Sometimes I miss my mother and other times I miss her even more

My mother was there for me all the years. Since my father’s death on February 13th 2000, she was the only one who really was, until the day she died December 7th last year. There was a time, a very dark time in my life, when nobody else believed in me. She was my entire support system; her alone. When I cleaned up, she knew from day one that it was for keeps. She was the only one who believed me at first, and I’m glad that she lived long enough to be there for the first five years of my sobriety. But it’s hard without her.

Josh: Night granny.
Mom: Night Josh, sleep tight.
Josh You too.

I heard those words every night since December 2015, and every night I play them back in my head, just like I can still hear that fateful call from December 7th when she told me they were going to try draining the fluid from her lungs, just two hours before the procedure went wrong and her life ended. From the moment I found out something was wrong until the day of her death, only two weeks had passed, and I remain shocked, I remain in this state where it feels like she isn’t supposed to be gone.

She would have turned 71 on June 7th earlier this month, and I still can’t stop thinking of her.

Then I think of my son, Josh… he doesn’t have the love and support of his mother, not like I did. I’m not going to be around forever, and I worry about how he will cope when I die.

Aishah, Josh’s sister, misses her too. After she and her mother stayed with us briefly last year, I called them every night to say goodnight, and most nights she asked to speak to “granny”. At only five years old, she had surprisingly deep conversations with my mother, asking her how she was and what she did that day, and telling mom what she had been doing. She too cried when she hard my mother died.

Megan and Aishah moved back here earlier this year, and often when I take Aishah to school, she talks about my mother, telling me how granny would walk with her and feed the birds outside, about the jersey granny knitted for her, and other things, some of which I didn’t even know about, often saying, “I wish granny was still alive.” So do I child, so do I.

6 thoughts on “Sometimes I miss my mother and other times I miss her even more

  1. @Jerome: Still too painful to express your feelings? After almost seven months? It’s so sad to read.

    How deep is your depression – or should I rather say sadness? I want you to enjoy life, Jerome. Yoiu deserve to be happy, there’s no evil in you. Life is so unfair to you.

    I understand that you are (still) mourning. But this almost looks like rumination. You need to improve your emotional health. Maybe this article can give you some ideas how to get a better emotional health:

    Perhaps you should also listen to the lyrics in this song: .

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Well, I meant to write a lot more and go into detail. Such as, when my mother moved in, and much more. Some of what I wanted to write is just difficult to work through; she became bitter towards the end of her life because my brother accused her of murdering our father years ago, and she wanted to clear her name.

      He came along the weekend after she died, and “helped” go through her things in her room, throwing most of them out. It would have taken much longer if I did it myself, but I’d probably have preferred that. She was friendly with his ex wife, and listed her as daughter in law at the hospital. She even told her where her rings were at home, so she came along and took them, leaving one with me and two for her kids. And she was going to hep organize the funeral.

      But he took offense to this, and threatened her, forcing her to give the rings back. Also he took over the arrangements for the funeral. There were big plans for it happening in cape Town, but in the last year he had also had meetings with a forensic psychologist, using the fact that his ex visited our mother with his children as a weapon against her. Accused my mother of abuse that never happened. Also threw in that I used to be a drug addict, as something to use against her. Now according to this psychologists report, I can’t be in the presence of his kids without a private social worker present, or he and his ex will use it against each other. It’s a mess, and it’s all bullshit.

      Consequently the nonsense that he created prevented us from going together to CT for a funeral, so it never happened. She didn’t even want him at her funeral. And she was obsessed with clearing her name. yet when he went through her things, he found notes she’d made about seeing a lawyer, and laughed about it.

      Meanwhile neither my brother nor his ex take responsibility for this situation where I am not allowed to see their kids, which of course creates obstacles in my life because they are “allowed” to see Josh. They both insist that the other gave this forensic psychologist the impression that I am still a drug addict, and I am sick of all this shit which has nothing to do with my mother. I’m angry they had to drag me and my mother into their personal, vindictive, and manipulative bullshit with each other, and why they had to effectively make these accusations against me. They’re both toxic, narcissistic manipulators and they caused my mother a great deal of distress.

      And that’s besides the sadness of her dying.

      Liked by 1 person

    2. But besides all that, I wanted to write a touching tribute to my mother, detailing how she was there for me through the years, how I left home at age 28, a little old, and had her move into my place in my forties… write bout how she helped me and stood by me even when I was an actively using addict, how she never gave up on me but supported me psychologically at the most difficult time of my life when nobody else did, and how much this meant… All of this was the part that was too difficult to write. Emotionally taxing to go there, though just mentioning it in a detached comment without going there emotionally is simple enough.

      Then contrast that with the misfortune life dealt her, the other son who hated her and essentially invented an entire history of false memory with her as an abusive mother, how this almost destroyed her.

      Then I wanted to write about her relationship with Josh, and even his sister since she was a baby… Mom walking with Aishah outside showing her the birds, Mom showing stuff to Aishah when she cooked and baked – these things I didn’t even know about… all the little things that made her special.

      And then, the trips every month to the hospital for her spinal injury, which had been going on for two years, to such an extent that sometimes it annoyed me. Everything was coming right, her spinal injury was healed, and I thought she might even outlive me, so healthy she was. And suddenly she got sick and died within two weeks that went by so quickly it took me by surprise.

      While writing it I felt that I didn’t have the capacity to deal with those emotions somehow. It was too much to put into words, as it required me going “back in time” in my head, feeling those feelings when she was still alive, feeling the overwhelming sense of loss, feeling the hopeless sense that she should still be alive, is in a weird way still alive in my head when I remember but is both alive and dead in the confusing rush of mixed emotions. I don’t feel like this most of the time because I detach and focus on whatever I am doing, but I do have the ability to write about it, and express it well in writing such that it can touch the heart and mind of others, but to do so I must stop detaching and attach instead, which is an emotional strain…

      Does that make sense? I’m finding this hard to get across.

      Liked by 1 person

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