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Jul. 19th, 2009 04:27 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kbkIt is very close to ten years since my mother died.
I still cry just at writing that.
I'm stuck, somehow. I spent a few years in denial and I'm still in anger; maybe it's just that I know how ridiculous bargaining is and can't actually get there. Then there's depression and then acceptance, which at this rate I might reach by the time I'm fifty, an age which Mum didn't quite reach. And I'm not going to intellectualise into models of grieving because I know that's one of my avoidance mechanisms.
I miss her. I feel like I don't remember her well and didn't know her as a person, and feel guilty because of that. I think she'd be disappointed in me. I think she expected more from me than what I've done. I think if I could talk to her now she'd tell me that was ridiculous and she just wants me to be happy. But I can't even do that.
I'm probably going to the cemetery with Dad. I should check trains because I would like to spend some time by myself as well.
I have checked trains and will not wind up stranded, which is good.
Dad said yesterday afternoon that he thinks of the date as the 18th. I think of it as the 19th, because I was woken early in the morning and given the news. I guess he was awake most of the night.
It took seven years to get her name on the stone. I'm still pissed off about that. Dad says... something about it seeming so final. Which, given that by then he had already remarried...
I am still. So. Angry. And of course I'm all kinds of twisted up over that, some of which is actually Mum's fault; because she wasn't perfect, but I don't care because she was mine.
Her dad died when she was a teenager. She was seeing Dad, maybe even engaged, when she was my age; married with two kids by the time she was my sisters' age (they're both married but don't plan on kids).
I'm a mess. And I miss her.
And now it's nearly five, which is roughly the time on her death certificate, so I'm going to lie down and pretend to try to sleep.
I still cry just at writing that.
I'm stuck, somehow. I spent a few years in denial and I'm still in anger; maybe it's just that I know how ridiculous bargaining is and can't actually get there. Then there's depression and then acceptance, which at this rate I might reach by the time I'm fifty, an age which Mum didn't quite reach. And I'm not going to intellectualise into models of grieving because I know that's one of my avoidance mechanisms.
I miss her. I feel like I don't remember her well and didn't know her as a person, and feel guilty because of that. I think she'd be disappointed in me. I think she expected more from me than what I've done. I think if I could talk to her now she'd tell me that was ridiculous and she just wants me to be happy. But I can't even do that.
I'm probably going to the cemetery with Dad. I should check trains because I would like to spend some time by myself as well.
I have checked trains and will not wind up stranded, which is good.
Dad said yesterday afternoon that he thinks of the date as the 18th. I think of it as the 19th, because I was woken early in the morning and given the news. I guess he was awake most of the night.
It took seven years to get her name on the stone. I'm still pissed off about that. Dad says... something about it seeming so final. Which, given that by then he had already remarried...
I am still. So. Angry. And of course I'm all kinds of twisted up over that, some of which is actually Mum's fault; because she wasn't perfect, but I don't care because she was mine.
Her dad died when she was a teenager. She was seeing Dad, maybe even engaged, when she was my age; married with two kids by the time she was my sisters' age (they're both married but don't plan on kids).
I'm a mess. And I miss her.
And now it's nearly five, which is roughly the time on her death certificate, so I'm going to lie down and pretend to try to sleep.
