Wednesday, January 2, 2013

The "D" Word

Yesterday my husband took me to the cemetery.
"You know, I've never been able to say the "D" word," I said.  "I just say "my mom passed."
"Death is very final," he said.  "It's hard to realize someone is not coming back."
"But that's the problem," I said. "Because I haven't been able to say that word, deep inside, I don't realize what happened, and so I can't move on."
"I walk through my mom's house," I corrected myself, "my dad's house, and I wander through the rooms like I'm looking for something and I don't know what.  I feel empty, like something's missing, and then I realize my mom's not there and when my subconscious tries to tell me the truth I shut down and don't want to hear it.  When I see a picture of my mom I feel like something's wrong and when realization hits I panic and put the picture away."
"It takes time," he said.
"But it's taking too long," I said.  "I have to know, once and for all, what happened."
And so early this morning, sitting in the dark, on the sofa, all by myself, I said what I have not wanted to say.
"My mother is dead.  She died.  She's not coming back."
It took a while for realization to hit.
And then the tears came.
Not too many, because the feelings are still buried pretty deep.
But it was a start.
A good start.
Gently unfolding.
Carol B.

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