I do celebrate Mother's Day for those who are mothers in my world. I do not celebrate it for myself. For me, it is a time of grief. You see, I was blessed with one of those wickedly funny Southern mamas you hear about. Mine was a firecracker when she got wound up. She was a fierce defender of her family. She was also a Catholic who loved her Wiccan child. I tend to shy away from the concept of being blessed, but in this I was. 

I wrote something right after she died. This is was a true Three of Swords post. For me, Three of Swords energy is about THINKING about emotional damage, hurt, harm. I did feel betrayed by my mother when she died. How could she have left me? It wasn't fair. I had an emotional meltdown that swirled around me, me, and me. Utterly selfish in my grief--I wrote. 

Since Mother's Day (U.S) is coming up, I thought I would just put this out there. It's raw. I did not edit this other than grammar and spelling (I can't spell for love or money when I'm crying!)

July 3, 2002

I've been avoiding this.

Writing about losing Mama. Losing Mama. Sounds like I should call the parish pound to see if she turned up there. I didn't go back to the cemetery. I never saw her in place next to Pa. I guess I will do that at Thanksgiving. I don't want to. I want to pretend it never happened. Pretend she really is just out of pocket or out running the streets. That is what I would leave on her message machine if she wasn't there.

"Hey. You are supposed to be at home in bed sick not out running the streets."

Sure wish I could say that to her right now.

I miss her. I miss her more than I can admit or say. I keep filing little things that happen in the day to tell her about. Then I remember that I can't tell her about them. And then I choke up. It's one of the hardest things I've ever had to deal with. I thought losing Crouton was hard. And it was, but this is a different kind of hard. Mama cried with me when I lost my Crou-dog.

She was like that. She would cry with me, but she preferred to laugh with me. She said I was the best storyteller she knew. She loved me unconditionally in the end. She was my best friend.

My throat hurts right now. It is so tight. I know it is just because I won't allow the grief to come out, but how can I? Right now I will admit to wanting to just stay home. I am dumbstruck with grief at times and just cry because I have no room left inside for all the tears. And then I am like I am now. Full with no quiet space to release this.

I need to do a ritual but my head spins when I think of it. My mama is gone. I don't know that anyone really understands that except for those who have lost a parent who was their friend as well. And that was a forged relationship. She was not the best mother in the world. LOL, but some of her mistakes that pissed my sister off were some of my best times in the world. When she was having an affair with a married man (13 years worth) she would often drop my sister and me off at the public library for several hours. Found out later she was going to meet her lover at their rented apartment that no one knew about. They eventually were able to marry and had one of the best relationships I have ever had the privilege of seeing. And she was very critical as I was growing up. I recognized eventually that she was doing it out of fear that others might not love me as she did (for who I was) and wanted me to be the very best me I could be. She eventually realized that she was doing more harm than good and one day actually apologized to me out of the blue. Was a very weird moment in the parking lot of the Cypress Inn.

Mama is gone and I am so lost. My sister needs me and I need my sister as well, but I know being around her will shred me. R is a good human, but she is as critical as Mama ever was. And she doesn't see it yet. I know that one day she will. She tries very hard to be a good person and I think she is very successful at it most times.

And I am still avoiding talking about it, aren't I? The fact that Mama was already gone when I got there... in terms of being aware of me being there. I talked to her anyway. I've never seen anyone in a coma. I thought her eyes would be closed, but her eyelids were half-open and her eyes... her beautiful hazel eyes that I wear in my own head ... were veiled in blue. I wonder if others saw that or if it was for me to realize that her spirit was not in her body. I think her spirit was there in the room for a while. I could feel her.

She told a friend that she had been dreaming about Pa. He told her he was coming for her. She actually said on that Sunday night that Pa was coming to pick her up Thursday night. Guess when she died? That gave me comfort and strength. We are sure they are together again and I know she has been half herself without him.

I miss her so much. I want to rage at her for "catching" cancer. For having high blood pressure that ruined her kidneys. For leaving me before I was ready for her to go. As if I would ever be ready for her to go.

I just want to curl up and cry for a very long time. Instead, I am doing things. Lots of things. Just keeping myself busy so I don't' have to think about it. That is why I have been avoiding this.

Mary Lucile Johnston Lynch Paschall, November 18, 1939 - June 19, 2002. Such a bright light for too little time. I miss you, Mama.

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P.S. I still miss you 17 years later.