Two Years Later

I have utterly neglected you, blog. I took some time off of my creative endeavors to work on my health. I've been eating healthier than ever before, going to the gym on a regular basis and doing Insanity workouts with my sister (and trust me, they don't call it Inanity for nothing!). In the past five weeks I have lost five pounds- a slow and steady start! The most important thing is that I feel great- I wake up energized every morning and just generally feel fantastic.
Besides that, I have been doing a lot of reflecting on my well-being. Next month will be the two year anniversary of my mother's passing, and lately I have been thinking a lot about what me, two years into grieving, would tell myself on the day I found out about her death.
I think about my own journey through the healing process- and yes, it most definitely is a journey. I think of all the little details- the initial shock upon receiving her suicide letter (sent via e-mail from Mexico), the frantic hours spent trying to get a hold of ANYONE that could tell us she was still alive, the disbelief and numbness that followed after learning she had passed.
Then came anger. I cried, at screamed at her. I was so damn ANGRY that she left us. I was so disappointed and so resentful that I could hardly feel sadness. I didn't want to hear stories about the "good times". It made it too hard- I was too mad to think about her in a loving, affectionate way. I just wanted to hate her.
Even after her memorial service, it still didn't hit me that she was gone. It never really does until the family traditions carry on without them. When you look for their face at the dinner table and they're no longer there. When you walk into her room at night to say goodbye and it's empty. When you help your grandmother go through her belongings and decide which ones to donate. When you go through her jewelry with your sister and decide to leave it in the box; to come back to it later when it doesn't hurt so much. When you're home alone at night and you decide to look through your old baby albums and when you see how happy she was as a young mother you think, what a waste. What a waste of a beautiful smile. What happened, Mom?
What would my two-years-later self tell me in this moment of complete, bottomless sadness? Well, today I can look at her photos without sobbing- of course I shed a few tears when I dwell on her beauty and magnetism, and her infectious laughter. Of course my heart sinks a little when I think about having children someday that will never meet her. But, when you lose someone, a part of you becomes determined to carry on the good pieces of that person. I try to focus on what made her such an incredible person- the way she opened her heart to literally anyone- the way she could make a fool of herself in public and not give a rat's ass. The way she never took herself too seriously or discouraged anyone from being whatever they wanted to be. My children may never get to meet her physically, but they will know the parts about her that I loved.
My two-years-later self would also tell me about all the amazing strength and virtue I would gain from surviving such a tragedy. I read a quote from Ernest Hemingway the other day that really nailed it on the head: "The best people possess a feeling for beauty, the courage to take risks, the discipline to tell the truth, the capacity for sacrifice. Ironically, their virtues make them vulnerable: they are often wounded, sometimes destroyed." Just to clarify, I am in no way "destroyed" by what I have gone through, partially because I wouldn't let myself and partially because of the amazing support system of friends and family I have. Somehow, loss just makes you live deeper. When you've gone through such a tragedy you often feel like nothing else in the world could hurt any worse- it's almost like you have nothing left to lose. I see the world through wider eyes now: I see and appreciate more beauty, but at the same time I acknowledge the darker, more evil parts of life, perhaps to better understand why she made the choice to leave. I have gained enormous strength through this experience, as well as the desire to reach out to others who have gone through tragedies. I laugh more deeply because I appreciate my happiness. I work harder because I value my own success even more, and especially the fact that I can be successful despite being "wounded". I have something that most people don't- I have survived loss, and I mourned gracefully. I may not be the prettiest girl in the room, or the one with the best wardrobe or the most successful job, but what I do have is the strength to withstand anything in life. I have this experience deeply rooted in my entire being and I have come too far to let any person or circumstance EVER bring me down.
Yes, there are days when I miss her so much it makes me stomach hurt. Yes, there are days when I still can't accept the fact that she is gone. The fact that she left is out of my control, but the way I mourn, heal, and make the best out of my situation is. I have learned the value of keeping a positive mindset. I acknowledge that some days are going to be bad days- Mother's Day, her birthday, the anniversary of her passing- but I have to get back up on my feet and keep moving. Of course, there is nothing I wouldn't give to have her back, but I have to be thankful for what I have gained.
My advice to anyone who is going through any kind of loss is to keep seeking out the good things, no matter how small. Even when everything around you is falling to pieces, think of the hug your best friend gave you, or the letter you received from an old friend of your loved one. Realize that people everywhere are thinking about you and caring about you, even if they are too afraid to reach out.
If you are reading this and have questions about loss or the grieving process, please contact me. I am not a professional in any way but I hope that I can provide some comfort in your time of need.
Sending out love to each and every one of you.