I miss the sound of her hum. The smell of her hands. The twinkle in her eye when she thought she was being funny. I miss teaching her about lipgloss and letting her read my books. I miss hearing her sing in the choir and speak in the pulpit. I miss my birthday song every year, especially the high note. I miss her cooking, and her teaching me how to cook. I miss how she loved on my babies, how she loved on me.
Maybe you miss the sound of your Dad yelling at the football game on Sundays. Or your mother’s pecan pie. Maybe you miss the way your grandmother shielded you from your parents and spoiled you rotten.
Grief is hard. It comes in waves. It moves up and down levels. It blindsides you. It blinds you. Honestly, it never ends. I wrote the post below on February 29, 2016, a little over a month after my mama died. I’m reminded today, as I miss her, how many of my friends are dealing with the loss of a loved one. Let people grieve the best way they know how. These may be my personal sentiments, but I promise you, they mirror the sentiment of most:
“I just need folks to understand. Like, my mama dead. No, seriously, she’s dead.
So why the hell do people expect me to be the same person I was on January 12, 2016? Didn’t you get the memo? The facebook post? The email? The church announcement? The text? The obituary? SOMEthing? No? Well let me help you out.
No, I can’t come to your party/event/house. I have not bathed in 3 days. My teeth are crusted over with plaque. My locs are dry and all over the place. The hair under my arms is long enough to loc. I’ve eaten so much that all you would see over the top of my jogging pants (which is CLEARLY what I’d be wearing) is a stomach reminiscent of my 8th month baby bump. The bags under my eyes have been on a shopping spree at every outlet in the tri-state area. And my skin is so dry I could swim with the largest alligator in one of New Orleans biggest swamps. I’m sorry. Well, no I’m not. My mama dead!
No, I don’t want to talk on the phone. What exactly do you expect me to say? ‘I’m doing fine’, ‘No, I don’t need anything’, ‘Yea, I know she’s not suffering anymore’, ‘No, I haven’t eaten’, ‘Yes the kids are fine’, ‘Don’t cry, I know how much you loved her’, ‘It’s okay, I understand you couldn’t be there’, ‘Stop crying, I know this is hard for you‘, ‘No, I don’t want any company’, ‘Yes, I’m sure’. See my point? This entire line of conversation is pointless. And why am I comforting more people than have tried to comfort me?? I’m patting you on the back and telling you it’s gonna be okay. Like, WTH? How does that work? No one on EARTH loved her more than me but I’m comforting YOU? Yea, so um, nah. I’m good on that. MY mama dead.
No, I can’t come to or sing at your mama/daddy/auntie/uncle/cousin funeral. Did you really just ask me that?? Like, do I get bereavement leave? You’re so concerned about me but you want me to put my grief aside and walk into another room of raw emotion and loss and think I can make it out of there alive? Seriously? I’m sorry that I can’t help you with your grief. I’m busy dealing with the fact that my MAMA dead!
No, I’m not feeling better. What exactly do I have to feel better about? I’m sad. My kids are sad. My family is sad. The church is sad. There is a hole is our hearts. I didn’t get to say goodbye. There is no one who truly understands how close we are, how much we meant to each other, how big this void is. You think you know, but you have no idea. So I don’t feel better. I don’t know when I’ll ever feel better again. And you know what, I’m ok with that, cuz my mama DEAD!
No, I don’t need/want a hug. Forgive my denial, but do you have any idea how much work it is to hold on to your emotions, take long and deliberate breaths, swallow the lump in your throat, walk around physically ill while pretending to feel ‘fine’? My emotions are a lopsided roller coaster and you want me to fall into your welcome, loving arms, lay on your strong protective chest or your fluffy-comfy-mama bear boobs? I can’t. I just can’t. In case you didn’t notice, MY MAMA DEAD!
I hope that this helps you to understand where I am right now. How I’m thinking. What I need or don’t need. The answers to any questions you may have. I hope you’re not offended, but honestly, if you are, I can’t worry about that right now. I’m doing the best that I can. I’m holding on as hard as I can. I’m being as nice as I can. I’m breathing as fast as I can. And I’m hurting in ways I don’t even understand.
I love you. I do. I’m grateful for you. I am. I know that you’re doing your best. I know that most often in these situations, you have no idea what to do or say. I get it. Please, however, take a second and get me too. I just gotta wade through this, and if you really love me, you’ll just wade through it with me. Whatever the hell that means. Sorry, not sorry.
Whenever you need an explanation for any behavior that is unbecoming, out of the ordinary, or less than desirable, please refer to the repetitive theme above:
MY MAMA DEAD!
Nuff said.”
