Am I obsessing? Or just not ostriching?
As soon as I wake up, I remember Mother is dead and then I don't stop thinking about her all day. I can't seem to think clearly, I keep forgetting stuff and I don't feel like doing anything. I cry at almost anything.
I'm such a goon, I Googled stages of grief. Then I Googled "sadness." And I realize that's it. Just pure sadness. I don't remember ever feeling it before when it wasn't mixed with anger, regret, remorse and a whole narrative of what-ifs. I don't remember ever feeling it before when I didn't believe there was some kind of solution, or would be some kind of ending to the sadness.
Mother had a beautiful, even inspirational death. Before she died she came to terms with herself and said the things she wanted to say to people. She lived a long, full life.
So I'm not angry. She wasn't "taken from us too soon." I didn't have unfinished business with her. Over the years she and I had finally been frank with each other about pretty much everything.
But I feel like something's been amputated. I feel like part of my brain is gone. Something's closed which was open.
Besides missing Mother and talking to her nearly every day, somehow, I miss whole chunks of stuff. I miss Granny and Pappy and Atlanta. I miss Druid Hills High School and Randolph-Macon. I miss Waupaca and nonsense poetry. All this stuff that was attached to Mother and became part of my memory and now it's all finished.
Maybe it's because I have no memories of Mother in the place where I live that I have this cut off, isolated feeling. Or maybe it's the same for Dave and Helen and Dad. I can't stand to think about that.