It’s understandable that I would be down, it’s only been a few months since we lost Papa, and this month is the six year anniversary of my own mother’s death. Six years seems like a long time and although I don’t have emotional outbursts on a daily basis I do miss her everyday. I was 35 years old when my mother passed, clearly I was well into adulthood. Adult or not, I was devastated. I spoke with her everyday, sometimes just to ask her about the weather report on the news, or to get a dinner idea. In the first weeks after she had passed I would go to pick up the phone to ask her about something, only to realize our long distance plan didn’t quite make it to the other side. It actually took months for me to stop doing that.
Of course, during those same months we were dealing with my father being diagnosed with lung cancer. In fact, his diagnosis is what may have precipitated my mother’s collapse and subsequent decline. I honestly believe that the thought of losing my father was too much for her to bear. He started chemo the day that she was transferred to hospice. In that same vein, I think my father gave up in his battle with the lung cancer because he couldn’t bear to live without her.
I was mad at both of them for a while, although somewhat indirectly, in a mostly head shaking sort of way. I was not happy with how things happened, obviously, but they did things their own way. My dad used to always tell me, “you’re making things harder than they need to be.” When I get really bogged down with all of the ‘what ifs’ I try to remember what he said. This is hard enough I don’t need to add to it.
I have these moments of sadness and depression but at the end of the day I know there is only so much I can control. I count my blessings, mainly Sully and Boo. I hug and kiss them as often as possible and try not to make things harder than they need to be.