Bullshit post written while under the influence of a lot of dark chocolate and a dash of self-pity. Enjoy….

I need to write and I don’t know where to start.

So I’ve been eating chocolate instead.  Lots of it.  Dark chocolate.

(thank you for the christmas chocolates uncle david)

And crying.

And staring at this blank screen.

So here goes….

It’s been 22 days since Mom died and I’ve spent virtually all of them here, in my sister’s home in Tampa.

Being here has probably saved my life, and not just because of the chocolate. 

(for all sorts of reasons that I can’t write about right now or else I will start bawling again and searching for more chocolate)

I’ve been in a little protective bubble. 

But all that is going to change when I fly back to Colorado tomorrow.

And I’m all jumbled up about it — sad to leave my sister and family, excited to see my son, sad to leave the ocean, can’t wait to be back in the mountains, sad to leave my niece,  looking forward to not answering her 4.3 million questions a day, sad to leave the last place I saw my sweet mommy, sad to go back to Colorado without her, excited to be with the rest of my family, freaked out because I haven’t seen most of  them since before Mom died and it’s going to feel all fresh and raw and horrible again.

Plus the whole “NOW WHAT” issue is hanging over everything.

Once I leave this protective bubble and the holidays are over there seems to be this expectation (from everyone, including, not surprisingly, me) that I will just get on with life. Tra-la-la.

(that’s not true — no one is expecting tra-la-la, per se)

Which I guess is what normally happens. 

Life goes on.

Except I have no idea how that is going to happen for me because I don’t know where I’m going to live or what I’m going to do or even, in a way, who I am now, without my Mom and her illness kind of  “defining” the terms of my life.

(And now I’m imagining that scene in Zoolander when Derek peers into the gutter at his reflection and asks “Who am I?”…. So lame…)

Anyway.

All I can do at this point is take things one day at a time.  Anything more feels too big.

xoxo

kim

p.s.  ugh. 

p.s.s.  thanks for all the notes of support.  i love you guys.

p.s.s.s.  i really hope i’m able to write something that isn’t bullshit soon.  yikes.

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10 Comments

Filed under grief, The Caregiver with the Dragon Tattoo

10 responses to “Bullshit post written while under the influence of a lot of dark chocolate and a dash of self-pity. Enjoy….

  1. Kim, It isn’t bullshit, it’s grief. It dissipates as we let it out, in tears and writing and how ever else we can drain the well of pain. Anyone who has gone through anything similar (i.e., all the things that register in our psyche as death), knows exactly what you’re writing about: the futility, fears, an unimaginable future, conflicting feelings. All perfectly “normal”… and, at some point, especially if we can banish self-pity, the future inevitably begins to unfold in front of us. It’s different, because everything you had given your attention to no longer is there to require it. Your life is more your own, and you get to create it. Not now, not yet, but when the time is right… and it will be. Have some faith in all the strength you’ve funded, all the love that has flowed through you, and enjoy every bite of dark chocolate. It’s good for you, ya know!

  2. Eat more chocolate…but get outside (it’s a dry cold in CO) and walk. Sun and exercise won’t fix it all, but may help make it easier to bear. ( do watch out for real bears, though). Sorry. One foot in front of the other right now. Look for small miracles…they are there waiting. Peace.

  3. Kitty

    Yes… sun, exercise… dark chocolate… time. There’s no way around this, only through it, unfortunately. And every time you think it’s getting easier… I had a dream the other night that my dad came back. Turns out he wasn’t really dead, he just got caught up in a really long conversation with someone (knowing my dad, that could actually have happened. But it’s not very likely). Hang in there, Kim. Lean on the people around you and lean on your blog community. And dark chocolate – hell yes.

  4. This seems like the opposite of bullshit to me, this is truth. I’m so sorry for your loss and I’m sure it doesn’t help, but really this kind of honesty actually helps other people – I promise there are others paralyzed with grief and hurt and loss and “what now?” and a dread of returning somewhere they don’t want to be. I mean it sucks that you have no choice in all of this, no control. I understand that. I feel for you, that is what I’m saying. I think that one day at a time is right and that you can do it. This is a painful, raw, but open time for you to decide what direction you want to take next. Scary, terrifying, not fair, no fun, but potent with possibilities. … What would your mom want you to do?… Again, I’m so sorry. I have a sick mom and will be her caretaker soon, and soon I will go through all the grief, the heartache, the loss, the love, the strength, the memories, the bonding, that you have. All I can say is safe travels and thank you for your honesty.

  5. Fugera

    Dear Kim,

    I wish there was a way for me to let you know that I, too, understand this loss. But words tend to vaporise in these circumstances – they all sound empty. So I’m going to be super-lame and quote two people at you. It’s not helpful in any way, but I’m going to quote them anyway.
    The first one is Kurt Cobain:
    “One step at a time, sweet jesus”.
    The other one is Winston Churchill:
    “if you’re going through hell, keep going”

    You’re not alone.
    And even though she’s gone, she’ll never truly leave you.

    May the night be warm and comforting instead of dark.
    May the day be shiny and bright instead of stark.

    Oh, and don’t underestimate your writing skills 🙂

    Love,

    Fugera

  6. irene

    Kimmers – just want you to know that i’m here/hear . . . silently supporting you, reading/sending you love 🙂 have a safe trip back to denver. i’m off this weekend if you want to get together, just call me. . .we can do coffee. i’ll be your welcoming home committee! love you! irene

  7. Huge, huge hugs. If at any point one day at a time gets to be too much (it did for me a few times), try an hour or even a minute. It doesn’t feel like it now, but you’ll get through this. As always, my email inbox and Twitter DMs are open if you need to vent.

    ❤ Taryn

  8. This is so not a bullshit post. I have spent the last year writing about how much I miss my mom and she died almost 4 years ago. I’m so sorry for your loss and the grief that is still going to accompany it. But, please, eat chocolate and write about this until you’re cried out. And then write and cry some more. Hugs to you.

  9. darxyanne

    -o- If this post is bullshit, then bullshit is okay by me. Wishing you safe travel on your way home and through that murky cloud of now what (so apt).

  10. Sue T

    Not bullshit.
    I hope you had a safe trip home.
    Wishing you:
    More fabulous chocolates.
    And maybe some beer? A nice chocolate stout might go well with the truffles.
    Writing, not necessarily here.
    As many crying spells as you need.
    Knowing we care.

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