Grief at Nearly Four Months

Writing through the month of November (I completed a draft of a novel for @NaNoWriMo) allowed an outlet for processing the loss of my mother. Writing about building community allowed me moments to reflect on how good my mother was at that, and the value she passed to me about community. Writing about memory was a way of thinking about what an odd and critical thing memory is.

December has been different. I'm still writing every day in memory of Mom, sure. And I'm honored to have passed the practice on to a friend, who is taking on her own practice (not with writing) in memory of her father who died near Thanksgiving. That sharing of grief has been powerful, to me.

As I went through the first Hanukkah without my mother. She made Hanukkah so special. I feel like Hanukkah was definitely missing something this year, like I was just going through the motions, trying to make it special, but not quite succeeding.

Twenty years ago this month, during the holiday of Hanukkah, my brother died. This year I have thought about him and Mom meeting up in Olam Haba, having a conversation, reconnecting, connecting spiritually perhaps in a way they never could in life. My grief for him was enhanced this year by Mom's death, and my memories of and compassion for her deepened as the two losses mingled in my heart.

Today, as I drove through my neighborhood, I remembered a friend who lived a few blocks away, one of Mom's favorite people in the world, someone special to our whole family. She died a few years ago - I can't even remember - and sadly her husband moved out of the neighborhood before we moved in. Today, I imagined Mom and Lois meeting in Olam Haba. Again, a mingling of losses.

So here's my big confession. With all that, I haven't been crying since Mom died. Maybe the first couple of days I cried a little. I have worried at how few tears I have shed - been embarrassed by their absence. I know grief doesn't happen in a certain way. I know I grieved many pieces of the loss before she died - her loss of voice, a loss of relating on a certain level. Still, even as friends and colleagues have counseled me not to, I have felt guilty about not crying.

Yesterday, I cried. It was a silly thing - a friend's post on FB about a mom being surprised by a son returning home, bringing an adopted child, a grandchild. But there I was, in tears - for a good twenty minutes.

I miss my mom. Terribly. I have a hard time looking at her picture, because I miss her so. Writing helps me to hide my grief, to keep me busy, to get me through, as it were, as much as it helps me feel like I am honoring Mom's memory. Indeed, the honor almost comes out as a bit of excuse to write, where the writing itself seems an escape - into characters, ideas, story.

After nearly four months of grief, I sense I am only just beginning. Yes, I have grieved before - I have lost favorite people - friends, a brother, grandparents. Each loss has been different, and grief comes back again in waves, as it did this week for my brother Ben and for my friend Lois. It is sure to be that way as I continue to remember Mom, through this first year without her and in every year to come. Grief simply is.