I am not much in the mood for talking so maybe I can let off a little steam here. I apologize in advance as I know this will end up rambling on, as many of my feelings make little sense, even to me.
I am feeling somewhat better this morning, I have been up about half an hour and have only cried one time. That's an improvement. It was when I read the online guestbook from the funeral home that took care of my mom's arrangements. SO many people that I haven't thought of or even heard about for years have either sent flowers or cards, or signed an online guestbook there. It is amazing to me how many people my mother touched in her life. It really does help to know that others are thinking of you, reaching out to try and help us all feel better. I will remember that when it comes to others, this is all something new to me. Everyone wants to DO something and I have felt that way so many times over the years when the pain of losing someone is so great for someone that I care about...but now I know that just a short note or a memory makes a huge difference. All of my comments here have been a wonderful help to me, I just cannot tell you. It does help. And you all are the greatest friends in the world. I honestly thank you for that.
Yesterday, I nearly killed myself cleaning. Making things smell good and look better has always been cathartic for me. Today, I am a little worried that I have done some further damage to my back, I can hardly stand up straight, the pain is too great. But it helped me yesterday.
My mom's "celebration of life" service was Thursday evening, and it was very beautiful. Heartbreaking, in fact. There were constant photo shows running on two flat screen tv's and watching that was one of the hardest things I have ever done. They were wonderful family pics, taken at way happier times, over many years - pictures of her with all the grandkids, and her with her dogs, and her with us, and her husband, and her family, and there she was...always laughing. Sadly, we hadn't seen her laugh in a long, long time. Her pain and suffering had been going on way too long...and that alone is proof that she needed to go on to the next life, but damn, I never knew it would hurt this much. I couldn't believe the number of people that came. She was loved, alot. It was a surprise to me, not because I didn't think people loved her, but my mom was a lot like me, or should I say I am like her?, but she said what she thought, often when she thought it--appropriate or not---and didn't "socialize" unless she damned well felt like it. In her later years, there was little of that. But no one forgot her. And that made me happy in a really sad kind of way. We did exactly as she wished and had her body donated to the University of Iowa Medical School, even though I was and still am not completely sold on that idea. I read what they do with those bodies, and I commend her on wanting to help in that way, but it is hard for the family. So she was not "there" at her service -- she had strict rules that NO ONE was to view her after her death, other than immediate family, and in one way, I am sorry I did that--when there is to be no funeral, they don't try to make the deceased look "nice" if you all know what I mean. I want to remember her as she was alive and happy, and the last time I looked at her was nothing like that. My sister Trav also was there to see her, and she feels completely different about it, it helped her a great deal to see what she felt was peace in my mom's face. I guess we are all different, even with something like this.
So, I will be fine. I mean, I am functioning, I can laugh and smile and talk and carry on with all things normal. But there is this hole in my heart, or my soul, or something. I feel empty right now, empty and sad. I know where she is---believe me, I know my mom is sitting with God right now, she was a christian and loved Jesus with all her heart. And of course, that makes me happy. But here, back in this life, on this earth, there is a hole in my ozone...and I suspect it will never be all the way closed again.