Sunday, December 15, 2013

Year In Review


Pictured here with the daughter is my mother's younger (youngest) sister. A few weeks after my mother's death my aunt had a stroke. It was a mild one as those things go and she's done remarkably well with physical therapy. There are some lingering signs, but still, she is recovering nicely.

Of all her sisters my mother's youngest resembled her (physical features) the most. Since mom's death and my aunt's stroke her physical resemblance to my mother is even sharper. Could be that is due to the slack in her jaw or as much, her adopting some of my mother's mannerisms and attitudes. Then again, it could be all in my mind.  

Twenty-thirteen is the year my mother died--within six months of my father's death. Twenty-thirteen is the year I ceased being a daughter--at least in an active sense. While my father had not been part of my day-to-day for many, many years prior to his sickness and ultimate demise, my mother was very much a part of my day-to-day. The last six months of her life I was with or spoke with her every day.

There were other major changes in my life in twenty-thirteen but none compare to bearing witness to the light extinguishing from my mother's eyes. Being there at that moment, that moment has been in my bones every day since. Thus, impacting every day since.

In recent weeks I've come to the realization that I have about 5 hours of activity in me. I'm easily winded and as easily, wearied. This is not boding very well for getting the new career off the ground. And so, floundering in that regard. A re-booting is becoming apparent.

Building relationships with my brothers (and other family) have floundered as well.  Outside of my aunt pictured and one cousin I haven't been very successful in getting others to maintain connections. I've decided to move on. I think. Hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, and so, not sure I'm ready to just stop. In fact, holiday cards posted this weekend.

Some of my friends have had, are having an extremely challenging twenty-thirteen as well. I can't help them except to extend an encouraging and empathetic word now and again. To each of you, I wish I could do more. I love you more than you probably know.

When I look back at twenty-thirteen I see emptiness. The twinkling lights, glittered balls, and chirpy carols of recent weeks haven't done much to fill the void or erase the sense of desolation, despair--try as they might.

Sadness aside, twenty-thirteen has seen some positive moments, some upbeat themes. I shall embrace those joys and build upon them. I shall look forward to deepening relationships with newer connections. I shall distance myself from the only daughter I used to be and become . . . TBD

For my mother's younger (youngest) sister, for my mother and father, for my son and daughter, for my cousin and my friends, for me I shall look back at twenty-thirteen and use the sights seen, feelings felt, experiences survived to stand up, walk, and eventually run. Well, metaphorically speaking, anyway--you all should know, I don't run unless absolutely necessary.

We are living art, created to help others to hang on, stand up, forbear, continue. ~Maya Angelou

17 comments:

  1. in keeping with my last post that disappeared.... i refuse to reassess 2013. I will stick with your labels of changes, family, grief, growing, and resolve. None of which has any happy over or undertones for me. I won't even look at my Facebook 2013 look back crap they have ceremoniously put together for us. I will instead just be happy that this year (at least not yet) hasn't ended this way and perhaps 2014 will look different and I can blog about life with labels that don't threaten to pull me under the water.

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    1. Like you, I appreciate Tiff's take. ♥ to us all.

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  2. Some years are put there not for the remembering, but for the impetus. This might be one of them. Happy 2014!

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    1. tiff you may have just put 2013 in its logical, and purposeful place. thank you,

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    2. Yep, what Nina said. :) ♥ you.

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    3. I believe tiff is right. Wishing you a 2014 full of light. xo

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  4. I became an orphan in 2012 with the death of my mother. I don't know if that ever gets any easier. Maybe I would say that the sharp pain becomes duller but that hole will always be there. {{{hugs}}}

    I do hope that 2014 brings you some much needed joy.

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    1. I am choosing, for the most part, to take each moment of each day as it comes. And embrace the joy when it smacks me up side the head. Hopefully, JOY will find me and be so inclined.

      And I have the very same hope for you.

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  5. I feel you. I really, really do. My mother died at the end 2011 and I can't believe it has already been two years. I still cannot believe it. The fact of it still impacts me every single day.

    Let's find some joy next year. Let's allow some of that in.

    Thinking of you... of all of us motherless daughters.
    xoxox

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    1. You know, even when you know it is possible, even likely, you never imagine being here. now.

      Yes, let's

      And I you, them, US. ♥

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  6. I want you to know I'm thinking about this and about you and virtually holding your hand. I want to spend more time on commenting about this but at the moment my brain is in stress/lack of sleep fog.

    More to come when I'm not feeling foggy. For now, I just want you to know I've been here and I care.

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    1. e&i thank you Now, get some rest. :)

      As an aside, every time I see your name, I hear earthan dink--not earth and ink.

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  7. I don;t think words can ever describe or make the pain better, but please know we are here for you.

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    1. I do know and I am grateful for the kindness. ♥

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  8. I can't tell you how many people tell me that they are disgusted with themselves because they seem to have a hard time dealing with the death of a parent, even if they weren't particularly close or had a combative relationship with them. It's still the most basic relationship of your life and your FIRST real connection with another person. Losing that is traumatic. And you lost both in one year. Cut yourself a wide swath of slack.

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    1. Thank you Maria. I shall try.

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