TEN
I’m being completely vulnerable in this post. If you don’t have a tissue you may want to grab one. It’s emotional for me as I write it so I know you as a reader will feel so much of my hurt throughout this post. But for 10 years I haven’t shared this. In my last post about my mom I didn’t get this detailed and realized it was still very surface. It was so important at that time in my life but it was literally only scratching the surface. I wasn’t ready then but today I am.
Today I want to talk about the number ten. TEN. One of the numbers of completion and perfection. The number of years it’s been since my mother passed away.
First it was 10 minutes, 10 hours, 10 days and then 10 months. Now 10 years. Pushing through each of those moments has been absolutely excruciating. But as they say you dig your heels in and you stay the course. For 10 years I’ve stayed the course never really speaking much about what that intails but growing consistently throughout. What it took to get here is described below in increments of 10.
10 minutes: The first 10 minutes after losing a mother. How do you describe that? If you haven’t experienced losing a parent...My God, you can’t imagine...and I’d never want you to. At 22 years old imagine getting a call and on the other end (I can’t even remember who called me) there’s a voice saying your mom has passed out and can’t be awaken. I’m told my dad tried CPR that day to no avail. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for him. I wouldn’t dare ask either. Imagine jumping in the car to travel 60 miles to her and 10 miles into the drive you get the call from your dad saying she’s gone...she didn’t make it. 10 minutes ago she was here. 10 minutes ago I had hope. 10 miles later she is gone from this earth. I’ll never forget the exact location on highway 49 that I received that awful call. I’ve never in my life felt a hurt so deep. A hurt that still exists to this very day. Shaken to my core and fearful of losing anyone else of this magnitude in my life.
10 hours: I’ve walked in the room. Seen her there. Numb. Crying tears that I now know will never stop. I’ve said my goodbyes but what does that even mean. 10 hours: In bed curled into a fetal position. My then boyfriend, now husband, trying to provide a comfort that I just couldn’t receive. No words only tears. Thinking if only I could wake up from this horrible nightmare things will be fine. My mother can’t be gone. Denial. Hurt. Pain. Confusion. Anger. Guilt. Oh the guilt... knowing that 7 days passed and I didn’t call because I had finals to study for. Hour 10 was an absolute breakdown. Absolutely nothing could’ve made me feel better other than it actually being a dream.
10 days: The funeral. Picking out the colors, the clothes, the hair, what will stay and what will go. Writing the obituary. Me. 22 years old. Grieving. Writing my own mother’s obituary. I still have guilt for all the errors. I had no idea I was supposed to write it in paragraph form. I’d never had to write an obituary before. I simply gathered the information in bullet point format and the funeral home representatives typed it into paragraph form. If I’d known it would’ve been perfect. Without errors. Absolutely perfect. It’s crazy because I still feel guilt at this very moment even though I know I had NO CLUE. Maybe that has something to do with my need and desire to be perfect at everything I do...who knows?
10 weeks: Going through the motions. Wondering how everyone else can just keep going. Keep moving. Keep living. Walking through life in a haze. Even then I used the phrase, “I’m okay.”
10 months: Dreams. Such beautiful dreams of when my mom was here; but also nightmares. Nightmares of the loss all over again. Depression. Not realizing I was depressed. I wanted to fix everything. Every broken relationship. Every argument. Every fallout. Over exertion. Wanting things to be just like they were before and coming to the realization that could never be. Even though this says 10 months this time period encompasses 10 months and everything that comes after. My engagement without my mom. My wedding without my mom. My graduations and first big girl job...without my mom. The day I found myself riding in a car, driving, crying for no reason, not really sure what was wrong with me which is also the moment I used my own knowledge and degree to determine I was depressed. The year of saying no more trying to fill shoes that don’t belong to me and were never mine to begin with. Accepting that life will never be the same again.
10 years: Here I sit 10 years later. Learning to express myself. Learning it’s okay to be vulnerable. Learning that vulnerability doesn’t mean weakness. I now know that things will never be the same, my life will never be the same.
That doesn’t mean my life is bad or ended when my mother left. It simply means what once was can’t be and won’t ever be but what’s new can still flourish. I live life with purpose now, with desires, without limiting myself to what the world thinks I should be or do. My life is flourishing and I know my mother is proud. There will always be regrets and things we wish we could change that’s part of life. But if we focus on the things we CAN change life continues...we continue. The love we have for those who have gone before us will never change. My love for my mother will never change. I even smell her scent sometimes. When I’m on vacation or in the craziest places one her favorite songs will come on and at that moment I know she’s there and will always be part of me and part of my life.
I saw something last week that registered in my soul and in my spirit. That is what I choose to leave you with today.
“Grief never ends. It’s a passage, not a place to stay.
Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.
It is the price of love.” ❤️
Xoxo
Lashonda
Today I want to talk about the number ten. TEN. One of the numbers of completion and perfection. The number of years it’s been since my mother passed away.
First it was 10 minutes, 10 hours, 10 days and then 10 months. Now 10 years. Pushing through each of those moments has been absolutely excruciating. But as they say you dig your heels in and you stay the course. For 10 years I’ve stayed the course never really speaking much about what that intails but growing consistently throughout. What it took to get here is described below in increments of 10.
10 minutes: The first 10 minutes after losing a mother. How do you describe that? If you haven’t experienced losing a parent...My God, you can’t imagine...and I’d never want you to. At 22 years old imagine getting a call and on the other end (I can’t even remember who called me) there’s a voice saying your mom has passed out and can’t be awaken. I’m told my dad tried CPR that day to no avail. I can’t imagine what that must’ve been like for him. I wouldn’t dare ask either. Imagine jumping in the car to travel 60 miles to her and 10 miles into the drive you get the call from your dad saying she’s gone...she didn’t make it. 10 minutes ago she was here. 10 minutes ago I had hope. 10 miles later she is gone from this earth. I’ll never forget the exact location on highway 49 that I received that awful call. I’ve never in my life felt a hurt so deep. A hurt that still exists to this very day. Shaken to my core and fearful of losing anyone else of this magnitude in my life.
10 hours: I’ve walked in the room. Seen her there. Numb. Crying tears that I now know will never stop. I’ve said my goodbyes but what does that even mean. 10 hours: In bed curled into a fetal position. My then boyfriend, now husband, trying to provide a comfort that I just couldn’t receive. No words only tears. Thinking if only I could wake up from this horrible nightmare things will be fine. My mother can’t be gone. Denial. Hurt. Pain. Confusion. Anger. Guilt. Oh the guilt... knowing that 7 days passed and I didn’t call because I had finals to study for. Hour 10 was an absolute breakdown. Absolutely nothing could’ve made me feel better other than it actually being a dream.
10 days: The funeral. Picking out the colors, the clothes, the hair, what will stay and what will go. Writing the obituary. Me. 22 years old. Grieving. Writing my own mother’s obituary. I still have guilt for all the errors. I had no idea I was supposed to write it in paragraph form. I’d never had to write an obituary before. I simply gathered the information in bullet point format and the funeral home representatives typed it into paragraph form. If I’d known it would’ve been perfect. Without errors. Absolutely perfect. It’s crazy because I still feel guilt at this very moment even though I know I had NO CLUE. Maybe that has something to do with my need and desire to be perfect at everything I do...who knows?
10 weeks: Going through the motions. Wondering how everyone else can just keep going. Keep moving. Keep living. Walking through life in a haze. Even then I used the phrase, “I’m okay.”
10 months: Dreams. Such beautiful dreams of when my mom was here; but also nightmares. Nightmares of the loss all over again. Depression. Not realizing I was depressed. I wanted to fix everything. Every broken relationship. Every argument. Every fallout. Over exertion. Wanting things to be just like they were before and coming to the realization that could never be. Even though this says 10 months this time period encompasses 10 months and everything that comes after. My engagement without my mom. My wedding without my mom. My graduations and first big girl job...without my mom. The day I found myself riding in a car, driving, crying for no reason, not really sure what was wrong with me which is also the moment I used my own knowledge and degree to determine I was depressed. The year of saying no more trying to fill shoes that don’t belong to me and were never mine to begin with. Accepting that life will never be the same again.
10 years: Here I sit 10 years later. Learning to express myself. Learning it’s okay to be vulnerable. Learning that vulnerability doesn’t mean weakness. I now know that things will never be the same, my life will never be the same.
That doesn’t mean my life is bad or ended when my mother left. It simply means what once was can’t be and won’t ever be but what’s new can still flourish. I live life with purpose now, with desires, without limiting myself to what the world thinks I should be or do. My life is flourishing and I know my mother is proud. There will always be regrets and things we wish we could change that’s part of life. But if we focus on the things we CAN change life continues...we continue. The love we have for those who have gone before us will never change. My love for my mother will never change. I even smell her scent sometimes. When I’m on vacation or in the craziest places one her favorite songs will come on and at that moment I know she’s there and will always be part of me and part of my life.
I saw something last week that registered in my soul and in my spirit. That is what I choose to leave you with today.
“Grief never ends. It’s a passage, not a place to stay.
Grief is not a sign of weakness, nor a lack of faith.
It is the price of love.” ❤️
Xoxo
Lashonda
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