My mother passed on March 27 (not thid year of last). I still can't believe my indifference. You know, blog, I am a private person. Yes, I blab a lot, but not about private things. I am constantly surprised and feel a crushing of spirit when people take me for granted. It's not good to judge others, but so many people do just that. Why, I ask. Is it other people's business to know about my feelings, and the relationship I have.
Who can know what I know, what I've experienced growing up, or how much I love someone. My mother and I had ups and downs throughout life just like any mother and daughter. But as adults, we understood each other. We weren't best friends. We didn't confide in each other or comfort each other.
Sad, but true that it is not what you do then, but what you do now that matters. In the last years of my mother's life, as she grew older and had much of the typical issues that an older woman has… I was a goof daughter. She lived alone and relatives who used to visit often grew tired and impatient. Not one of those were there to help her clean and converse.
I believed I changed her lonely time to joyful times. I listened as she spoke of past memories and current disappointments. I felt her sorrow and her sadness. It was good moments in our mother daughter relationship, if I could really say that.
When I learned she was hospitalized, I was devastated, but hopeful. She had been there before. But the avalanche started. People (they know who they are) acted as if it was more important to play the role of concern. Where were they in the weeks and months before? Limited. Sporadic. Seldom.
I am a private person, and those who know me should know this. They either ignored my feelings, didn't care about my feelings, or purposely stepped on my heart on the way to their own self-indulgence. What does that say about them?
It was only days later when she passed. I fell into sort of a coma that was worsened by people telling me how to feel and what to do.
Once again, people made wrong assumptions. I felt as if I was being flung into a mud pit of harsh judgements that made me want to run for my life.
How come people, especially relatives who are not my mother's flesh and blood daughter, think that they have a glimmer of a thought as to how I feel about my mother and this loss. No one can know, yet those posers butt into my business, my heart and my spirit.
I am my mother's youngest daughter, but I am not a child. I was not a gift born to her on Mother's Day. But did anyone consider my feelings? Did anyone make a genuine effort to find out what I wanted? Did anyone give me even a little time to process this loss? It is an outrage that my mother was buried without my input. Come' on. Common courtesy? No. Not one person asked me anything. I am still devastated how thoughtless, nee hateful, some relatives are. I still suffer.
We each grieve in different ways. It is my right to cloak my real feelings and hide my watered eyes. It is not my responsibility to explain my feelings of loss. Is it right for other people to force me into a box where they decide how I should feel and how I should behave? Judgement. Insult. Intrusion. I suffer quietly. Privately.
My mother lived a full life. I told her I loved her many times. I have many cards and notes from her, as well as books full of pictures. Even so, I know there is more I wished I could say but for one more day.
Mothers deserve respect. Daughters, too. That's it, blog.
