Going Home
I've spent this morning packing up my belongings and cleaning out my car. I'm driving home tomorrow. I'll step foot into my own home for the first time since April 27. I have to go back to work on Monday. And I know I will need time to acclimate myself to normal life. Normal life without my mom. So I will likely be an absolute disaster at times this weekend. And I'm ok with that.
I left my dad for the first time last weekend. I went and worked at a trade show with my best friends. And they are a bunch of kind, unique and supportive women. They asked questions, but not too many. I received a ton of love, support, and hugs. And I managed to make it through the entire trip without sobbing. I teared up a few times, but knew I couldn't break down because I had responsibilities. I didn't want to be the crazy vendor crying in the booth and then having to explain why I was crying. I didn't want to have to look at strangers and tell them my mom was gone. And I was crying because it crossed my mind that I couldn't call her after the show and update her on what fabulous friends I have. I couldn't tell her about the things I saw, or the stories customers shared with me. So I blinked back those tears, hard. And when I was inevitably asked how I was doing, I told the truth. Because these women will understand. They really care. I told them I honestly didn't know how I was doing.
I don't ever know how I'm doing. I just do the best I can and then move to the next thing. Because if I take too much time to contemplate, or second guess, I'll never get anything done. I know that once I go home, things will be different. And I have to accept that. I've lived three hours away from my siblings and parents for a while now, but they have always been a phone call or FaceTime away. And I haven't been living in Indiana full time for very long. Not long enough to cultivate good friendships with many people. My mom was my lifeline. She was the person I called when I was lonely or struggling. She was the one who gave me advice on being a parent. The person who answered my dumb questions about cooking. The one who I could vent to about anything without judgment. And now I have to learn how to live without that. I can't call her when my husband makes one of his ridiculous dad jokes. I can't call her on my way home from work every day to ask her how she's doing. I have to find new routines. And that is scary and heartbreaking.
Dad's illness and hospitalization kept me BUSY for the last couple of months. I had so much to consider, think about and deal with every day that it was easy to set grief aside most of the time. And now I have to go try and process this grief, but in my own space. Now I have to put the puzzle pieces of my life back together, but in a new order. Form a new picture. And that prospect is daunting. I know I can do it, I have all of the tools at my disposal. It doesn't make it any less shitty.
I'm happy to be going home in a lot of ways. I'm excited to see my husband and girls. I'm so excited to sleep in my own bed. I'm beyond grateful that I still have a job to return to after only having worked there for 2 months before this all happened. I'm so glad to be going back to my spot on the couch with the good light. I'm looking forward to having all of my crafty supplies with me. I'll have my books and my coffee maker and my collection of snarky, crafty coffee mugs. I'm even looking forward to the menial tasks of doing laundry, tidying, and cooking. I'll have my entire wardrobe back. And I know I'm lucky to have that home to return to. I just know that re-entry into my normal life will have its challenges. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I don't look at those around me and want to share some aspect of my experience with my mom. There will likely never be a time when I'm not heartsick with the want of having my mom back.
I have a tendency to sit outside and talk to the sky. Just talk as though I'm speaking right to my mom. And often I feel the breeze in my hair and across my face. As though my mom were saying, "It's ok. You are going to be ok." Maybe that's normal, maybe that's just me needing to be able to still talk to her, even though I know I won't get an answer back. Maybe it just confirms that I'm just as nuts as we all thought. Yet I still talk to the sky. I talk and cry and miss her so damn much.
I'm so happy to be going home, yet so unnerved by it. Especially with Dad still in the hospital. He's been making slow and steady progress, and we both agreed I should not try to extend my leave. But I won't be here to talk to the doctors with him. I won't be here to go and visit him every day. And those things have been my constant for the last two months. Thankfully there are friends and family who will be nearby to keep him company. And I'm only a few hours drive away. We can all do this. We can keep making progress and learning to live with this new version of life. No matter how frightening or overwhelming it seems. And we can still do it even when we have doubts. So tomorrow I'm going home.
I left my dad for the first time last weekend. I went and worked at a trade show with my best friends. And they are a bunch of kind, unique and supportive women. They asked questions, but not too many. I received a ton of love, support, and hugs. And I managed to make it through the entire trip without sobbing. I teared up a few times, but knew I couldn't break down because I had responsibilities. I didn't want to be the crazy vendor crying in the booth and then having to explain why I was crying. I didn't want to have to look at strangers and tell them my mom was gone. And I was crying because it crossed my mind that I couldn't call her after the show and update her on what fabulous friends I have. I couldn't tell her about the things I saw, or the stories customers shared with me. So I blinked back those tears, hard. And when I was inevitably asked how I was doing, I told the truth. Because these women will understand. They really care. I told them I honestly didn't know how I was doing.
I don't ever know how I'm doing. I just do the best I can and then move to the next thing. Because if I take too much time to contemplate, or second guess, I'll never get anything done. I know that once I go home, things will be different. And I have to accept that. I've lived three hours away from my siblings and parents for a while now, but they have always been a phone call or FaceTime away. And I haven't been living in Indiana full time for very long. Not long enough to cultivate good friendships with many people. My mom was my lifeline. She was the person I called when I was lonely or struggling. She was the one who gave me advice on being a parent. The person who answered my dumb questions about cooking. The one who I could vent to about anything without judgment. And now I have to learn how to live without that. I can't call her when my husband makes one of his ridiculous dad jokes. I can't call her on my way home from work every day to ask her how she's doing. I have to find new routines. And that is scary and heartbreaking.
Dad's illness and hospitalization kept me BUSY for the last couple of months. I had so much to consider, think about and deal with every day that it was easy to set grief aside most of the time. And now I have to go try and process this grief, but in my own space. Now I have to put the puzzle pieces of my life back together, but in a new order. Form a new picture. And that prospect is daunting. I know I can do it, I have all of the tools at my disposal. It doesn't make it any less shitty.
I'm happy to be going home in a lot of ways. I'm excited to see my husband and girls. I'm so excited to sleep in my own bed. I'm beyond grateful that I still have a job to return to after only having worked there for 2 months before this all happened. I'm so glad to be going back to my spot on the couch with the good light. I'm looking forward to having all of my crafty supplies with me. I'll have my books and my coffee maker and my collection of snarky, crafty coffee mugs. I'm even looking forward to the menial tasks of doing laundry, tidying, and cooking. I'll have my entire wardrobe back. And I know I'm lucky to have that home to return to. I just know that re-entry into my normal life will have its challenges. I don't know if there will ever be a time when I don't look at those around me and want to share some aspect of my experience with my mom. There will likely never be a time when I'm not heartsick with the want of having my mom back.
I have a tendency to sit outside and talk to the sky. Just talk as though I'm speaking right to my mom. And often I feel the breeze in my hair and across my face. As though my mom were saying, "It's ok. You are going to be ok." Maybe that's normal, maybe that's just me needing to be able to still talk to her, even though I know I won't get an answer back. Maybe it just confirms that I'm just as nuts as we all thought. Yet I still talk to the sky. I talk and cry and miss her so damn much.
I'm so happy to be going home, yet so unnerved by it. Especially with Dad still in the hospital. He's been making slow and steady progress, and we both agreed I should not try to extend my leave. But I won't be here to talk to the doctors with him. I won't be here to go and visit him every day. And those things have been my constant for the last two months. Thankfully there are friends and family who will be nearby to keep him company. And I'm only a few hours drive away. We can all do this. We can keep making progress and learning to live with this new version of life. No matter how frightening or overwhelming it seems. And we can still do it even when we have doubts. So tomorrow I'm going home.
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