Grief (5/?) Selfishness

In the year since I lost my mom, I took my grief and polished it into a selfish, ugly, mean pearl.
I raged at my dad for giving away boxes of her clothes, despite her lifelong commitment to giving, thrifting, donating. I may not want old-fashioned clothes now, but what if I do when I’m an old lady?
I agonized over tossing things from her purse: chapstick, tissue packs, Altoid tins. Junk, but her junk. What if I forgot the things she always had within reach?
My dad and I clash on distributing heirlooms to family members who loved her just as much. It’s selfishness that makes me clutch things close. I hinge on the word “my.” As in— My mom. My loss. My grief.
I hacked down my friend circle, and closed up shop. I rejected those I cruelly decided had it “easy.” I thought savagely about those with both parents able to support them. I have hurt people trying to get close to me because of this shell I’ve drawn around myself.
To the people in my life, I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
If you are reading this, thank you.
I love you.
I wrote this for you.
I will be better. You mean so much to me.
One of the last things my mom asked me to do in the hospital, was go through her phone and pass her love on to family & friends, letting them know she would be gone soon.
This final note, pictured above, she wrote by hand to family friends in Ripon, California.
I kept it tucked into whatever journal I’ve been writing in to glance at throughout the day as a reminder of her handwriting.
Today, I finally put the note in the mail to those friends. Today, I let go of the snatching feeling of, she wrote that note in the hospital using my pen. My mom. My loss. My grief.
I let go of this note because I’m not the only one that loved her.
I let go of it because I’m not the only one who has lost someone close to them.
I let go of this note because I am blessed to have a treasure trove of memories of other notes —
— Happy Friday, My Best Girl! written in red ballpoint on small white square post-it notes, with a lopsided heart, and a curly smile, left on the kitchen table by the coffeepot —
— A Wonderful Sunday to You, My Best Girl! tucked into lunch boxes as a child, and suitcases even as a young adult —
— We Are Thankful For You Every Day! written in birthday cards —
— Bible verses I wish I had taken time to read —
— I let go of this note because my mom set the goalposts so far ahead in terms of intelligence, empathy, love, giving, and understanding, that a lifetime is nowhere near long enough to try and catch up. And maybe that’s OK.
I brought myself to a lonely place by clothing myself in grief and bitterness. Today, I let go of this note because I choose love.
Everyone loses everyone, and instead of diminishing my grief, I find this gives me strength.
I’m not sure what I thought would happen at the 1-year anniversary of losing my mom, but it has opened my eyes, and my heart.
So, again. To anyone and everyone in my life: I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you for being there, and I will be better.
And that is my story.
Grief, is an ongoing, appropriately titled series by Darlene ChaniMaya, for Medium, with no clear end, because that’s life.
You can read part one, part two, part three, and part four here. They are mostly sad, but well-written. At least, the author would like to think so.
Find her on Twitter for less sadness, more nerdness: @dchanimaya
