11/26/06

My mom died two days from today. This year that day is Thanksgiving.

I haven't really liked this time of year for nearly a decade. Has it really been that long since I sat in the ICU waiting room?

I think it rained that day but I can't remember. It's a safe guess. I remember one day it was sunny, just before, and we all thought that would be the day she'd go-since it seemed...peaceful that day.

I smoked a lot of cigarettes while I was waiting. It's strange the things that stick out. I remember being outside and the wind just howling but I wasn't cold. I sat on the concrete walls surrounding the hospital until I went numb on the outside too. Just waiting.

I was on the phone a lot. I called family members, friends, providing constant updates on how I was, how she was, how dad was...estimating how much time was left.  I saw people I hadn't seen in years. I barely remember talking with them.

I was in the bathroom, staring at my reflection and frowning when my uncle knocked. "Its happening."

I ran to her room and struggled with the required paper gown and gloves outside her door. I remember thinking, what did it matter and I tried to just go in but someone (a nurse?) stopped me, made me put them on.

I knew she was gone as soon as I walked in. I couldn't feel her anymore. My uncle was at the foot of the bed, crying quietly. He didn't stay in the room long. My father left shortly after that but I stayed. I took her hand, stroked it gently. I think I was crying too but I don't know. I was relieved. I was glad her suffering was finally over, even if it meant I was in agony. And I was. Part of me died with her.

I  looked up, saw the hospital tiles in the ceiling and thought how often she'd had the same view. I listened to the machines hum, her heartbeats quieted. The monitors were off but everything was still there, a looming presence in the stillness of death.

I told her I loved her, that we were going to be ok. I told her I was so sorry she'd had to go through this. I don't know how long I stood there holding her hand.

I went back to the waiting room and began making phone calls while my dad talked with the doctor about what to do next. Everyone I called knew it was coming so telling them was almost easy.  I wrote a letter to the people that I'd become acquainted with in the waiting room. Other people that came and went, slept and worried.  I wished them peace and said thanks for being there. I remember leaving it on the table next to the newspaper my dad had been reading when they told us.

In the parking garage my dad awkwardly told me about a printer he had for me in the car. I remember my uncle putting it in the truck before I got in but I can't remember why.  It was strange that I wasn't going home with dad. We hadn't lived together for nearly ten years but now we were really living alone.

I rode home with my uncle in silence. I don't remember what happened when I got home. I probably slept or cried. I can't remember if there was anyone with me or if I stayed by myself. I became numb until the funeral.

Everyone told me I looked like her. They told me I was beautiful, that she'd be so proud. They said how much they missed her, how much she'd meant to them. They cried. I saw my father cry for the first time. I held his hand and walked with him down the aisle to the front pew. I couldn't find her urn at first, there were so many flowers. And when I did I couldn't stop staring. Such as small vessel.

I know people spoke about her, talking about how wonderful she'd been but I couldn't hear them. I felt like I'd done all of it before. Six months earlier my grandmother had died. Front pew, crying, stories of her...it was so familiar and overwhelming. I couldn't focus on anything. I don't even know how I got there.

And then it was over and I had to figure out how to live without my mom. Maybe for the first time, I allowed myself to feel grief and sadness. I mourned. I remembered.

Each year since has been a little different. The first year dad and I tried to have a Thanksgiving celebration with my uncle. After that we decided it was just food on a day and we could do that any time. We could share our thanks with each other any day of the year.

It's never actually been on Thanksgiving until this year. I can hear my dad telling a well wishing nurse "What do I have to be thankful for?" while we waited...and how hard it was to remember.

Some days I listen to music she used to like and sing along, picturing her singing in the kitchen while she did the dishes. Or I see her face smiling at me from behind a book. I see her comforting a scared child or helping them understand a math problem in class. I make her banana bread and let my house smell like home again. I can hear her bracelets clinking together as she moved, smell her perfume and see her thin hair glowing in the sun. I remember her voice and her laugh and the sound of her tears. I remember everything.

And I'm thankful I can.

Ick

In May I left everything I knew.

My job. My friends. The city I'd grown up in. My independence. I packed up all of my belongings and my cats and headed south to begin a life with The Fella.

Since then I have filed for and been rejected for unemployment. I have filled out numerous applications and sent out what feels like a billion resumes and received only a few canned 'sorry you're not the right fit' responses. I have been built up and hopeful about two job opportunities and then been let down and disappointed, slammed back down to square one. I have had my old landlords bill me for nearly a month's rent with the threat of small claims court. I have had credit card collection agencies call me every day and have had to ask family to help me with finances because I just had no other choice.

I have felt my freedom drip away from me, taking with it my confidence and self esteem. I have felt friendships change and shift as they do and felt the pain in letting go of people I'm familiar with. I have no circle of people that I can be around consistently because of various reasons-their schedules, mine...I have been lonely.

My cat was diagnosed with cancer. It hit me like I never imagined it could and even now as she lays on my shoulder while I type, I know our time is even more limited and it fills me with sadness.

I have gained weight and felt my body become more angry with me for being sedentary and yet I lack the motivation to move. I have felt myself feel more ugly and reminiscent of days long ago when I didn't know who I was. I have stared at my closet and felt myself grow angry at the clothes hanging there because I have no reason to wear them. That doesn't matter much since I have one pair of jeans, one good bra left and I live in my pajamas.

Dad always says that if you can't change something, change the way you feel about it. That's exactly what I'm struggling with. I'm trying like hell to be thankful for all that I do have. There are so many others that have it worse than  do and things are always changing...

I  really try not to focus on the things that feel awful. That feeling of loss of who I used to be. I have tried to grieve my old life and embrace the new life ahead of me but it seems so much harder these days. I don't dislike where I am, in fact I know it's exactly where I should be. But I'm lonely and feel extremely dependent and worthless and terrifically insignificant. I don't want to and I recognize these are not good feelings to have but I can't seem to shake it. It feels too hard right now. I can't even cry anymore. I'm pretty sure the Prozac killed my tear ducts.

This is the part where I usually list all the things I'm feeling positive about and I just don't care today. I'm all kinds of apathetic and pathetic and just general... ick. I'm pretty sure most of this post doesn't make any sense and I don't care about that either.

Just everything fuck off ok? I can't even hide under my blankets because I'll feel guilty for not doing anything. I can't even be depressed the right way. I've had people tell me I'm too hard on myself and they're probably right but who cares? Probably I'm supposed to but I can't right now. I just CAN'T.

I feel like screaming and crying and running and giving up and fighting and all of these things at the same time. I can't quiet my mind and just seem to be ok and I don't know why.

"You've had a lot of changes over the last few months, give yourself a break." 
"Maybe it's the time of year? I know it isn't easy for you around the holidays..." 
"Everything's going to be all right."

320

Awesome. I'm now two pounds heavier than when I first started paying attention and freaked out. Two pounds doesn't sound like much but it is when you're already over 300 pounds.

In bed last night, I started thinking about the fat on my body. I tried visualizing it melting away like a weird special effect. I tried picturing my face without the double chin and big cheeks. I told myself to look up The Surgery to see how much it would cost. I don't even care which one. Lap band, stapled stomach, whatever. Just make me stop being fat because I clearly can't do it for myself.

I was going to go on a sugar fast. I had all the intention. I had a partner to help me and support me and a friend that was going to do it with me. I refrained from buying sweet things during the grocery shopping and even switched to regular cream instead of flavored.

And then life kicked me. And I gave up. That's the truth really.  I could say it was because Halloween was too close and it was pointless. I could say it was because I was depressed and sweet things make me happy. And it was these things. But it was also that I don't care enough. I wish I did, but I don't. I just get mad about the fat and sad about the fat and then go eat a cookie.

I start to care about the fat when I'm struggling to feel comfortable in my clothes, or getting into the car, or going up and down the stairs. I care about the fat when I look at myself in the mirror or I weigh myself or I don't feel like being naked because I feel gross.

It's probably not the fat I should be caring about. If I didn't, maybe I could let it go. I can't let anything go. That's part of the problem. I hold onto things and they turn to food because I like food. And food on the plate is never left and ice cream and sweets are for celebrating and pancakes or eggs benedict or waffles drenched in syrup are delicious for breakfast.

I don't know how to not eat. I keep thinking about Fat Bastard. Hell, sometimes I feel like him. "I eat because I'm unhappy and I'm unhappy because I eat. It's a vicious circle."  I'm sure Mike Myers didn't intend for that line to hit me so hard with it's truth. While I'm nowhere near eating a baby, I so feel the Bastard on this.

I guess I can try again. Maybe a little harder this time. But then, there's Thanksgiving and Christmas and so much good food and baking and I think I've mentioned how much I like sweet things. I don't like this time of year particularly, but I'm going to try to since this year I'll be with The Fella and that's gotta be different, better, than previous years.

But how do I not indulge? It's not so easy as just saying I won't. I might as well don a kilt and start talking about baby back ribs.* (I recognize that these comparisons are completely lost on anyone that hasn't seen the Austin Powers movie with the character Fat Bastard but that's why we have the Google).  

I tried baking with fake sweet things-splenda and the like- and fuck that. It's not the same. I need to learn moderation not substitution. In all honesty it helps to be broke. I'm not eating out nearly as much as I used to and when I go grocery shopping I don't like to buy a lot of things The Fella can't eat because I don't want him to think that I'm a glutton.

Pretty sure those two extra pounds came from Halloween candy, delicious pms cake and french toast breakfasts. But it doesn't really matter where they came from because here they are, hanging out in a chin or my ass. I don't even know which because I stopped looking at myself.

I am the one that is in charge of my body. So. Do I chose to be splurge and enjoy good things often or do I chose to be responsible and moderate my yummy thing intake?

I've gotta do something because I'm not happy in this body of mine. It's affecting me in other ways-mentally-and that in turn is affecting people around me. I've stopped the self deprecation (at least in front of other people) because that's just not cool and it makes me look like a dick. I saw a pic of myself and thought, ok, at least I'm smiling. On the outside. Inside I'm screaming about the roll of muffin over my waist band or that when I bend over I feel angry because I can't do it easily.

Something has to change and it changes with me but I just don't know how much I care.