Well, I should be asleep. I got around 2 hours of sleep last night, so you'd think I'd be able to sleep without trouble, and get my cycle back to something normal. But I guess my body's just not used to sleeping even at this time (4:30), it's too used to 6am or later... and all I can do when I close my eyes is think about my mom. Maybe getting some of my thoughts out in a journal will help, even though I usually don't post highly emotional stuff here.
I thought I was coping fine earlier - a few tears here and there, but in general, not much of anything. Just trying to shift my brain around to a new way of thinking, now that she's gone. But I guess maybe it just hadn't really set it that she's *really* gone, and that she's never, never coming back. Never. And that hurts. That hurts so much. I went through one long crying jag earlier tonight, and now confronted with my thoughts while trying to sleep, I'm at it again.
It's partly that it's just so unfair. She worked damn hard, and hell, she wasn't perfect as a mother, but who is? She was real damn good though, permissive, supportive, and always believing in me, even when I didn't. Then all the health problems started. And kept going. And growing. And finally she had to take disability, and lost her leg due to diabetes and a tiny wound that just wouldn't heal, and finally got gangrenous. And then she started with the congestive heart stuff. And then her kidneys failed. But she was always always fighting, she just wanted to live, you could tell. She already turned things around once, when she had a heart attack and the doctors said it "didn't look good," and she fought and came back. She didn't want to die. But now, so suddenly, she's gone. I mean it's one thing to know that with dialysis there are risks, and that it's not good as a long-term prospect but.. Saturday she was out at Bingo, just like normal (and in fact I slipped her some money I'd received for my birthday since she wanted some extra to take with her). Sunday and Monday early (even after Monday dialysis) she seemed fine, and in good spirits. And then suddenly in the course of not even 24 hours, she was just... gone.
Another large part that's really proving hard for me to deal with is just how much was left undone, and just... interrupted, never to be finished. All the little things that then remind me so strongly of her. Things she'd asked me to get at the store for her, that I hadn't made it out to get yet, and are still on a list on the refrigerator. The fudge supplies she'd wanted me to get to make some fudge to take to her dialysis staff, maybe around Easter time, since people took nice things in for the staff all the time but she hadn't, yet, and wanted to do something for them. The card she had me set aside and save just the other day when I was trying to clear off the table a bit, because it was from an old friend she'd lost touch with, and she wanted the address so she could get back in touch with her and catch up on everything each way.
One of the one's that's hit me hardest for some reason, maybe partly because it just somehow brings across both the finality of it all and the interrupted sensation, is the CD I got her. See, about a week or maybe two weeks ago she rode down to a doctor's appointment far away in the car, and heard a song - the "Laughing" version of "Are you Lonesome Tonight" by Elvis, where he apparently started really cracking up in a live performance. My mom absolutely loved it, thought it was hilarious, and mentioned it to me apparently hoping I could find it. Well, after some snooping around I found what she was looking for, as a B-side on an import CD single via Amazon. At least, that's what I thought it was.
So I ordered it for her, but I didn't tell her about it. I wanted it to be a surprise, and even in the relatively short time, more than once I could just envision her surprise when she heard it, and the expression on her face light up - I figured I'd just take it out of the case when I got it, slip it into the DVD player out in the kitchen (where she lived, since her hospital bed was there), and just turn it on and let her listen. And those imaginings of her reaction are all I really have, because it finally just arrived today, just after I heard that it was finally hopeless, just maybe half an hour or so before she died. But then in a way the joke's on me - I just took it out of the case, because I was going to be totally maudlin and listen to the normal version of "Are You Lonesome Tonight" because it just seems to fit so well, and it's actually in record format. Which would have made it hard for me to play for her, but damnit, I would have managed. Now I don't even have the chance to try.
There's just so many little things reminding me of her right now. Thinking that I should make myself go to the market sometime soon, if I can face it - and realizing that while I've always disliked market shopping, I always at least had the extra little kick of seeking out low-sugar, low-sodium stuff for her to try, hoping I'd find something special she'd really like and that would brighten her day. And thoughts of things I'd wanted to enjoy her reaction to my accomplishing, such as maybe writing my first novel - I hadn't told her I was even starting one, whether I finish it or not. Hell, now I'm even dredging up the thought that she'd been hinting more and more lately about wanting a grandchild (hard when I don't even have a boyfriend), and now that's something else that she'll never, never know.
It hurts damnit. It hurts a lot. So much. And it's just so hard to believe still, that just two days ago she was fine, laughing, talking on the phone, planning for a few days down the road... and now, she's just gone. For always.
I love you Mom. Wherever you may be, I love you so much. And I miss you.