I've Forgotton That I Love Color

There comes a time in the grieving/moving on process where a person has to “let go”.

I am at that point. The real question is what does let go mean? Change.

I am hard on myself. As a person, wife, mother, fundraiser, I will never live up to my expectations. I know that yet I am still hard on myself. I don’t know how not to be. At night I reflect on my mistakes instead of my successes. I’m not a negative person, cynical but not negative. I don’t know if pancreatic cancer caused this or if other events have contributed. I do know that my biggest supporter isn’t here to lift me up from time to time. Other people try to but I have a hard time letting them.

I need to let go.

So what does that mean?

Do I let go of her memory, her spirit, her? I don’t know yet and that seems to be my sticking point. Life just seems a little more beige without her. There isn’t a spark in each day when your mom is gone. I know many can relate because they feel it too. I miss my best friend and I need to let go of that.

I don’t like beige. I like color. Once upon a time I was a painter. Abstract mostly with the occasional mural. All are full of color and life. All are packed away. Very metaphorical don’t you think? In my mom’s house are two paintings. One done at her request and one she chose. Both are full of color. One hangs on a wall beside where she slept. She said she wanted to see it every morning when she woke up. My mom liked color too. They are still there. I wonder if anyone looks at them now.

I have labels for me. Depressed, post-traumatic stress syndrome, and a few others that have been thrown my way. I don’t like labels but in some way, they all fit. I need to make some positive changes and no therapist, doctor or medication can help. This is all me.

I have to let go.

I told someone the other day that pancreatic cancer, and I am sure many other diseases, take the lives of those we love. It continues to victimize those of us who are chosen to stay. I see it and I feel it. I am letting it victimize me. In turn, I am allowing it to victimize my family. They don’t deserve it and I am the only one who can stop it. I hate very little. I hate pancreatic cancer. It has cut us all off at the knees and it continues to eat at the rest.

I allow this.

What does all of this grieving do for me? Right now it makes me sad, slow and defeated. No upbeat, perky Carole. Every situation, every thought is somehow triggering a memory or just the reminder that I don’t have my mom. Boo hoo for me. She would tell me, “just get over it Carole. You are wallowing and you just need to get over it.” She’s right.

It is time that I let go of the sad. She isn’t here, she isn’t coming back, she isn’t needed here anymore. She is wanted though. I need to let go of the selfish, self-centered idea that I can cry her back to ME. I can’t and at this point, she wouldn’t come. She has it too good.

I don’t need my mom’s advice, praise, pep-talks. She has given those to me. I just need to weed through the files. I don’t need to see her smile, her hands, her face. I have those too.

I don’t need my mom.

Very hard to type but very necessary.

I’ve talked about the boulder that I’ve been carrying since her diagnosis. I can’t continue to carry it. Instead of shrinking, I am letting it grow at an unhealthy rate. It’s too heavy and it is time to chip away.

So, what does it mean to let go? I think it is different for everyone. For me, I have to let go of the idea that my life is meaningless without a mom present. It is me deciding that she did her job well and it is now my job to continue living the way she taught me to. It is remembering, not hanging on. It is finding the successes the way she wanted.

My boulder is missing a chunk. I won’t lie, it is hard.

My goal now is to live and to remember to live. I can’t wallow, I have to pick myself up, find my purpose and live. I hope I can do it. I hope I can live up to my new standards. I’m sure I will falter, I think that is normal. The real test will be, do I dust myself off and keep going or do I retreat back inside my pity bubble.