This week has been a roller coaster. For weeks I cried every morning because I missed Mom so much and the pain was just intolerable. I don't cry every day now, more like 2/3 of them, but lately it is at night when I am trying to fall asleep that I start to remember all of the hard and scary moments of the last year. They run through my mind and I can hear all the times she screamed in fear or cried the regretful tears of a person who thought they would have more time. During the day it is easier to go on about my business, not stop and think about anything but work or tv or some dumb conversation.
When Mom was just sick but not dying or gone, I was still a good listener for my friends. They would call me to talk about their problems, and sometimes feel bad that they were unloading on someone that was obviously going through some stuff. It was a distraction for me, so I didn't mind focusing on somebody else's stuff. Now, however, I find I have very little compassion for most people's problems, unless they are as tragic as mine. I know that sounds terrible, and I really just am not used to feeling this way. I am mad that people don't know how I am feeling, but it's only because I don't tell them.
I packed up all of Mom's clothes yesterday. I made no plans to get rid of them or anything, just put them in some plastic bins. I came across her dentures again and wondered for the hundredth time what to do with them, knowing full well that I will probably keep them forever. I got together the last of the baby wipes and the monitor to give to my brother with the new baby.
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