The Weight of Grief

Suddenly, I'm an orphan.

On September 25, 2022, my father fell and died of "complications from subarachnoid hemorrhage" and on March 15, 2023 my mother died suddenly of heart failure.

Between feeling the losses of both parents and dealing with the estate (thankfully with my sister) it's been difficult to figure out how I feel about any of this in the moment, let alone long-term.

I'm grateful that I was with my father when he died. My mother and sister were there but I was with him all day during the week leading up to his death. Being with him, holding his hand, gave me a lot of closure even though he couldn't speak. He knew I was there, we were able to communicate, and he told me what he wanted: for us to stop trying to help him live, and for me to get my mom and sister to the hospital so they could say goodbye.

My sister and I didn't have the opportunity to say goodbye to mom. It's not a deep regret per se, but I do wish we'd been there. We were told they were running tests, not that she was going to die. Had we known that it was end of life care, we would have been there with her when she left.

Her funeral was six months to the day of my dad's death.

Now we're dealing with going through probate (I should have been a lawyer for sure), dealing with mom's antiques (and therefore The Public, i.e. the CHEAPEST ASSHOLES ON THE FACE OF THE PLANET), and all the administrative details surrounding bank accounts, utilities, and the like. I am fortunately a talented administrator and my sister is a meticulous tidier so we're well-suited to our respective tasks, but we both deal with grief in vastly different ways.

I don't like feeling vulnerable in front of people, so I stick to practicalities, like writing the eulogy for my parents that I delivered at my mom's funeral thing. Unfortunately this practicality translates to what most people would call "glib and emotionless." People won't see a weeping orphan, staring blankly at the wall. I'm laughing, making jokes, playing hostess to everyone kind enough to come in order to distract myself and reassure everyone else that I'm like, totally fine. My friends know this about me. They don't worry that I'm not ~reacting correctly~ and they just pick up whatever needs doing and let me do my thing, trusting that I will talk to them about my feelings if/when I need to, but I don't take comfort in being comforted. This is usually because people who don't know me well are constantly using platitudes. "They're in a better place." No, they're dead, which is better than in pain, but.... When someone tries to comfort me in that way, I immediately want to tell them they did a great job, I'm totally fine, you did awesome at comforting, yay! It's bullshit and it's an inconvenient personality trait, the one where I hate to let people down no matter what.

My sister is similar, but less aloof I think. She's more focused and while she still searches for distractions that are useful, her grief seems to be very defensive, like she's protecting something fragile, and while she's actually going through it, she doesn't want anyone to touch it. I wish we could talk about our grief but I don't want to give her something else to worry about (both our parents had chronic health issues and now I do too).

Over Mother's Day weekend, I spent three days just crying. Not just because of my mom (though that was most of it) but because of other (read: medical) stuff. There are really specific things that will just make me sob: saying or thinking "I miss my mom" (I keep wanting to text her or call her and I can't anymore) or seeing a candid photo of her teasing my dogs (they'll never be petted by her again) or walking through the flowers for sale at the grocery store (she was a total green thumb and every petal and scent reminds me of her) or watching literally any media that was made between 1985 and 2015 (why does everything from this period have major parental issues??) because all of it involves at least one dead parent.

Being on my patio makes me sad because my mom came to my new apartment a couple of times and LOVED sitting out here, just looking at the sky and the mountains. Losing her has also kind of recontextualized my entire childhood. The lengths she went to to support us and give us everything she could, the effort she put into everything she did. Everyone who has spoken to us about our mother has said the same thing: that she was an incredibly meticulous woman and that she was life-changingly thoughtful. My dad was also meticulous and incredibly funny. Going through old photos I'm finding pictures of me as a little kid, and my dad is showing me how to make pancakes or helping me open Christmas presents and I wish I could remember that version of him

If I could be remembered half as well, my life will have been a success.

Today is my 41st birthday and I didn't wake up to an enthusiastic text from my mom wishing me a happy birthday with every suitable emoji she could find and/or a well-chosen gif. I don't get to talk to her today. I'm never going to get another birthday card (or any card) from her ever again. I can't call her to chat or help her with technology. I can't hug her or make her laugh. Leading up to today I thought I'd be okay, but I'm not. I can't stop crying.

This grief feels like a backpack on my chest that I forget I'm wearing and then I have to add to it and it's twice as heavy before. Every memory is a stone. Every "oh yeah they're dead, I can't ____" is a stone. Every photo is a stone. Every antique I kept is a stone. Every reminder is a stone. The smell of sawdust is a stone. The smell of flowers is a stone. And I can't take off this backpack I just have to learn how to carry it and I don't even know where to begin.

All I can really do is try to honour their memories but right now I feel like my body is creaking and I never want to love anyone or anything like I loved my parents ever again because this pain in my chest hurts so much and I can't take another one.

There's a scene in Buffy the Vampire Slayer from an episode called The Body (season 5 episode 16, one of the best pieces of television ever made) where Buffy finds her mom dead on the couch from an aneurysm. Anya has a monologue that I've thought of constantly and it's appropriate here, unfortunately.

Anyway, finding the balance between grieving and breaking down is really hard and my backpack is super full and I haven't learned how to carry it yet.

I miss my parents. A lot. And my heart is broken.