Today would have been Momma's 59th birthday. It'll be five years this coming January without her and life is so very different than I had ever imagined it would be. I miss her like crazy and think about her often.
I try not to dwell and get stuck in my own head these days, but find I often space out throughout my time. Days like today make me think about how different things are and it makes me relieve my entire life in my head.
Like one big extended flash scene that you would only see in a movie. Images and faces, moments and time. The good and bad... the really good and the terribly bad.
I'd be lying if I said I'm not a different person than I was five years ago. In fact, when I look back at the person I was, it's kind of hard to imagine I was there. Sure, I'm still me at my core but I'm certainly nowhere near the same.
I would love to have Momma back. If I had that ability, no doubt. Hell, if I could even talk to her from the other side (whatever that may be), I would. But, I've also come to the realization that I can't. Sure, I've always known that but knowing something and truly accepting it are very different.
Different moments, different feelings, different places in time and in your own mind.
I miss her. So much sometimes that it's still hard to breathe.
But, like I said, I'm not the same person I was five years ago. I have my days where everything piles up and gets overwhelming and I just don't know what to do... I feel broken... but once I admitted that I actually had all these feelings and accepted that they were all justified, I found some peace. Not necessarily what I would call "coming to terms with" but my wishful thinking and ever prevalent mindset tend to have a more calming effect these days.
I would say I have my husband to thank for that. While I was very much on the train of bottling up all my feelings until they overwhelmed and disabled me (I was willing to go down swinging), he made me feel like it was ok to actually feel my feelings. I didn't want to, but rather I wanted them to be or not, they were there. I had to deal or I had to surrender and quite frankly, surrendering wasn't an option to me.
I came to a point where I started just feeling ok going on about my life.
For years, I would make changes or do something differently and then I would feel nothing but guilt. Like, all consuming, can't get out of bed, existential "what kind of person even am I" crisis levels of guilt. I would think to myself, how can I even make these decisions and move forward without her here? It felt wrong and like I was betraying her.
I'm not sure when it happened. I don't recall if it was an exact moment or a bunch of little moments all rolled into one but one day I made a decision and I just felt... I don't even really know what I felt... perhaps relief. Relief that for the first time in a long time, I was ok.
Sure, I'm not what some people would consider ok. Mentally, physically, emotionally, spiritually. I have my bad days and I have those moments where I'm so overwhelmed I can't think straight. I have days where all I want to do is lay down and not get back up until it feels like I should. Days where my anxiety gets the best of me and my emotions are so overwhelming I can't help but let them spill out everywhere no matter the mess it may create.
I have those days. More often than I'd like to admit, my mental health gets the best of me. I struggle and at times, I feel weak because I can't just "fix" it. I don't know what's wrong with me... sometimes it will be the littlest things that send me over the edge. But, they show up and there I am rocking on the precipice running through every single decision I've ever made in my head.
But then there are the other days. The days where I feel strong and capable. The days that I love just being me and the person that I am. The days that I cuddle with my husband and play with our pups and live my life with the mindset that I only get one and I decide what kind of life it's going to be.
I was talking to Dev the other night, and at the end of the conversation I realized that I had not only been living my entire life with my mother on a pedestal but I had a deep desire for her to be proud of me. Not just proud but I wanted to just be enough for her. I saw so many people throughout my life treat my mother shitty and just be horrible to her when she didn't deserve it. I'm not saying she was perfect but she certainly was better than what people bothered to show her.
I took care of her and had a deep need to be everything that she needed. I wanted to make up for the fact she had a less than stable childhood. I wanted to make her see that it didn't matter she had two divorces and both husbands were terrible people in general. I wanted to be enough to where she didn't worry about the drinking and the drugs that she had done in the past. I wanted to be able to make her happy and content and live the best life she possibly could while it was in my capabilities.
And I would do it all again, without hesitation. I have no regrets when it comes to taking care of Momma. People over the years have mentioned the things I gave up, the late start with others. And I would agree. I most certainly didn't live a normal adult life. My world quite literally revolved around her and anything her little heart desired. Was it healthy? Probably not. In fact, it was probably incredibly unhealthy and a therapist would most definitely have a few things to say about it. But, whether right or wrong, I would do it again.
Because she was her and I love her beyond all reasonable explanation. She was my truest friend, greatest champion, and a devoted mother. She had her flaws like everyone else but no matter the flaw, I loved her. She loved me through mine and I loved her through hers and that was that.
But after I lost her, I had to figure out what to do. Where to go. How to move forward.
It wasn't easy. Hell, it still isn't easy. I don't know if life is ever really easy for anyone. We all have our own problems and stories and whose to say one is a greater tragedy than another?
My greatest hurdle was without a doubt the guilt. The guilt of moving forward in my own way without the nagging feeling of "am I a terrible person for trying to be happy?" The guilt of needing to figure out who I am as a person on my own, meaning I had to go back and examine and think through and make decisions based on my entire life starting with my childhood. The guilt of realizing that I'm not ok with everything that has happened to me and I'm not ok with some of the thoughts that have been put in my head throughout my entire life.
The guilt of coming to the realization I had some major parts of myself that I had always been afraid of changing but felt the need to change. The guilt from realizing that it was fear of not being good enough that made me such a people pleaser and prohibited me from making decisions in my life that I truly wanted to make. And then, the guilt of realizing it seemed like I was painting my mother in a negative light when that was the furthest thing from what I wanted to do.
I lived with this guilt and if I'm being completely honest, it ate at me. Every single day for a very long time. No matter the circumstance or thought, all I felt was guilt. So much guilt that it was crippling and would bring me to my knees. I mean, how dare I have this amazing mother and then have the audacity to questions anything, right?
And then one day I realized it was ok.
It was ok to be the person I wanted to be. And it was ok to think what I thought, have my own opinions. It was ok to make changes in my life to live the life that was going to make me happy and it was ok that I'm not ok with everything. I came to the conclusion... and while this may be whimsical thinking on my part... that just because I have objections and questions to my past doesn't mean that I love her any less. I don't have to agree with everything she said or did, I don't have to live my life according to her rules or principles, I don't have to be who I thought she wanted me to be. I could just be me and that was ok. I could make the changes, and have the doubts, and propose the questions, and do the work and it wasn't for anybody but me. I didn't have to live in this bubble that I had created out of fear of not being good enough. And that was ok. There was no reason to feel guilty about it... it was just... ok.
I often ask myself if Momma would be proud of me. Because I think a little part of me will always want her to be proud of me. And honestly, the answer is always vague. Do I think she would like the decisions I've made, the ways I've changed? The clothes I wear, the tattoos I have, the stance I take with other people? The questions I ask or the opinions I'm now free and easy with? And the answer to that is simply no. I don't for one second kid myself into thinking Momma would like this from her daughter. She was amazing but she was also stubborn and liked things her way. You know that old saying "my way or the highway"? Yeah, Elizabeth Ann coined that phrase, I'm sure of it. So no, I think she would have a whole lot of opinions on the way her daughter goes about her life.
But also, as a person? Someone she just looked at and thought to herself, that's a good one? I could laugh and hang out with and love and be around that person? I think she would look past all of it and see me as a person and like me. The things I've overcome, the way I've managed and dealt, the love I have for the life I live, and the way I choose to treat people. She may not have wanted it from her daughter but as a person? Yeah, I think she would be really proud of me.
And one day, I realized that was enough for me. I didn't have to be perfect and live in any certain image. Because deep down I try to be a good person. I make mistakes and I have flaws and I am so far off the perfect spectrum I can't even see it in my rearview. And all of that was ok because I not only found my way through but I continue to try and keep finding my way through.
I thought about it and I had never really stopped to ask myself if I was happy. Sure, I felt happiness throughout my life but I had never really stopped to consider if I was happy to my core. I had apparently been in survival mode for so long that basic emotions seemed like a foreign concept to me. And once I decided that the only way I was going to be able to move forward was to try and find my happy the rest kind of just fell into place.
Am I all cured and mentally stable? Nope. But am I happy and trying my best? Yes. And yeah, that's enough.
With all that being said, I feel like I should say I do think Momma is with me on the regular. Whether she approves or not, she's there. Like she always was. Today on my way home for lunch, while driving through an intersection, a woman ran a red light and almost hit me. At the last minute the car in front of me decided to hit their brakes and turn left and therefore, took the hit to their front instead of what would have been my drivers side door. And I can't help but to think, if that wasn't Momma, it sure as hell is a coincidence that I got that "lucky" on her birthday.
Happy Birthday, Momma. I love you so much it hurts and I miss you every single day. I sure do hope my Tayder is keeping you in good company and you're as happy and feel as amazing as you possibly can. Because you deserve it. Any and everything I could never give, you deserve. That and so much more. Don't worry about me, I'm tough as nails and we both know you didn't raise no quitter (and if you did, it was definitely my brother). Thanks for keeping an eye out for me and I'll continue to try and be happy. Because I know no matter what, you always wanted that for me. I love you, Momma.
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