous 2010!
January 23, 2010: I hope your day was great! I love you Meredith. Goodnight.
Remember, you can call me anytime, about anything. Night.
January 26, 2010: Goodnight Meredith. I love you.
Good. Love you again!
There’s two more from the day before she died about changing rooms (from Intensive Care to a normal room) but I don’t have the heart to type those out …
I’ve have to stop four times already, because I couldn’t keep it together. Maybe I shouldn’t have attempted to do this at work …
Needless to say, I miss this. They weren’t always profound, but hell, they were from her. That’s all I cared about.
Besides the fact that losing my Mom also meant losing my “Dad,” friend, confidant, etc and all of the obvious things you can tally when you think about losing a loved one, if I had known what kind of familial drama I was going to have to deal with, I would have just moved a million miles away …
The stress of having to constantly play the middle man, push aside feelings of resentment in order to be the “older sibling” and the understanding one, is a big factor in an impending emotional breakdown.
I’m tired of this shit. I just want a sense of family back, and to have things the way they used to be. I don’t want to feel uncomfortable around my step dad’s new wife (yep, that happened), my sister being angry with him for this reason, and my step sisters feeling like their dad (the only father figure I’ve really known, too) has taken up with a new family and that the new wife’s family is more important.
I cannot take it anymore. I don’t want to celebrate Christmas, I don’t want to feel depressed on my birthday, I just don’t want any of it.
And believe me, there’s still loads of things that have happened over these past (almost) two years that I’m still trying to process …
If I didn’t feel a keen sense of responsibility to always try to smooth things over, I would’ve given up on this situation a long time ago.
I give up. I don’t want anyone to look to me for answers anymore or comfort. I need comfort or at least I need a break from being “Meredith” for awhile.
If this comes off as overly-dramatic, then fine. I guess that’s what happens when you bottle things up for too long.
I’m going to have to be very brave, tomorrow.
I truly wish I could express what’s been going on within the confines of my mind, but I can’t elaborate on that right now.
Currently, there’s the “feelings of others” to consider.
I have moments where I feel like my innards are going to explode and evaporate into some unknown expanse, and it’s extremely disheartening that I cannot use any outlet to help aid in my frustration.
If you feel like sending out good luck around 5 pm EST tomorrow, I’d appreciate good vibes sent my way.
I’m starting to feel really angry again.
This is worrisome for me, because I spent the first six months after my Mom died trying to fight the ever-rising bile. I was impatient with others and myself.
Additionally, I’m stuck in the middle of a certain family situation, and it’s wearing me down.
While I was on vacation, I dreamt about my Mom every night. This wasn’t surprising, because I think about her more when I’m out of town. In previous years, I used to call her every day to check in with her and chat about my “adventures.” She was always excited when I was able to travel, because she knew how much I craved it.
I know my blog posts can seem like one big complaint, and I’m trying to work on staying positive and being grateful for the good things.
However, a big part of me just wants to scream: I need a break!
I would really appreciate a stretch of time where I felt like things were on the up and up.
I used to make fun of my Mom for leaving me really long, sometimes unnecessary, voicemails.
I don’t like checking my voicemails.
However, I miss her funny, stupid messages more than I could have ever imagined, especially today.
My coworker is sort of complaining about her Dad doing the same thing, and it’s a struggle for me not to cry, or shake her until she realizes what she’s taking for granted.
Damn it. I hate when my eyes want to cry. They should know by now that I hate that crap.
This lady is my maternal grandmother, Kay.
I call her K.K. because apprently when I was a toddler, I refused to call her Nana or Kay.
Her eldest daughter, my Mom, died almost a year and a half ago.
We talked about her death for the first time last Thursday. We went 834 days or 119 weeks and one day without EVER discussing the day she died.
This has always confounded me in ways that … Well …
To keep it simple, I felt like I was crazy for the way I expressed things and completely alone in wanting to talk about it.
Without getting too mired in the murkiness of the details, I’ve had a rather difficult time maintaining a neutral stance between my sister and step dad. I won’t go into why there’s tension, but it’s not something frivolous. I’ve felt the need to be patient with Jamie (step dad), because I so desperately don’t want to feel like an orphan. I don’t want to feel alone. It’s juvenile, but I went through the majority of my life with only a mother, and I’m not ready for the label “parentless,” to be read underneath my picture. I’m not that brave and maybe in some ways I’m not that mature. However, my sister has a “fuck ‘em all” mentality about the situation, so I feel as if I’m playing mediator all of the time.
Knowing this, it’s certainly not a mystery as to why I cling to the idea that everything has remained the same with my “step” family. They all have expressed emphatically, especially Jamie, that me and Emily are and always will be their family. However, call me a negative Nancy, but I feel that if the previously mentioned situation continues to progress, then this idea of family will not be so apparent. 11 years worth of bonding might become effectively unhinged, and simply put, I would hate that.
Circling back up to K.K., many people are surprised that she’s not a source of support for me. I must explain that I know she loves me, but she’s not that kind of grandmother. She doesn’t explode into large embraces and go into long monologues about how beautiful,talented,etc I am. She never made me cookies or knit me sweaters.
I’m not upset about this either. However, I did think that after my Mom died she would make more of an effort. Unbeknownst to me, K.K. and my sister are extremely alike, in that they don’t want to talk about it. Ever.
To be fair, my sister will engage in conversation with me on occasion, but she certainly doesn’t think about it at night or in the shower or on a long drive. No, she refuses. Therefore, it’s difficult for her to relate to my actions.
Moving right along. Without romanticising the day too much, I’ll just say that the discussion between the three of us allowed a lot of my lonely, internal frustration to be aired out in that picteresque background you see behind us.
It was a much needed release to have an affirmation from the woman who, for lack of a better term, is the next best maternal figure in my life. I sincerely hope we can continue to have a dialogue about our different perspectives. I understand that she has chosen a form of escapism in order to cope, but I hope she won’t mind to listen to me every now and again.
There are moments when I feel the need to commiserate my situation, without warrant. However, I feel that I cannot. I need to be struggling to keep it together, in order to express anything.
If I’m not sad/frustrated/etc while I’m typing, I feel as if it’s abundantly clear that I’m digging up a half-rotting family pet from the back yard to weep over. Without the hurt to help blur the process of publicly working through my issues, it seems as if discussing my “loss” is as unnecessary as the aforementioned action. Why do I need to type to analyze?
I’m not sure how much sense this thought process contains. It’s convoluted.
This is sort of a long-winded way to express that I don’t have a lot to say right now, in concerns with the living with loss bit, but I post regularly on my other tumblr. If for some weird reason you don’t follow it, you should (if it’s your wish to “get to know me,” in a sixth grade sort of sense. I.E. “you must find someone who’s traveled outside of the country, fill their name in this blank here.” you remember those type of worksheets, right?)
I just went back through a good portion of my posts and corrected all of the typos, grammar mistakes, etc.
There were a lot! I know you readers are blessed with patience, because I was cringing at the mistakes. I often write these posts in such a fervor, that I don’t even stop to edit.
Thanks for sticking with it, and attempting to follow my crazy ramblings.
Tomorrow would’ve been my Mom’s 51st birthday.
I will always think of her when I see Black-Eyed Susans. I suppose it’s sort of obligatory to like a flower that shares your name sake, so of course my Mom enjoyed them.
Even though I haven’t posted in awhile, I’m still working through a lot of things. I’ve only had one panic attack in recent memory, that was related to my loss (I hate that phrase for some reason, but alas I used it. I guess this is so because “it”, this loss, feels more complicated than a simple four letter word, but I digress)
I do have a lot of things to look forward to tomorrow. I will get to see some lovely art work, hang out with friends I haven’t seen in awhile and crack up at the SPFU show.
However, I don’t need my Mom’s birthday to remind me that I’ll always walk to the beat of, “I miss her, I miss her.”
Mom, I miss you. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.
A thousand, million, infinite times I miss you.
I was cognitive of the fact that I had been actively trying to not think about my Mom. There was the move that occupied my time, and my increased work schedule numbed my brain to any and all of the happenings in the outside world. (my frustrations with this have been documented. there’s no need to drudge that back up.)
However, there’s nothing like an acute panic attack to force you to confront your feelings.
I would’ve never imagined this would bother me so much, but the fact that my new place isn’t wheelchair accessible is upsetting to me. If my Mom was here, she wouldn’t be able to check out my new place, at least without some difficulty. It’s also weird to think that she will never know about my time spent here or any other future apartments.
I know that these concerns might sound silly, but this is what I’m struggling with right now, and that’s OK. I’m also still struggling with the absence of her role as my primary “listener.” I feel like when I talk to someone, they aren’t really hearing me. Maybe they just aren’t prepared to counsel, and that’s the reality of it. I can’t ask people to do or be what they are not.
I can usually assess things on my own, but I will concede to the fact that I experience moments where “no (wo)man is an island” becomes obvious to me. It’s possible that I need to keep looking for that person. It’s also possible that I will never find them.
Anyways, I’m still working through this lovely little panic attack, sort of like when you keep going while you experience a dull headache. Now I’m off to do something with my hands, like hang photos or wash dishes. Instead of washing that man right now of my hair, hopefully I’ll clean this panic way from palpitating heart.