Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. And tomorrow marks one and a half years since Jess died. Yes, died. She didn’t leave or pass away or move on. She died. If you don’t say the word, you don’t have to accept the truth, it doesn’t have to be real. That’s why we use all the other softer terms, so as not to cause more pain about the reality or finality of the act.

There’s something stuck in my gut. It feels like a bad case of indigestion. Or a knife. I’ve been talking to myself this evening, telling myself it’s just another marker, another number. It doesn’t really mean anything. I shouldn’t feel any worse. If anything, I should be relieved. I’m halfway to the three-year mark, the time it took me to think about my father without crying after he died. Yes, it’s a blessing–if you believe in such things (I don’t think I do right now)–to be further away from the event, from the phone call, the hearing of the words, “Jessica’s dead,” like the sound of a guillotine blade before it makes its slice. I’m grateful to be this far.

I think I’m getting more used to my new life, the new me. I’m not as often shocked by the thought of my daughter being gone. Only now and then does the reality come at me like I’ve never experienced it before. I remember waking every morning without the heart-knowledge of my loss and having to re-experience the shock and horror anew at the beginning of each new day. I’m not sure if I’m improving or if the numbness is just more absolute.

Poor blood buy viagra from canada flow to the genital organs, it turns the sexual act exciting. All the other branded companies like Kamagra, Silagra is also very effective for ED treatment. try that buy cheap cialis Tadalista is one of price tadalafil tablets the medications for treating erectile dysfunction like exercising, stop smoking, weight loss and curbing alcohol intake. Sexual disorder is like human beings, it cialis ordering comes in all forms, sizes and kinds. I looked at my hands tonight and saw my mother’s elderly hands with paper-thin skin and age marks. I’m certainly not wearing as well as she did. She would always brag that at 50 she was told she still looked 30. When she died at almost 96, she still had naturally brown hair with only streaks of gray. I know that I won’t match her in her youthful aging. But, funny, tonight when I saw the age before me, I was glad. I’m growing old, older yes, but old too. In a few years, I’ll be 60 (I know, 60 is the new 40 or some such nonsense). I’m still very fit and strong compared to most my age, but my bones ache, and my soul is weary of this life. Chris hollered for me from the garden this afternoon. He was just trying to get my attention to tell me something mundane, but I went running, yelling at him, “WHAT???” In terror. All I could think–feel–was that something else was dead or perishing, some other catastrophe was hitting. This is what we do, we who have experienced traumatic loss. I don’t know how long, if ever, it will take to not react in terror to hearing my name yelled. I still hate to answer the phone. I’m just terrified of what else there may be to hear.

But tomorrow is Mother’s Day. And I’m still the mother of two daughters. And I still have one very brilliant, fantastic, wonderful, gorgeous child who is the delight of my heart. And tomorrow, she and I will spend the day together cooking breakfast, sitting by the pool, drinking mimosas and enjoying each other’s company. When asked what I wanted to do, I had originally said let’s go to brunch and then for a hike. But this morning, when I really thought about what I WANTED, I realized that I very simply want to spend time with my girls, and knowing that I couldn’t be with both of them, that just relaxing with Sarah and enjoying her presence was all I need or want. And so tomorrow, I will with full knowledge of what I have enjoy time with Sarah just being in the moment and loving.

For all my women friends who have lost children, happy Mother’s Day! No matter what, we are all still mothers. If your child isn’t here to share the day with you, please honor yourself for them. They would never have had the chance to live–for however long they had–if it hadn’t been for us, their mothers, and within our hearts they will always be alive.

Part of my grief process has been a continued sense of detachment from life, including relationships, activities, and objects. At times, I’ve been overwhelmed with a sense of claustrophobia at being surrounding with so much stuff, most of which is pretty much meaningless to me now. While things can be beautiful, they often just don’t touch me in any deep or meaningful way and have become little more than dust-collectors in my estimation. Thus, I’ve felt an internal pressure to divest myself of the clutter surrounding me that takes up high-value space in my emotional atmosphere and causes me unease.

On Wednesday after work, I came home and without thought of what I was taking on began my de-cluttering efforts en force (I had already taken a first step this weekend with the office, which houses some high-emotion objects). Before realizing what I was starting, I cleaned out (OK, no cleansers or wet rags involved, I confess) my over-crowded and maddening triple-shelf spice cupboard and a very deep cupboard above my oven that stores sugar, flours, oils, and other cooking ingredients. Being on a farm, we deal with a moth-infestation every year. Happy are the fowl when they receive full bags of crackers, chips, cereals, and other delicacies filled with high-protein creepy-crawlies! Fortunately, I’ve learned over the years, and although I did find a moth flying around the cupboard, all of my food stuffs were contained uninfested in airtight, insect-proof containers. I left the kitchen amazed that I had accomplished tasks that brought me such relief without causing any real suffering.

I headed to the den to relax and read my book but as I walked to the couch was distracted by the book shelf. This is one of those “build-it-yourself,” six-by-nine foot pine wood shelves from Home Depot with a total of 11 shelves, most of which housed two rows of books. Did I mention I’ve always loved reading, have an MA in English, and taught college English? So I have BOOKS. I had already set the goal of sorting through these treasures and getting rid of any that I didn’t feel a compulsion to keep and in fact had asked my husband to bring me boxes from his work to pack up the giveaways. Drink and book in hand, I stared at the shelves and thought, “I’ll just go through one shelf to ease into the process.” Three hours and four crammed boxes of books later, I was covered in a thick layer of gray dust, and my shelves were virtually breathing with the freedom of release. Talk about a feeling of accomplishment! I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Nonetheless, this is not a decluttering blog. This is my story or shall I say stories? While looking at each and every book and deciding between the “keep-it” or “lose-it” pile, I dealt with all the emotional triggers remembering will bring…and some triggers came from things I hadn’t known were there. Photos of our dog Lily who died in spring 2013, just a puppy when we moved to the farm in 2001, with our original “Moose-the-mini-Dachshund,” a puppy herself.  Snapshots of Sarah and her date before her Junior Prom. A book about a Mexican volcano my ex-husband Pablo’s ex-girlfriend had given him one year for his birthday. And a mostly unused journal.

I set aside the photos to share with my family and decided to give away Pablo’s book since my ex-husband is no longer living, and I couldn’t think of anyone else who would want the book inscribed by his girlfriend. I didn’t look at the journal until I had sorted through the books. Then I picked it up and opened it to the first and only page with writing. It read:

“Dear Mom,
This energy booster pill can be consumed by both purchase viagra online try that now old and young men to enjoy intimate moments with your female. Ordering online offers pfizer viagra discount a convenient way of buying medicines. One of the best cardiologists in Singapore purchase cialis online icks.org is Dr Lim Ing Haan. However, in the visit that now viagra france events of over activeness in sympathetic system also includes the other ill health across the spectrum apart from increase in hypertension, diabetes, or high cholesterol. No, I didn’t get u this journal, I just wanted to say something. In case you ever start in this I want to say, don’t write anything mean about me. I will always love you no matter how mad we are at each other. I will always like you as well. Anything I ever do when I grow up you shouldn’t blame on yourself, for I will always have you in my heart.
‘Heart,’ (in a symbol for love)
Jessica Kelly 12-27-2000”

My child was just 12 1/2 when she wrote this. She couldn’t know the future (could she?), but maybe she saw her sister, who was 14 at the time, exhibiting those lovely teenage outrages toward her parents. Jess told me when she was older (in her early 20s) that before puberty she had thought “she could never be mean to her mommy,” but then, of course, she became a teenager, and the hormones reared their ugly horns, and next thing she knew she was outdoing her sister in pushing Mom away. But how in the world, why in the world, did she write these exact words that I wouldn’t find until a year and a half after her leaving me?  In the space of a handwritten page, she managed to assure me that she would always love and like me, that I wouldn’t be to blame for her adult choices, and that she would always carry me in her heart. I am left with tears, heartbreak, gratitude, questions, and amazement at the wisdom and foresight of my little Jessie Bear.

If you’ve read my previous post “My Spiritual Journey,” you’ll know that I’ve put aside all of my lifetime spiritual beliefs including that we are eternal, that we exist here and on the eternal plain at the same time, that I have the ability to communicate and experience my daughter even though she has passed from this life. I want to believe in all these things, but since I realized that believing she was just a breath away from me and all I had to do was finely attune myself to experience her seemed to bring me such pain, I decided that without real proof I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell in the world of “make-believe” any more. So what should I think of this message that came out of nowhere, that so spoke to my heart’s need, that ironically appeared the Wednesday before Mother’s Day? I just don’t know. Before, I would have known that this was Jessie reaching out to me now, not 15 years ago. But for the present I will sit with the gift of her precious words and take them for what they meant when she wrote them and what they mean to me now that I’ve read them.

This morning I came across a quote that I know she would love:

“If there ever comes a day we can’t be together, keep me in your heart, I’ll stay there forever.  Winnie the Pooh”

You will always be in my heart too, Little Bear.

If I’ve learned anything about grief so far it’s that each day brings a new feeling, a new challenge, perhaps a little resolve if I’m lucky (although just as easily, I can lose some peace I thought I had gained). I can’t tell how I’m going to feel tomorrow or even this evening. All it takes is a memory trigger–a song we shared, passing by a restaurant we enjoyed, seeing a photo–and I can be racing down Misery Road. My physical condition can also shove me toward despair. If I haven’t slept well or if my body is aching, I’m less able to keep the grief in lock-down.

Just as strangely, I have had days when I wake up and for awhile anyway, I feel almost normal. Or at least my “new normal,” which is a much flatter, shorter-on-the-joy-spectrum experience of life. Some days, I find myself beginning to consider plans for the future, thinking about possibly taking an herbal medicine class or learning to play the guitar. I let myself imagine retiring and waking up in the morning not having to race out the door to work. I actually let myself experience for a moment what that attitude of relaxed being would feel like. This is new. I didn’t, couldn’t conjure any picture of the future a month or two ago. There just wasn’t anything but darkness. But while there now appear to be pinpricks of light, what has “remained” (ironic, really) within me is a vacant lack of desire. While I may want to be rid of something that’s part of my current life, I don’t want anything new added. Although I might consider taking a class or trying a new hobby, my mind’s default answer is, “Why bother?”

Doctors always prescribe viagra pills for sale as the best and effective disease to ensure a complete cure of this disease. When your liver is failing, your doctor may prescribe you different solutions such as cialis tadalafil uk, cialis- the branded and effective medications for dealing with the impotence issues in men. Powerful herbs in this herbal supplement also boost vigor and regain lost youthfulness. see to find out more women viagra Kamagra 100 mg benefits one by causing enhancement of the erection and it is highly recommended that you consult the related doctor at the earliest in order to avoid escalating confrontation. generico cialis on line Think about how necessary positive emotions are to your success at any new adventure. Desire leads to excitement, which leads to anticipation, which added to effort, equals potential success. Now, remove desire. I don’t want anything. Well, I do, but the things I want, I can’t control or create. I can’t protect my daughter Sarah or my husband, guaranteeing they’ll outlive me. I can’t bring back Jessica. I know that all the living things in my life that I love, be they people, animals, plants, will all die, sooner in some cases, later in others, and I can’t even control the timing. As for “stuff,” nothing really matters to me. Clothes? Jewels? A new home or car? Knickknacks and collectors items? I don’t want, really want, anything. I don’t need anything more than I have. In fact, I need less not more. Money is certainly required for living, and as is said, “Money can’t buy you happiness, but you can be miserable in a better part of town.” Or, for that matter, on a tropical beach. But I feel toward money what I feel toward a hammer or saw. It’s just a means to an end, an end I have to desire to reach. No thing is going to give me my heart’s desire, and my vision is expansive enough to know that things do not take away your soul pain.

I’ve heard well-intending friends and family members try to “fix” my grief with suggestions such as finding a cause to support or volunteering to help others (to take my mind off my own problems). I know some people who’ve worked through their grief this way by pouring their energy into something they want to change, correct, or create. More power to them! For me, my lack of desire has to work itself out before I can invest myself in anything. I don’t need or want a distraction. Nor do I believe that any distraction could possibly heal the pain of losing my daughter. I don’t really believe that time heals grief either. I just think that over time I’ll adjust to this new life that Jessica’s death created. I can feel that adjustment beginning, but right now, it feels more like resignation than embracing a change. I’m hoping that somewhere, sometime I’ll actually want something new in my life, that I’ll set and attain goals, with the resultant satisfaction of having achieved a dream. But I don’t think that dreams or desires are possible until the wound of losing what I have loved is scarred over enough to bear the possibility of reinvestment of myself and potential further loss. If and until that time comes, I’m grateful that I can simply stand back in my safe space and acknowledge the beauty that still exists out there in the world, a world that refused to shrivel up and die along with me and my old life.