And all of it was love
Since my mom died, I have felt concerned that I am not crying. Not mourning. It seemed there was no grief left in me. Perhaps, I thought, I had already let her go – already grieved. As she was suffering for so long, the mother I knew was mostly gone – and I had done a great deal of letting go already.
Yet, this strange coldness puzzled me. No, it wasn’t coldness. I felt relieved, exhausted and released. I also felt a tight hot pressure in the center of my chest – a bruised feeling at the front of my ribcage, which ached when I touched it. And just beneath the breastbone, on the inside, an insatiable hunger – I could not find the ‘right’ food to eat. Nothing satisfied me. (I gained five pounds in the search for… what flavor was it?)
Then, this morning, I awoke, my mind filled with music and memories of being with her in happier times. There she was – and there was the grief – like a dam bursting. I spent two hours recording stories and remembering – tears gently flowing – the good and the not so great.
But all of it was real – and all of it was Mom. And all of it was love.