Surviving

It's a gray, rainy day in Nashville, like so many have been since my mom died a little more than three weeks ago.  Never have I seen so much rain over an extended period of time in Nashville.  It feels like Seattle.  Fitting, I guess, because the weather as of late matches my mood for the most part.  Gray.  Dreary.

Some days are better than others.  Although the rational part of my mind knew that would be the case, it's still hard.  Very hard.  I'm tired.  And, really, I'm just sad.  A deep sadness that feels like an ache in my heart that won't entirely go away.

Joe's birthday was Wednesday and I couldn't help but think how much my mom would have enjoyed being the house, eating pizza and having a beer - a Miller Lite, of course - with us.  Joe played his best basketball game ever this morning.  He scored six points, including hitting an 8-foot baseline jumper in the first half.  My mom would have loved to have seen that.  She would have been so excited for him.

I haven't had much to say because I haven't known what to say.  I'm struggling to figure out what this blog will be - what it will become -  moving forward after more than 11 years of entries.  In the last few years, the blog has been an important outlet for me to express my feelings and emotions, and to process all that my mom was going through and that I was going through with her.

It seemed important, somewhat, to record my thoughts in real time, to preserve a record of some sort for me, my boys and my family.  On some level, it reassure me to know that at least a few people were reading my posts and thinking about my mom.  Maybe even sending a few prayers her way.  My writing felt purposeful.

Now, not so much.  On the one hand, part of me wants to record in minute detail every minute of the last week of my mom's life, so I don't forget it.  On the other hand, I'm afraid to think to closely about that week because the reality of her death and what lead up to it was horrific, traumatizing and mind altering.  It's strange.  I want to think about it but, then, I was to think about anything else but that last week with her.

I've thought about sharing memories of my mom, of special times we shared.  Times of laughter and happiness.  That way, my boys could perhaps read it someday and gain a better understanding of what a special, unique person my mom - their Meemaw - was in her life, before their lives.

I want to write about my grief but I don't want to sound like I'm whining.  I realize almost everyone goes through something like this with one or both of their parents.  I think it might help me process my emotions to write about them, much like it did when I wrote about my mom's journey with Alzheimer's disease.

My mom's death was so intense and personal to me.  It's hard to talk about, or write about, I guess.

For mow, I'm going to finish my cup of coffee at Honest Coffee Roasters, then drive to J.T. Moore M.S. to watch J.P. play basketball.  

It's still raining outside.