The hardest goodbye.

This one, is gonna be a hard one, and especially this week. My mother died May 5, 2008. I found out about her death August 2009. My daughter was 8 months old. I came home one day from work and my aunt was there, with the death certificate, it listed her date of death, a name that we didn't know her by, who was there with her when she died and causes of death, cancer and emphysema. I believe I was 8 or 9 years old when she left (the time line is a little foggy but I don't really think those details are too relevant).  I remember she left in a limo. I remember a phone call about a month later where she told me she'd be back at the next holiday, which would have been my birthday. She never came back. She never called. She just disappeared. And that day in August, I learned I'd never see her again. She was gone, my questions would go unanswered, my wish for a hug, a smile, a conversation, to hear her voice, all gone. Because she was, gone. She left me hopeful for 20 years that I would see her again. I was hopeful I would find her or she would find me. I never thought that day when I was a child would be my last day. After learning the news, my family had a get together/memorial for her about a month later and then I guess I was supposed to let her go. But how, how was I supposed to let her go? I held onto hope for so long, I got used to that feeling. How do you say good bye to someone who has been gone for almost 3 times your life with them, but is actually gone now?

I walked into my therapists office a few days ago feeling like I wasn't sure what I would talk about, I had been having some confidence issues, having feelings about being proud of myself for no longer being triggered by something that was constantly making my heart race and my brain spin and my sleep sparse and then too much. And we talked about how I have this vision of my house (I have had this since the beginning, it was once a dark room where I was scared to come out from under a bed) is now almost 3/4 organized and full of light. That a little pigtailed Kristy was there, the Kristy that lived in Boston was there and present day Kristy was there. This is the first time there were more than one age of Kristy and present day Kristy. I felt like I had actually worked through some trauma and reorganized it and put it in a safe space, I can see, and I can safely feel them now. But there was still a room, a very dark room, without any windows or doors. I am very scared of it. So my therapist asked me to tell her what I thought that room held, and the first thing that came to mind was my mom. My mom was in that room. She asked me if there was another way to get in, I couldn't find one. And of course I couldn't, my mother is dead. There is no fixing that. There is no bringing her back and having a conversation. There's no one last good bye, no more hugs, no more laughing, that my memories of her when I was a child was all I have of her, my hope was gone, when she died. She knew she had cancer, she knew she was gonna die and she still chose to not contact us. That one hurts really deep. My therapist asked me if it would have even mattered what she would have said. No, it wouldn't. It would all be bullshit. I'm just sad and mad that I didn't get one last hug, smile, one last good bye. And my therapist told me that, that room represents grief. That I need to grieve her. How the fuck do I grieve her? I have known her gone far longer than anything, how do I move on from that? And if I grieve her, that means she is really gone. And I am very scared of walking into that room and getting trapped in that. I am scared that even though she has been gone for so long that she will really be gone.

My work now is to see all the Kristy's and let them have their sad/mad grief temper tantrum and hug them and love them. My rational brain knows that by doing this, the light will come into that room. And I will do it, but I am super resistant to it. And I am very scared. But like I said, I will do it. 

 "No one ever told me that grief felt like fear."  - C.S. Lewis