December 2, 2012

Five Years: How Did I Get Here?

Dear Mom,

Five years. Five long, short, devastating, exhilarating, empty, fulfilled, blurry, memorable years without you.

I'll just come right out and say it. Enough with the excuses. It's not that I don't have the time to write, or that I have nothing left to say, or that I've found closure... it's that I honestly can't bring myself to log on anymore. I don't want to talk about your death anymore. I don't want to think about cancer anymore. I don't want to be reminded of life's struggles anymore. I just want to be feel normal; it's been five years! Shouldn't I feel normal again?

I'm frustrated because I know now that I'll never feel like my old self again. My heart will always, always, feel a void. And it breaks me.

I thought finding love would fill me-- and it does-- but then I'm left dreaming of what it would be like to see the two of you getting to know each other, exchanging quick-witted jokes, laughing, and loving me together. I thought moving away would separate me from the hurt, but it only does so in a physical sense, and I'm left missing my family, my old friends, our home, and feeling that closeness to the life we had together.

It's been five freaking years. How did I get here? It's truly such a blur, yet if I had another day with you I could fill it with the most incredible details of the life I've made for myself since the day I lost you.

I think the only thing I've really come to terms with is this:

Those random times I go from laughing to an absolute monumental meltdown; those nights I toss and turn and still recall so vividly the way you smelled and your warmth when you hugged me; those damn episodes of Grey's Anatomy that leave me a sobbing mess on the couch because it triggered a memory; those days I just have absolutely no idea which road is best for me and would give anything to hear your wisdom... Those moments aren't a sign of weakness; I know that now. Instead, those moments are a clear and direct reflection of the utterly amazing woman you were and just hard difficult-- no, impossible-- it's going to be to ever, ever stop missing you.

I love you,
Sami

7/19/1962 - 12/2/2007

4 comments:

  1. Oh Sami, I remembered it was around this date in December when your mom died, so thought I'd drop by to see if you posted something. I guess I was off by a few days. Five years is a major milestone for sure, but of course the void will remain forever. The loss of your mom is a forever loss and you will miss her always. Big hugs.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Hello Sami, I found your blog and loved it. My mom passed away on November, 3, 2009, and we were very close and big friends. It is soooo hard. What an amazing woman she was. And I miss her so much! :-(

    ReplyDelete
  3. Dear Sweet Sami,
    I am the age your Mom was when the horrible disease of ovarian cancer took your Mom from this world. That frightens me. It also makes me sad. And extremely angry.

    I hate ovarian cancer. 40 days ago it took my Mom from me. While she was older than your Mom was (my Mom was 70) the pain of losing her is still so very deep. My Mom was my best friend. She was my confidant, my encourager, my cheerleader, my #1 fan, my prayer warrior, my motivator, and my hero. She was everything in a person that I hope to be.

    Unlike your Mom, OC took my Mom quickly. She lived 44 days after being told she had it. For 44 days she was confined to a hospital bed or hospice bed being completely dependent on my Dad and me; while he and I struggled to treat the side effects of the cancer.

    When she was diagnosed I told her cancer wasn't a "sissy disease" and that she was going to have to fight hard. She said, "okay honey. I will try my best." I believe with everything inside of me that she meant that, but sadly the cancer wasn't moved by the chemo. My Mom had no other choice but to lay and wait for the cancer to take her life. During those 44 days I watched the cancer do horrible things to my Mom's body, and when those things happened I would see this beautiful person, the woman who gave me life, who had been the rock of our family, who had been a faithful follower and lover of Jesus Christ, and who had been a devoted friend to many, look at me with a sad and desperate look in her eyes as tears rolled down her cheeks. And more times than none I would have to go outside to catch my breath.

    My Mom was completely healthy up until the day she was told she had OC. She was not a candidate for ovarian cancer and didn't have any of the risks. She mildly experienced one of the symptoms for two to three week before she went to her doctor. Ovarian cancer is known as the silent killer. This is definitely true in my Mom's case.

    Outside of having ovarian cancer our Moms had something else in common. I, too, used to write notes and letters to my Mom. The last letter my Mom received from me is also placed neatly on top of her beautiful folded hands in the casket where her body lays. Writing a good-bye letter to the woman who gave you life felt unnatural, and cruel.

    When I came across your blog (probably by doing a google search on daughters whose grief is, at times, overwhelming because the evil disease of ovarian cancer took their precious mom from this world) and began reading your story the already broken pieces of my heart shattered for you and broke some more. I will never understand why bad things happen to good people, but as I told Mom in my good-bye letter that while I didn't want to lose her, my pain was eased by knowing that the moment she entered into God's glory she would begin receiving her rewards as she would be instantly reminded of all the lives she touched while on earth, and because it brought me comfort I couldn't help but believe that her greatest reward would be the one she earned for being my Mom and for the enormous impact she had on my life. Although I don't know you or your beautiful Mom; I have to believe that your Mom's greatest reward was also the one she received for being your Mom.

    From the bottom of my broken heart I sincerely wish you days of gentle healing that bloom into a life of sweet blessings. But mostly I wish for you a lifetime of daily awareness of your Mom's presence and the beautiful sound of hearing her voice whispering that she loves you.

    It's the same I wish for myself.

    ReplyDelete
  4. hello, ive never been on thissite before, but on nov. 19,2012 my mom passed away from lung, brain, heart and kidney cancer. She was my world, i feel so empty without her, i just wish i could call her and talk to her...i miss her so much...

    ReplyDelete