Today was general conference. During this time I am usually filled with hope, renewal, and a deep sense of love; but today, I felt nothing. I didn't get a single thing out of it. I wasn't prepared, I was exhausted and fell asleep multiple times during the first session. During the second, James was screaming and distracting for what I felt like was a majority of the time. In desperate attempts to calm him, I thought a bath together would do the trick. I was completely wrong. The whole thing was an utter disaster. He got too cold, we ran out of hot water, and adding water was only making it worse because the water was too high. I forgot the rinse cup and just had to make do whilst he screamed quite loudly in the echoing bathtub while I quickly tried to wrap it up and wash his hair.
He was freezing, I was freezing, those little tears falling down his fat cheeks, red-faced and so, so sad. Each tear that fell made me feel responsible- I was convinced I was totally ruining his life. In fact, just before I ripped him out of his Dad's arms, Tim was just telling me how joyful and happy he was. So calm and sweet. Why did I ruin that? I skipped drying off and grabbed a towel just for James. After dressing him as fast as my hands would allow during his continuous screams (while I was still cold and naked, mind you), I fed him as patiently as I could (good thing our couch is soft, and not leather). He graciously drifted off to sleep. Tim had gone to Priesthood session and I thought I might get a break (finally) in a nice hot soak in the tub. Again, wrong. No more hot water, so I just sat in the cold water, and cried.
I cried because I was overwhelmed. I cried because my very best friend is moving away in less than a month. And I cried because I was trying to figure out how to be a mom and the one person I needed to call for help- my own mom, was permanently unavailable. I was living without a mother and I hadn't prepared for that.
I was prepared for her to be free. I was ready for her suffering to be over and I was so grateful when she got to join her own mother and be back in her heavenly home. I was so relieved for her and so pumped up with pregnancy feel-good hormones, I forgot about grief. I forgot that I would feel a sense of loss. I forgot I would have a space in my heart only she could fill up. I forgot that I would have to keep living without her. Again, I was okay with the fact that her life was finished, and I think that only came because she, herself, was ready to go. But I never gave myself time to ponder what it would be like to be without her for the rest of MY life. I'm only 28. That seems like a very long while to be without my mother.
And so today, I think for the first time since she died, I felt true grief. Heart-wrenching sadness that filled my heart and spilled into every feel-spot in my entire body. I longed for one more hug, one more conversation, and one more slice of encouragement. I was sad, not for her, but for me. I was filled with the selfish side of grief that begs the answer to the daunting question, "What about me? What am I supposed to do without you? How could you leave me behind?" These are all things I tossed aside because her burden of moving on seemed far more important and I had felt such comfort.
Now, I don't want you to misunderstand. I still feel immense peace that she is happy on the other side. I feel her close by me on several occasions. This selfish grief cannot rob that peace. It's separate. But it's real. My initial reaction to feeling so sad was guilt and shame. I shouldn't feel so sad. I have a testimony she is still very much alive, just in a different place, in a different way. I shouldn't feel sad because the holy ghost is a great comforter and Christ can help bear that pain. And then, I realized that Christ doesn't always take it away from us- sometimes, he simply bears with us. One of my most cherished scripture stories these days is that of Lazarus. Christ chose to weep with those that were sad. They had every right to be sad. They had just lost a dear loved one. And thus it is with me. Today I am sad. I cried. I hoped. I wished. I longed for my mom. Grief filled my heart and soul and it released part of the weight I had bottled up. Today, my grief was real, and I realized that feeling grief can be good. It can be okay. Crying can heal. Sadness has a place and purpose. Today, I am sad, and that's okay.
He was freezing, I was freezing, those little tears falling down his fat cheeks, red-faced and so, so sad. Each tear that fell made me feel responsible- I was convinced I was totally ruining his life. In fact, just before I ripped him out of his Dad's arms, Tim was just telling me how joyful and happy he was. So calm and sweet. Why did I ruin that? I skipped drying off and grabbed a towel just for James. After dressing him as fast as my hands would allow during his continuous screams (while I was still cold and naked, mind you), I fed him as patiently as I could (good thing our couch is soft, and not leather). He graciously drifted off to sleep. Tim had gone to Priesthood session and I thought I might get a break (finally) in a nice hot soak in the tub. Again, wrong. No more hot water, so I just sat in the cold water, and cried.
I cried because I was overwhelmed. I cried because my very best friend is moving away in less than a month. And I cried because I was trying to figure out how to be a mom and the one person I needed to call for help- my own mom, was permanently unavailable. I was living without a mother and I hadn't prepared for that.
I was prepared for her to be free. I was ready for her suffering to be over and I was so grateful when she got to join her own mother and be back in her heavenly home. I was so relieved for her and so pumped up with pregnancy feel-good hormones, I forgot about grief. I forgot that I would feel a sense of loss. I forgot I would have a space in my heart only she could fill up. I forgot that I would have to keep living without her. Again, I was okay with the fact that her life was finished, and I think that only came because she, herself, was ready to go. But I never gave myself time to ponder what it would be like to be without her for the rest of MY life. I'm only 28. That seems like a very long while to be without my mother.
And so today, I think for the first time since she died, I felt true grief. Heart-wrenching sadness that filled my heart and spilled into every feel-spot in my entire body. I longed for one more hug, one more conversation, and one more slice of encouragement. I was sad, not for her, but for me. I was filled with the selfish side of grief that begs the answer to the daunting question, "What about me? What am I supposed to do without you? How could you leave me behind?" These are all things I tossed aside because her burden of moving on seemed far more important and I had felt such comfort.
Now, I don't want you to misunderstand. I still feel immense peace that she is happy on the other side. I feel her close by me on several occasions. This selfish grief cannot rob that peace. It's separate. But it's real. My initial reaction to feeling so sad was guilt and shame. I shouldn't feel so sad. I have a testimony she is still very much alive, just in a different place, in a different way. I shouldn't feel sad because the holy ghost is a great comforter and Christ can help bear that pain. And then, I realized that Christ doesn't always take it away from us- sometimes, he simply bears with us. One of my most cherished scripture stories these days is that of Lazarus. Christ chose to weep with those that were sad. They had every right to be sad. They had just lost a dear loved one. And thus it is with me. Today I am sad. I cried. I hoped. I wished. I longed for my mom. Grief filled my heart and soul and it released part of the weight I had bottled up. Today, my grief was real, and I realized that feeling grief can be good. It can be okay. Crying can heal. Sadness has a place and purpose. Today, I am sad, and that's okay.
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