Content note: parental death (past) and mention of depression

Hi friends – I wrote this for myself today as part of journaling. As soon as I finished writing it, it felt like a weight shifted. It didn’t become lighter, but it became easier to carry. I don’t know if it will help anyone facing similar feelings of grief, but in any event, it doesn’t hurt to put it here.

This morning, I didn’t want to get out of bed. This isn’t uncommon – I’m a night owl with insomnia and detest mornings.

Once I was upright, I didn’t want to wash my hair, get dressed, or put makeup on. Again, not incredibly uncommon seeing as I work from home and I had no Zoom calls on my calendar. 

I ate a slow breakfast and then plopped on the couch to finish reading a book I’d started last night. It wasn’t particularly riveting, but I didn’t have the energy for anything else. 

I had a workout on the calendar today, but my body feels tight, heavy, and wary. The last thing I wanted to do was week 4 of a weight training program.

All day, I blamed laziness, procrastination, and depression – the latter of which has been more present lately, but not unmanageable. (Not to worry, I have professional help for it!)

Then, looking at the calendar, I realized that those probably aren’t the reasons for the lack of grit today. It’s April 1st. Today marks the 17th anniversary of the hardest week of my life. 

• April 1st is not April Fools Day to me. Instead, it was the day my mom was admitted to the hospital.
• April 2nd was the day the nurses told me I probably shouldn’t leave her bedside because the end was near. 
• April 3rd was the day she died, taking a part of me with her.
• April 4th was the day I picked out her funeral plot and headstone, filled with remorse that I didn’t know her wishes and embarrassed that I couldn’t afford anything more grand.
• April 5th will always be my birthday, but it hasn’t felt like a day for celebration since she passed.
• April 6th was when I went to my first funeral, which happened to be for the most consequential person in my life.
• April 7th is a blank spot in my mind. I don’t know what I did or how I felt other than empty and tired.

I wish I could say that it’s felt less significant or burdensome after all of this time, and making it through the week has gotten easier. Not really. Time HAS made it possible for me to be a more functional human during the week, but it hasn’t healed all wounds. Time has also offered perspective: I have so much compassion for my 26-year-old self losing a 50-year-old mom from young onset Parkinson’s Disease. I did the best I could, and must hold on to that knowledge: it has a funny way of slipping away from me when I need it most. 

I’ll be 43 this year. My mom was 43 when I last recognized her as the mom I grew up with. I went to college, and she divorced my dad and moved to a different state. Her mind, body, and voice quickly deteriorated after that. By the time she was 46, she was living in a nursing home. I may feel some type of way about 43 at some point, but today I just wanted to acknowledge that it’s April 1st. 

Maybe facing the week head-on today will help me make it through with a little more self-compassion. Maybe it won’t. In any case, I think reflection is better than suppression.