Saturday, May 10, 2014

On the Eve of the Day

 Decidedly in, I wish I'd made plans to go out. There was a Dyke Delicious event. Some friends I haven't seen in quite a while had planned to attend.

But I didn't. In I stayed. Afraid I would present as too gloomy.

Much like last year. I went hoping the event would shake me out of the gloom.

But it didn't. Too new. Too raw.

And so, decidedly in. Both son and daughter are working and the early day hope was for art to happen.

But, such has not been the case. All day the simplest task turned into a major production, leading to a mountain of frustration, culminating in my yelling at a customer service rep, telling him to fuck the fuck off. Fuck, fucking idiot.

(Remember way back when? see no. 81)

I am feeling queasy but I'm pretty sure it is the bad beer, not the f-u-c-k word.

Dammit. I should have gone out. I should have pushed through, made the extra effort.

But I didn't. Here I sit, decidedly in, having had my fill of bad beer and decent vodka, about to shower away a tear-streaked face, and trying not to dwell on her birth date near the end of this month.

Here I sit, raw with a realization that I while I am a mother celebrated by her own son and daughter (thank you both for your kindness and thoughtfulness) the overwhelming identity is that of a daughter without a mother to celebrate . . .

            in the flesh.

Too new. Too raw. Still. . . .  so, no celebration in the traditional sense; no feast, no fuss.

But an honor . . a must.

So, here's to you, to us, to them.



  1. This was my second Mother's Day without a mom too. I thought it would be easier. But it wasn't. Still, my daughters were home and we spent a pleasant, low key day gardening. They cooked. I got teary. I suspect it will be like this for quite a while.

    Hugs to you. And to all of us who grieve.

    1. The weather didn't really cooperate on Sunday, but daughter was able to get some grilling done. I didn't do much of anything beyond purging more papers and stuff. Teary, yes. Awhile.

      Thanks for the hugs. Right back atcha.

  2. Anonymous8:12 AM

    It is difficult, hard, raw. It is not very long at all. Next year, you can go out and see if you like doing so. This year, it is okay. And that is enough.

    When I looked at your list, I saw #100. And thought I would include this quote:
    Travel isn’t always pretty. It isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it hurts, it even breaks your heart. But that’s okay. The journey changes you; it should change you. It leaves marks on your memory, on your consciousness, on your heart, and on your body. You take something with you. Hopefully, you leave something good behind.

    Anthony Bourdain

    We lose fellow travelers, but still we must journey on. So journey on, my friend. It is sometimes difficult, sometimes beautiful, often painful, with intermittent joy. But still, we journey on.



    1. I love the quote. Thank you. Journey. Onward.


  3. Bittersweet. I'm not sure how long it will remain so, perhaps always. And, if there are days when we choose our own solitary company and allow ourselves space for grief, so be it. We get to. Most of the time we are sucking it up, going to work, dealing with it, functioning in society the way we are 'supposed' to. But, yes, we are allowed to have days when we are decidedly in.

    Love, hugs, compassion,

    1. You say the right things, so well. Thank you. Yes.

      And to you as well. ♥

  4. This was my first Mothers Day as a motherless child. It hurts. I went out to her "mailbox" (Sometimes that is what I call her niche) the day before the day and fussed about, and told her of my non plans for the day. Went home to her room and just sat there. Then I got up and tried to kill my self and my time with backbreaking work. I know how you feel. This stuff is hard.

    1. I know that you do. And to borrow 8th's words and sentiment, hugs to you and to all off us who grieve.

  5. Once those "firsts" are out of the way, the path gets easier. Promise.


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