I’m back again. Can you tell I’m not very good at being vulnerable? I absolutely suck. I keep starting and stopping this journey and when I think I’ve gotten a handle on it, I always seem to do something that takes me several steps back. Deep down I want to and want to be able to be vulnerable and to love without so much fear, but that fear is so big that it practically stops me. Another result of this trauma.
A few days ago though, I was asked to talk about my mother and how I’ve dealt with the grief. Other questions were asked, but that was essentially the topic. I was even asked for advice. Lol. Me give advice? How can I give that when 21 years later I’m still struggling. If I think about it too much, I go right back to being that 7 year old little girl who’s life completely stopped. I hate it, but maybe I need to do more of it.
So let’s try this again.
I was sent the questions beforehand for me to go through, questions that I’ve never thought about, but would probably actually help me. So I’m gonna answer them in separate posts and hopefully this will bring me more healing. They say hurt people hurt people and I think I’ve done enough of that, so here goes nothing.
- What do you remember about your mum?
Nothing.
I never had anyone to talk to when I was younger. My dad’s just as bad with the vulnerable stuff, and at the time he put his energy into making sure everything else was good. I think I’ve said this in previous posts, but I started living with one of my mum’s friends. I stayed with her on the weekends and stayed with my dad on the weekdays for school. Even school holidays I was with her, because I vividly remember her helping me get ready for a holiday to New York my dad and I were taking one year. My life was split between two homes, but I loved it. Our home felt very empty without mum there, so having the distraction of other people was comforting. This meant though that I pushed my mum to the furthest part of my mind and left her there.
After a while, I couldn’t remember her. Dad gave me all her pictures and I pushed them so far under my bed that I forgot about them. My mind subconsciously blocked out all those years, so I don’t remember a thing. What I do remember? I remember that last year. I remember my last birthday with her. I remember waking up one night to her screaming in pain. I remember her going into hospital and never coming out. I remember being told she died and how I was told. I remember my cousins coming over from New York for the funeral. I remember the morning of the funeral and going to the funeral home. I remember the funeral itself. I can tell you practically play by play what happened from the minute I went into that bedroom right up until me sitting watching everyone at the end of the funeral day. And then it just stops. Everything becomes patchy. The core memories most people seem to have, I don’t and I’m not sure if that’s normal. Like most people remember their childhood right?
I remember random things or remember things vaguely. Half the memories my friends have from when we were little, I don’t. And if you ask them about me, they will tell you I was there but I wasn’t there. Like I was physically there but I wasn’t really present. It’s literally a running joke I have with many of them, but there is so much truth behind it. My childhood is a blur and only really starts to come into focus maybe from when my dad remarried. Everything before that? It’s like it never happened.
I really wish I could remember my mum and actually remember the love she had for me. These days I learn about who she was through the stories people tell, which I’ve grown to love. It’s nice to hear how fond people were of her, and how much she impacted their lives. The most recent story? Her always front and centre with her camera. She apparently captured everything and with the recent church homecoming having 80% of her pictures on the walls, I would say that’s an accurate description. Her pictures filled in so many blanks and reminded people of past members they used to know. I just wish I had my own memories to hold on to. If I don’t see a picture, I don’t know it happened. And even then, what I remember is that picture. I really wish I could remember more than that, so that when people say stuff like ‘your mum would be so proud of you’ I can truly believe it. She probably would have, but not knowing that truly for myself makes that statement so hard to receive. Like yes you’re saying this, but how do I really know it’s true? I do know she loved me though. It might be hard to remember that love, but I know it’s a fact so if nothing else, I’ll hold on to that…
I hope to stick to these questions and hopefully heal some more of the wounds I have. At the very least I’d like to understand myself more and why I do certain things or am the way I am. They say talking through your problems helps you get through them, and with my struggle to physically talk, I think it’s time I get back to writing. Maybe you’ll even learn more about me. Lol because God knows I don’t volunteer any kinda information.
So here’s to starting again.
I eat cake 