I Can Admit When I Am Wrong

I’m considered middle aged. I have to “highlight” my hair, take acid reducer, avoid certain foods and the print on everything has dramatically decreased. I am aging. Historically when you age you get to a point where you have wisdom, life experiences and you just kind of stop caring what others think about you and what you do. I don’t seem to be at that point completely. For the most part I don’t care what others think and I will say pretty much whatever I think. I am polite, but for me almost no subject is untouchable. If you ask, I’ll tell. Except for that one thing….(insert smiley face).

These days I am finding that maybe there is something wrong with my personality. I don’t seem to fit in. By the way, you can queue the violin music because Carole is feeling sorry for herself. Yep, I can admit that. First part of healing right?

I’m interrupting this post to inform you that I just deleted everything that I had written from the previous sentence on. 

I was wallowing in self-pity. I can’t wallow but yet, this time of year makes me sad. I think the sadness, at times is just so big, so enveloping that I fall. I never hit bottom, I just fall with my arms and legs flailing. There isn’t a sound, just me falling and no one can help. I am alone, metaphorically speaking.

My story is a love story. No we didn’t see each other across a crowded room. In fact I don’t remember the first time I saw her. Most babies don’t. I imagine that if I did remember I would have melted in my new mom’s arms. Only I think she was knocked out when I was born. Oh well, it sounds good for dramatic effect. What I am trying to say is that my mom was and is the love of my life. 

Side note here. I feel the same way about my husband but there is just something about the love of a mom.

I can’t imagine I was everything that she had expected me to be. I played in the dirt, skinned my knees and toes, played sports and loved to wear cut-offs. I wasn’t the girly girl that she was. She would buy me a dress and I would wear jeans. She loved me though. No matter what I did or didn’t do, she loved me. I don’t have that love anymore. Okay maybe I do in my heart but sitting here, walking there, doing that, that love isn’t standing in front of me. For that, I am so sad. And for that, I feel lonely. I hope you don’t know that feeling, but if you do it means that you lost your mom or maybe your dad. I know I’m not alone, but that doesn’t help. 

I need a hug from my mom. 

I hate pancreatic cancer. Can someone please tell me why and how it entered my mom’s body? Why did it cause my mom to call me on September 20, 2011 and tell me that it can’t be fixed? Why did it cause the doctor to come to my mom’s house and tell us that there was no hope? Why did it rob me of the greatest love? Why, why, why? One and a half years after she left I am still searching for an answer. Why am I sitting here typing when I could be talking on the phone to her? There are no answers.

A daughter without her mom is just tragic. Without her I feel like the essence of who I am doesn’t exist. Does that make sense? I suddenly feel like I don’t have a place. I know that sounds desperate but it isn’t. Every event, moment and milestone has a heavy cloud hanging over it. I don’t have my mom to call. I don’t have my great love. 

This is silly. I’m just being a silly, middle-aged girl who is selfishly wanting what I can’t have. I often wonder how I can be surrounded by the love of my husband and babies and still long for her love. Why is it that I let missing her take over?  

I’m interrupting here again. All of the above was written days ago. I am struggling. I shouldn’t be but I am. I am struggling to fit in, to find my place, to find me. What am I to do now? No one can answer that.

I haven’t written an entry in a while. I am struggling to find the right words to describe what is inside me. I wonder if I am out of words. Obviously not but I do struggle to put things down on “paper.” I keep saying, thinking that my blog will find its way to someone who is in need of my experience. I keep hoping that it will give someone comfort, at least let them know that they are not alone. Really I need it to help me. I thought I was past the needing part. I was wrong.