I have neglected this blog for quite a while. The reason I started writing in the first place was to write openly and honestly about the grieving process, in the hopes that it would not only help me, but someone else who possibly stumbled across it and found a connection to their own story.
My absence here has been due to the fact that I felt — at least at this point — that I have said everything I needed to say. I have become somewhat closed off, not wanting to open up about my grief. It feels like a broken record to me, with the same themes repeating over and over again. I have become all too familiar with the themes, and the thoughts, and the struggles. There was nothing new to say. So I stayed quiet.
But there is an entire, foundational portion of my grief that I have ultimately never given a voice to — the days my mom spent in the hospital. The stories are there, and the memories. They bounce around in my head all of the time. They lurk over my shoulder, and I have not known what to do with them. It feels morose to share the specifics as a factual account, and most of the people who want to hear the ugly details have either heard them, or were there when they happened. The rest either knowingly or unknowingly recoil when I do reminisce. And I’m sure others avoid the topic so as to not upset me. And I understand that.
But these memories and these moments made me. I am a different person than I was before my mom got sick. I ultimately have more anguish over the moments that made up the last few months of my mom’s life, than I do over the nearly three years since she died.
When my mom was in the hospital, I kept a journal. My dream, which I reference more than a few times, was to share the journal with her when she recovered. But that day never came, and the raw emotions and reactions are stuck on pieces of paper, and stuck in my mind.
But that journal is some of the best, most honest writing I have ever done. So I will share those moments here, on this blog. My hope is that it will give a voice to a part of myself that I have never really given the respect of acknowledging. I hope that it will be a new phase of progress for me. And I also hope that someone who is hurting and grieving and feeling alone will stumble across it, and feel connected.
There are parts of some of the entries that I will omit, and a lot that is deeply personal and emotional. It flips between hopeful one day, and devastated the next. It speaks, at times, in a few medical terms that I learned along the way (which I will try to explain when necessary.) It spans the time my mom fought to recover from a deadly flu, starting a few days after she went into the hospital, and ending at about 4 a.m. the morning after she died.
I’m not sure how long it will take to write it all up, but I intend to keep at it until it’s finished, and hopefully find it to be worthwhile.