Hiatus from blogdom

A good many of my not so many readers know what all has transpired since my last post in September, but I've not written about it. I think my head didn't know what exactly was going on in my heart and how to express it in written form. But now that it has been six months since that post, I might be ready. Maybe...
On December 28th, 2010, three months after my mother's final diagnosis, she entered heaven. I think of our last trip together and how much fun we had; I think of how my mother loved the beach, but I loved the mountains. I would go to her favorite place just to watch her with my children, to watch my children with her and spend valuable time with my family. Yet, truth be told, I'm not looking forward to the beach this year. I guess because what I will see is this:

where I wish, in that selfish part of me, she was sitting. Where I wish I could walk up to her and chat about the day or tell her what the kids were doing or tell her about the latest things going on with us. I look at this picture and remember when I took it, somehow knowing that picture would have profound impact on me. That place will never be the same to me for I will forever see the thousands of memories beside me there.
That may seem very dreary and sad to some, but that is grief. I've honestly had a hard time with grief in ways I never expected to. It has been difficult to express my feelings or even understand them myself.
See, the dynamics of my family were put to the test during my mother's last months. It was taxing on everyone involved, but some of it drove wedges between some of my family members and there was nothing to do to stop it. We watched my mother drift into a state she proclaimed for years she never wanted to reach. Yet, too much was keeping her here. I'm not the one to judge just what, but it was hard to watch nonetheless. We also live a good ways away and having income limitations kept our trips down to few, so I wasn't able to be there every moment.
At the beginning of December, my mother lost her memory. I don't mean she didn't know what a pen was, I mean she didn't know who she was. She didn't know me, she didn't know my children, her own husband, etc. Her physical capabilities just about completely left. It was heartbreaking, heartwrenching, and gutwrenching to hear my own mother ask me who I was. I mean I've seen it in movies, I've had to remind a great-grandmother who I was, but not the woman who gave birth to me and fed me and raised me! And I was at a loss as to what to do for her. She was frustrated and angry and mad and a different person. Even her laugh was different.
It was so hard to explain to my children, why their grandmother didn't know them or didn't get their knock knock jokes anymore, or didn't understand what she was supposed to do with the spoon. I couldn't even understand it, much less explain it.
My mother adored my children, and she was their best play buddy. Even just months before her death she loved spending time with them.

I am trying to move on. Obviously life has whether I have or not. I've come to understand how grief can change you. People kept telling me not to hold it in, not to prevent myself from crying, not to hold back. However, when I tried to find that part to let it go, I couldn't find where it went. I dealt with so much grief in watching her go. I said quite often that I started grieving 9 months before the Dr. said there was no more treatment available. Maybe there was no more to find, but nonetheless it has changed me. I'm quieter now, my husband has to prod me into revealing my feelings. I like more alone time, especially destressing time, which my husband has been wonderful in trying to provide often. I guess I'm more staid now, probably because in a certain aspect of my life my brain thinks I'm living a parallel universe, a paradoxy, a twilight zone if you will. And, since its not real it won't have any honest effect on me and I will wake up soon to find it is all like it was in the summer of last year. That is denial, yes, I know. But apparently comforting, too.
My mother was my best friend, my mentor, a mediator between my dad and I, a play buddy to my children, a confidant, and we could talk about just about anything. I'm so very thankful for all of the wonderful friends I have in this world, many my friends since we were teenagers. I have vented and ranted and raved to them and they understand me. One friend has even walked this exact path before me. I have great advice givers and listeners of my troubles, for which I am truly thankful. Above all, they are helping me to come to terms with the new me, explore my grief, acknowledge it, develop into a stronger more resilient woman, and find ways to keep the memories of my mother and I alive. You will never meet another woman as strong, as much of a fighter, as much of a friend as my mom.