A new phase?
Lately I get the sense that I’m starting to heal.
I’m more aware of my own capacity and energy level. More capable to recognize and voice my grief and anxiety when they bubble up. More at ease with saying no, I don’t know, and please help.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve finally fully (and successfully) ditched the medication that has kept me numb for years.
Perhaps it’s because in June I spent some time away from home and finally had more than 3 uninterrupted days to disconnect from my career and work.
Perhaps I’m entering a new phase.
At the beginning, grief was like a flood, flushing away everything else I ever cared about. Nothing else mattered. I was in disbelief at the cruelty of the reality. My mom was gone. How could the world still be. I couldn’t stop crying. You know how some people say they’d cry until their eyes were dry? Well I never ran out of tears. The cut was too deep and the wound too raw. I couldn’t imagine a future where it would ever get better. I couldn’t sleep at night, and when I did, I couldn’t get up in the morning. No amount of words, hugs or she’s in a better place was able to make anything better.
After some time, I was able to reduce my grief to a leaky tap — an attempt to turn it off, really, despite knowing full well it could never be possible. Time stopped for no one, and I had to compartmentalize my grief so that I can continue to perform well at work, and so that I can settle my mom’s estate without going crazy. During lunch breaks, I called number after number, with a flat voice I told stranger after stranger that my mother was dead. It was like my range of emotions were reduced, and my energy level halved. I felt numb, but I also needed that numbness to survive those months.
After I filed my mom’s last tax return in April of this year, the last item on the list, I felt relieved, but also sad that there were no more things I could do for my mom. It felt so final.
Today, almost a full year since my mom’s passing, it still hurts when I think of her. I’m able to remember some of our experiences with fondness, but I’m still simultaneously sad about how much more memories we won’t get to make. I’m able to talk about her with people outside of my family with relative ease, but there’s always a lump in the back of my throat when I do.
I suppose during this phase of grief, I’m able to find both solace and sadness simultaneously.