When the person who you counted on as your main source of comfort dies, it’s like being thrown into the deep end of the ocean. Without a boat. Not knowing how to swim. I mean, it sounds ridiculous, but I could have coped with my mom’s death much better if she had been around to comfort me.
Once the shock of grief wore off, I was fresh out of coping skills. After the funeral, I spent three days in bed at my dad’s house listening to Adele nonstop. The first thing I did when I went back to my apartment was go see The Descendants. By myself. It was like I just wanted to wallow in my grief, which is fine to do in the beginning, but gets kind of old for your friends. While my job was very understanding, I did eventually have to force myself to leave my apartment and go back to work and the real world.
My dad and younger brother tried to comfort me. But they couldn’t even deal with my mom’s death on their own so it always turned in to me comforting them. During that first year, I was screaming, “WHEN IS IT GOING TO BE MY TURN,” to myself basically all the time. I realized that I needed to find new sources of comfort. (Spoiler alert: It turned out to be a bunch of different things rather than just one go-to place for all my comforting needs.)
I tried talking about my feelings about my mom with my friends and they were really good — especially the ones who had lost a parent themselves. Being a member of the dead parent club totally sucks, but at least they can understand where you’re coming from. I’m really bad about talking about my feelings though, and eventually it just felt like that’s all I ever did. I didn’t want to be that person — you know the one. The one who takes every situation and makes it about them and their loss. Sometimes I felt like I was becoming someone who they couldn’t stand to be around.
This wasn’t coming from them at all — they were great — but I was sick of myself. A year later I was still wondering, Is this always going to define me? Is this what I’ve become? A grown-ass woman who can’t get over the death of her mother? It was affecting everything. I was holding feelings in because I thought my friends must be tired of me talking about this all the time. I was so angry and it was affecting my behavior and risking my job. I eventually saw a therapist, which helped… a little.
At a certain point — I’m not even sure when it happened because it was definitely a process — I just stopped being so broken. Don’t get me wrong, I still have my days where I can’t even move the grief strikes me so hard. And for those days, I have a few things to comfort me:
My blanket: This is weird, because as a child, I NEVER had a blankie or a teddy bear that I needed. I guess because I sucked my thumb. Anyway, my friend Elizabeth gave me a blanket years ago that is so soft it feels like a hug. So on days where I’m home and don’t feel like talking or getting out of bed, I will wrap myself up in this blanket and just wallow. I’ve finally come to the understanding that this is okay. I need that soft embrace of the blanket less now as the years have passed, but sometimes I still need it.
My people: I have five best friends (because in my world, BFF is a tier, not a single person), and they are the best people in the world. Every single one of them knew my mom almost as well as they know me and talking about her to them brings me a joy that at my lowest point I never thought I’d feel again. Most of them don’t live close, but I know that they are always a text or call away. And they NEVER make me feel like they’re sick of hearing about my loss. They can without fail make me smile about her. Without them, I couldn’t function.
My tattoo: Okay, maybe this is the weirdest? I got a tattoo in honor of my mother (which I wrote about in My Mother’s Apple earlier this year for Femsplain). It’s one of five tattoos I have, but it’s by far my favorite. Sometimes, if I’m feeling just a little sad, I can rub it and it makes me smile and think about what we meant to each other. That tattoo is a visible reminder that she thought I was like her and that brings me more comfort than I can possibly explain. Because while she would be the first person to tell you that she wasn’t perfect, she was the best person I ever knew.
Most of the time now, I can think of my mom and remember her with happiness. There will always be sadness, especially on Mother’s Day, but I have a lifetime of memories of her. Which, on their own, are their own source of comfort.
