Thursday, July 16, 2015

Stepping Back into the Fog

It is past time for a blog from me. I can feel it as if the page is nudging me. No problem, I think. Most of my blogs tend to write themselves. But now I put my fingers on the keyboard and get nothing. They just don't move.

I recognize this fog of grief. I don't want to but I do ... and I know it will take a while for it to lift and allow me to focus. You see, my mom died last week. Yes, she was almost 96 years old; yes, she had no idea who I was for the past 2 years; yes, her quality of life was nonexistent. Yes, it was time for her to go ... but the loss still hurts.

This foggy feeling is all too familiar from when my 29-year-old daughter Jaime died 8 years ago (although it seems like yesterday). Jaime was young with her whole life ahead of her, she suffered courageously for 5 years with end-stage melanoma, and she was fully aware that she was dying. It's not the same ... and yet it is.

Because here we are again ... left behind with the intense emptiness, the conflicting memories, the messiness of dealing with death, the missing link from our family chain. Another piece of my life, my past, my youth has been ripped from my grasp (see my blog There Goes Another Little Piece of My Life).

I know I am not alone in these feelings. Many loved my mom and are affected by her death. Not only our close family and friends, but over almost a century she touched a lot of people. My heart aches for their loss as well as mine.

Matter of fact, I'm sure everyone reading this has experienced grief, and we all deal with it in different ways ... but we all must deal with it. It can't be avoided ... it can't be ignored. We grieve because we have loved.

Death is part of life, but as part of the melanoma community, I see death visiting our group way too often. I see their pain, I know their pain, I feel their pain ... but it is their pain. Now this is mine once again ... and I don't like it.
This treasured photo is from around 1979. Three generations: my mom, my daughter Jaime, and me! There were three of us then, but now I am the only one left. The two most important women in my life are now gone. It wasn't supposed to be like this ... it is not the way I planned it.
My life has been changed once again, and I don't like change. I am angry that I am once again forced to walk this path of mourning. I don't want to because I know what lies ahead on this long journey, but I also am aware that I have no choice. The good thing is that I know I can do it ... and so I will.

But right now, I am fragile, not broken, just fragile. My thoughts are scattered and don't want to leap onto a blog page. My fingers don't want to move, and my brain is resisting every effort to find the right words.

So I ask that you be patient as the fog clears because I have lots of future blogs to write ... I just have to find them ... and me ... again.

Rest in peace now, Mildred Jane Fox Helm (Sept 26, 1919 - July 7, 2015) ... Mother, Nama, Jane, Millie, or Blondie. You will be always be loved and missed by many! Thank you for giving us 95 years ... and forgive me for my selfishness in wishing there were more! I love you, Mom!!

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