|The street where I grew up|
Since that time, I've been busy, busy, busy. I had writing conferences in March, April, May, and June, and a blogging event in Chicago last week. Plus, there were several trips across the state to get my mom's house ready to be put on the market.
|My childhood home|
For some, selling a parent's house is little more than a necessary burden. For us, it is a heartbreak. I grew up in this house. Yesterday, as I drove down the street, the yellow For Sale sign ripped through me. No! I wanted to shout. You can't sell this house. Of course, I'm being emotional and totally unrealistic.
As I said, I'm by myself in my childhood home. After returning from Chicago last week, I realized it was time. Time to grieve. Time to let go. Hopefully, time to heal. You see, my busyness prevented me from experiencing the necessary steps in grief. As a result, I'm rundown (still getting over pneumonia) and depressed. I can't seem to focus. I'm tired. I have no motivation. I'm missing deadlines. Quite simply, I'm just not myself. If you've ever delayed grief, you probably understand exactly what I'm going through.
I decided the best place to grieve was in the home I was going to be parting with. I drove here yesterday, had dinner with my best friend, Dawn, and then spent the rest of the night (at least until 2 or so), screaming, crying, and calling out for my mommy. It wasn't a pretty scene and I was so thankful for air conditioning and closed windows as I threw myself across her couch, clutching her blanket to my aching chest and weeping. I gave way to the gut-wrenching sobs that have been lingering below the surface, wading in the stagnant waters of delayed grief.
This is something I could only do when I was completely alone, so I'm thankful for my husband who agreed with me when I said I had to leave him for awhile and travel this journey by myself.
I had hoped Mom would "show up" and comfort me. She didn't.
Now, I'm sitting in the kitchen listening to the clock tick off the seconds. The refrigerator hums and there is tapping on the keyboard as I write. Other than that, silence. The silence my mother listened to night after night, week after week, month after month, when she was all alone. When I was too busy to visit; when I couldn't take a week off and come to Manheim to spend time with her... but now am finding the time to come and grieve her. It breaks my heart.
"I'm sorry, Mommy," I cried over and over last night. "I'm so, so sorry."