This post is inspired by:
“Let’s all learn how to dance, move your feet in time
Put your hand in mine and we will waltz once again”.
It’s Monday — even though it feels like a Sunday night. Well, I’ll start off with what has happened to me. I moved. Becoming a big girl, an adult is what people call them. I have my own place with some roommates, and so far it’s good. It’s amazing how different it feels compared to college, and living in Spain, etc. Different than those places.
I’ve had a couple of snow days, days of shoveling, and days like today: sleeping, watching movies, listening to some of my favorite music, and writing. Actually, I’ve been writing quite a bit in my journal, things that I wouldn’t post online, but important things.
“Deep grief sometimes is almost like a specific location, a coordinate on a map of time. When you are standing in that forest of sorrow, you cannot imagine that you could ever find your way to a better place. But if someone can assure you that they themselves have stood in that same place, and now have moved on, sometimes this will bring hope”
Today marks an impressionable week for me, one that I will never forget. For starters, today is my Dad’s birthday — what a wonderful guy he is. I couldn’t speak any more highly of such a man. I’ve never met someone who has such amazing ethics, morals, and true belief that everything is going to be okay. With that being said, today begins a tough week, for it is the anniversary of the death of my mother.
Three years ago, it was a weekend, and I was playing basketball — getting ready for a big game. My dad was coming into the city to watch me play, which I was very excited about, as I was starting for one of the first times. I was ready to show him what I’ve got. I was just about to warm up, when I looked at my phone and received a text message from my dad, unusual for the man who consistently says that technology will ruin the brain. I thought “hmm that’s strange, but I’ll see him soon, so it doesn’t matter” and within seconds he appeared.
He pulled me aside, and he was crying. He told me the news that my mom had passed in the middle of the night, hugged me, and told me that we were going home — since my sisters were already there. That is a moment I will never forget, probably for all the wrong reasons.
To understand this idea, I wasn’t a great basketball player, but I worked hard for my starting position, was eager to play — dressed and ready to go. Now, everything had changed, and the game no longer mattered. But it mattered to me. I was almost more upset that I couldn’t play then I was about the news of a death. Some call this selfish, others a coping mechanism — in this current position it’s hard to say who’s right.
I constantly think about this week, and how I will never forget the events of this particular week three years ago, how I felt sitting at the airport, traveling with my sisters, seeing my grandparents for the first time after we heard the news. The amount of casseroles we ate was a disgusting amount, but that’s what people do when they can’t do anything.
Tonight I sit with the same feeling I had three years ago when we walked into her house, began to go through her belongings before we do the estate sale; I have a bunch of things, crap, memories, feelings and nowhere to start. More importantly, not enough boxes to hide things I can’t look at everyday. Much how I feel about this post.
I have so much to say, or not say, and nowhere to start..