Things I did and thought upon learning of of my mother’s death
*Yesterday, a childhood friend asked me to call her. I did. She let me know that my mother died on January 14. Because I’ve been no-contact with my mother and her side of the family for almost 20 years, I was not told immediately. What follows is a list of things I did and thought in the immediate aftermath of learning my mother is gone. I took to writing on my phone, in the Notes app, because writing helps me process but also because it felt as if I wasn’t experiencing this in real time. I am sharing this in its unedited form although all names except my husband’s have been removed.
- Told my child. Andrew learned when I did but I didn’t want our child to hear it for the first time when I informed my sister.
- Called my sister. She did not pick up. Left an actual voicemail. Painful.
- Texted my sister telling her to pick up right now. It’s important.
- Read her reply. She’s logging out of work.
- Stared at the screen. Should I call her back.
- Answer her call.
- Told her about our mom in a voice that says, “this is serious,” but also “fuck I care?”.
- Stares blankly at the phone.
- Ended call. I need to smoke a joint.
- Ate three slices of pizza, instead.
- Immediately regret eating three slices of pizza.
- Contemplate eating a forth slice.
- Finally smoke a joint after not smoking for three weeks. Indica-hybrid, I think.
- Watch 3/4 of an episode of Love is Blind with Andrew, discussing the deceptive editing practices done to shape the narrative.
- Rage quit Turn it off; too much whining. Don’t they know my mother is dead.
- Decide to relocate upstairs to play the Sims 4 but not before realizing I had 3 near-death Sims events over the last two weeks.
- Mercury is the planet of change.
- Change mind about going upstairs.
- Admit to Andrew I knew something was going to happen.
- I’d been feeling the transformation brewing taking hold and blanketing me in uncertainty. I knew but I didn’t know.
- Trusting he understands.
- Bask in his understanding. Appreciating the beauty in the onslaught of coming pain.
- I need to text [REDACTED]. She understands.
- Shift on sofa, prepare to stand. Andrew helps me up and asks if I’m ready…
- Collapse into a heap of tears against him. Sink into the cleansing of those tears as I chant my gospel.
- “God, I wasn’t ready.”
- “I am not ready.”
- I will be OK. I will be OK.
- Gasp for air. Again.
- Again.
- Take controlled exhalation. Slower inhales.
- Faster.
- And faster.
- “I’m not ready.”`
- Lean into my husband’s body.He has the flu but still holds on to me with strong and empathetic arms. ((We will be OK))
- I relax into my support and cry some more.
- I thought I was ready.
- I am not ready.
- Oh god, I am not ready.
- Sob. ((I got you Sweets I got you. Let it go. Let it go. It’s ok. ))
- Let go. As much as I can in the moment.
- I’m an orphan. Again.
- I will never get justice, revenge, confrontation, vindication, restitution. No apology.
- I am not ready.
- And she’s dead so she will never love me. Or think I’m good enough to deserve happiness.
- Everyone will think me ungrateful for all the things she promised never delivered.
- Was there a charm school lesson on this?
- What is the protocol?
- Do I unblock [REDACTED], send a condolences text, then block her again?
- Do we duel over truth?
- Oh and I must text [REDACTED] to let her know because she is not answering her phone and I left another message. But telling her via text is necessary.
- It’s been 5 days. They waited this long to tell me?
- My mother is dead.
- I have to tell [REDACTED] now. It cannot wait until tomorrow morning because if [REDACTED] doesn’t know then [REDACTED] and I are the only two carrying the weight of this shock tonight.
- And I wasn’t ready.
- I am not ready.
- But I will be OK.
- It’s ok because I will be OK.
- We will be OK.
- “I am not OK.”
- I am not.
- Ok. I am.
- Not ok.
- I’m a communicator. Communicate.
- My mother is dead. I text everyone.
- I’m processing.
- I am relieved. I am sad. And processing.
- I was not. Am not.Ready.
- I thought I was ready.
- I need to say it to someone who’s doesn’t hold expectations. Someone who is not searching for emotion, or a sign that I am going to break.
- I am broken.
- I am not ready.
Previously published
First published on My Mercurial Nature on January 20, 2023. See the original.