Moving sucks. Dying sucks. Feeling alone sucks. I might need religion. Or alcohol.

Note:  If you’re my artistic genius Mom (with great hair) you should probably not read this.    Because MOM, the packing/moving will get done, I promise.  Also, I’m a writer, Mom.  Which means I’m exaggerating  for dramatic effect, allegedly.

Also Note:  Even if you’re not my artistic genius Mom (with great hair) you might want to skip this one.  It’s hard stuff.  Hard to write and probably hard to read.  Also, I’m fully aware that there is terrible crap and suffering and pain and unfairness happening everywhere, all the time.  In the grand scheme of things, my crap probably isn’t that terrible.  But it’s mine.  And I’m working through it here, on my blog.  You may find it uncomfortable.  I do. 

It’s Sunday.

Which means it’s practically next Friday.

Which is when the movers are coming. (The movers are coming?!)

Am I ready?

Fuck No.

Mostly ready?

Surely you jest?

Ready to start getting ready?

I guess…. No.

Oh alright, I’m exaggerating.  I’ve probably got over 50% of the sorting/packing done.

But it is slow going. 

 And I hate it. 

And I haven’t even tackled what I think will be the worst stuff.

Here’s what I want to say about moving, in general:


Moving sucks even when you are super-excited about the move and can’t wait to be in the new, wonderful place.

It sucks more when you aren’t super-excited about the move. 

It super-fucking-sucks when you feel shitty about the move, don’t know where you’re going to be living or what your life is going to look like after next Friday, and you have to pack up your dying mother’s belongings/fabulous art/favorite things. And you’re sad because (a) you know that your artistic genius Mom (with great hair) is sad about leaving her favorite things, and (b) you’re wondering if she will ever be able to see or touch these things that she loves so much again and (c) you’re all by yourself with your sadness and with all her things.

OH, and it is reminding you of that other SUPER FUCKING SUCKY TIME when your Dad died suddenly (at age 52!) and your whole world crumbled down around you and you were in shock (Just like everyone else, because how does that shit even happen?  Honestly.  How?) and you had to go into his home (and his home didn’t even know he was dead, everything was right there, waiting for alive-Dad to come back) and you had to pack his whole sweet life up and you were all by yourself.  (except for one day when lots of people came at once to help and you really appreciated the help but also, Ohhhhh, the weight of having all those very sad people in the house and everyone wanted something and sometimes people wanted the same thing and it wasn’t very peaceful.)

And you wonder why you had to do that alone and why you’re doing this alone.

(and you secretly thank god that you only have two parents and that all your grandparents are dead already because you can’t fucking imagine ever doing this again without completely losing your mind and you pray to god (again and again) to watch over your son because if anything ever happened to him it would really just all be over, forever and ever, amen)

 And how did you get nominated to be the designated Person Who Deals With The Bad Shit?  And you try to tell yourself that everyone deals with grief differently and everyone is doing the best they can.  But it doesn’t take away the fact that other people get to walk away from the shit (because it’s too hard on them?)(because they are busy?) and you are left to slog through it.  Not because it’s not hard on you — it’s the worst thing you’ve ever had to do and you feel like you won’t live through it.  And not because you’re not “busy”.  You have a life, a child, responsibilities.  There is nothing about your life that is more dispensable than anyone else’s. 


That’s a lot.

When I say that I hate this move and the packing is hard, what I’m really saying is this:

I hate this move and I DON’T WANT MY MOM TO DIE and I’M SCARED and I can’t stand packing up her sweet, beautiful things or her amazing art because what it really feels like is that I’m packing up her life and putting it away into boxes and I’M NOT READY FOR THAT and I fucking don’t want to be doing it alone.  I don’t want to do this alone and I don’t want to do the caregiving alone and I don’t want to be the only one who has to pack up/deal with with her other two houses after she dies.  I’m not an only child.   And I know she isn’t dead yet, so why am I grieving so much? (a person who has never watched someone they love die would ask…)  and the answer is that I don’t have to fucking explain it to anyone.  Dying sucks, as far as I can tell.  Not knowing what is coming in the next few months (or ever) sucks.  (“Oh, but it’s a great adventure!” “No, it’s a fucking nightmare, stop acting like it’s oh so much fun when you have no fucking clue what it is like.  Spare me your misplaced optimism.”)  Feeling like you’re mostly on your own, about to be orphaned, finding the nerve to ask for help and being told “NO” by people who, at least on paper, are supposed to the the ones you can always count on is DEVASTATING and SCARY and FUCKED UP.  So yes, I hate this move and everything it represents and all the pain and sadness it is bringing up and for clarifying that I’m on my own.  And maybe that is the “big lesson” in all of this, when it comes down to it we’re all on our own.  People rally around sometimes, but in the small, tight, dark spaces, in the nuts and bolts, so to speak, we are all on our own.  Maybe that is the reason this whole “relationship with God” thing seems to be so important to people.  Maybe that means you’re not all on your own?  Maybe it should be important to me.  Maybe it is.  Maybe I need a fucking drink.

And here’s the thing.

Life is hard.  Dying is hard.  I’m having a hard time right now, today, in this place.  I know that it will all work out.  It has to.  That is the nature of things.  Right now I feel alone.  I know that is probably not “true” (but what is?) but that is the truth for me today. 

Yes, I’m still seeing the therapist.  No, I’m not going to drink myself into oblivion.  Yes, I’m harboring some resentment that is no good for anyone, especially me.  No, I’m not sorry that I’m writing about it and trying to work it out, even if it is “out loud” and uncomfortable for myself and, probably, other people.  Yes, it’s true, I’m still off the antidepressants.  No, I don’t think I need to jump back on them right this minute!  (But I will not hesitate to if this grief/sadness turns into full-blown depression horror).  Yes, I’m going to have a box of glass of wine.  And no, I’m not frantically searching through my drawers to see if I have any “extra” Valium to mix with it.

(I already looked.)



p.s.  Mom is having a nice time in Tampa with my sister, her saint of a husband and fabulous grand-daughter.  She is enrolled in hospice there and so far that is going well.  As soon as I get the house emptied out and turned back over to the leasing people, I will join her in Tampa and then we are (knock on wood!) going to her home in Puerto Morelos, Mexico.

p.s.s.  Get this — she misses me!  🙂  And then get this — I miss her too!  🙂


Filed under Cancer sucks., Uncategorized

17 responses to “Moving sucks. Dying sucks. Feeling alone sucks. I might need religion. Or alcohol.

  1. ” (and his home didn’t even know he was dead, everything was right there, waiting for alive-Dad to come back) ” I love this image. It is so accurate and so eerily sad.

  2. i’m so sad for you. . .i just had a little scare w/gary this week (his test results come back 11/11/11. . .and caretaking the kids – both of these things have sent me over the edge, made myself sick, literally, 3 days out of work wed/thurs/fri) that i cannot even imagine, CANNOT EVEN IMAGINE what you are going thru (and i know you’re doing ALL GOOD THINGS to take care of yourself, can i come over after work and help you? I can come Wed. thurs. or friday nites. . .gary is asking if you need him to come over and help you this week durng the day or nite? let me know and i’ll let him know and we’ll take it from there. love you, irene

  3. in whatever capacity it may or may not help, please know that you’ve been in my thoughts the last few weeks. Oh Kim, you’re doing so well in the face of everything. Peaceful good wishes to you through this horrible experience. *hugs*

  4. Of course it all sucks and is absurdly difficult, and you are right to say so and expose the truth of it. Small comfort in the “given” that “everything changes and ends”… but it does, and it will, and somehow – because you are so ruthlessly honest and amazingly strong (even though you may not feel it, it comes through your writing!) – you will make all this happen. I can’t wait to read about it from the other side of Friday. One box at a time, my dear, blessed with your tears. Although your story is yours (your blog), I want to add my perspective (my comment), having been orphaned at age 12 (with my mother buried on my birthday), that being able to live all these years, and be with your artistic genius mom with great hair until this point in both your lives, is a very cool thing!

  5. This is probably not appropriate given the subject matter, but your writing is beautiful. It pulls the reader into your heart and makes us want to understand. . .to help, even though we know there’s nothing we can do but “get it” — “it” being, your suffering. I wish I had read your post before I wrote my post this week (“It’s Sure Gonna Suck for You”), because I think I missed the aspect of the scariness and suffering a daughter goes through watching a mother suffer when I was listing categories of hurt. God Bless and all the best.

  6. Mary Jordan

    Love you loads. Love Mom, too.

  7. kim

    Wow. Thank you all for your comments. I want to respond to you all personally, but tonight (post a few glasses of wine…) I’m too worn out and cried out and tongue-tied to say anything close to what I want to say. Which is weird because mostly what I want to say is just “thank you”. Thank you for reading, thank you for writing, thank you for keeping this a “safe” place for me to work through my stuff. Namaste, motherfuckers! (sorry, it’s hard to squelch my dark humor sometimes)

    Oh, and also — where is all this blog traffic coming from? I’ve had a huge spike with my last post and this one and I can’t quite figure it out. Anyway — thanks to whoever is reposting my schtuff or linking to me or just thanks to the blog-traffic-gods.


  8. Fugera

    Hey Kim,

    It does seem that it’s always the same people who have to deal with the Shit. I’d like to think that it’s like that because you’re the strongest one around. It still sucks that you’re the one having to do it, but that thought has helped me through a LOT.
    Watching someone you love die is the worst pain possible IMHO. I wouldn’t even want my worst enemy to have to go through that, cuz it’s just so horrifying and so painful and so sad.
    Moving is always packing up someone’s life; So closely intertwined with the former it’s…devastating.
    So hey, it’s ok to hate the place you’re in right now, there’s a lot on that plate of yours, and it won’t get better any time (real) soon. I think your reactions are very sane, indeed.
    That said: bring on the wine, cuz life sux! (*)

    I salute (honourable greeting, not military greeting) you, and commend you for still standing. Keep it up.

    (*): sometimes

  9. Sue T

    I wish I could help in some practical way, like picking up boxes and packing paper, or mixing a new batch of orange juice or whatever you drink in the morning, or doing a packing inventory. These are not easy to do from six states away.
    Or waving my magic wand and making the cancer go away. No success so far.
    So I will just continue to send love and hugs to you and your Mom. And wishes for peace/calm in the midst of all you have to do.

  10. It does suck. Every bit of it. I’m so sorry you are going through this. So sorry you will also undoubtedly have to deal will all of the things that accompany going through it…unsolicited advice, anger, trying to hold on to a semblance of a life.

    Thanks for sharing your journey. It makes a bigger difference than you will ever know. Hugs …

  11. PS. Found you via the Blogess…

  12. This is where I wish I had something brilliant to say. Something that would blow you away with its profoundness. But I don’t. Because I always take the coward’s way out. I am the youngest in a big family and I have four (FOUR!) older sisters who have always known better than me so I just let them know better than me and handle it all (like when my dad died too young and too suddenly). But at least you have quite a lot of evidence to show that you are far from alone – you have your whole blog family beaming good thoughts your way. Include mine among them. (Kitty Kitty)

  13. columbibueno

    Very very sorry! Been there. Every word of it. Yes, on the God part.

  14. Sweetheart, have the fucking BOX of wine. I have been where you are. I’m 37. My dad died suddenly when I was 20. I had to pack up my dying mother’s house when I was 33, then she died a few months later. I watched her cry and scream as I gave things away, packed things into storage. I am so sorry. But, also, I am here. For you. I don’t know what made me find you, but I’m glad I did. Please take best care and email anytime if you want to ‘talk.’

    Visiting from Write on Edge

  15. Your post took me from laughter, to tears, back to laughter and then more tears. It hit a nerve for me. I’m so sorry you are going through this. I wish I had the perfect “feel good” words to give you. But I don’t. Without sounding cliche, but sounding nevertheless, things WILL get better. But you’re doing what’ you’re supposed to be doing. Feeling your emotions, living them, is so much better than keeping them confined. -Hugs and light to you!

  16. Hoppin for Write on Edge today. I am sorry you are going through such a horrible and traumatic experience. I really have no words to offer. There aren’t any at times like this. It does suck. It gets better, much, much later, but it still sucks, even then. However, you will not be in pain all the time and have good memories more than the current shitty ones. I hope you make more good memories with the time you have left with your mom.

    I posted on my blog yesterday about a NaNoWriMo cash prize contest, not offiliated with a sponsor, but still cool.

    Also, paranormal nonfiction author Pamela K. Kinney guest blogged today about ghosts/hauntings. And earlier this week I wrote about my haunted trip to The Marshall House in Savannah, Georgia. There should be something for everyone worth reading. Nice to meet you!

    Hop on by.


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