trying this one more time…

Posts tagged ‘grief’

the week is over…

or is it?

I started the last post with the intention of writing on this. And that grief story of my Mom’s last Mother’s Day gift spilled out- as did my tears and I cried inappropriately at work, harder than I have here ever.  [and while writing this post I cried a bunch again. My office door is going to need to stay shut for a while now, as I do not cry gracefully :S hopefully office neighbors couldn’t hear all the nose blowing…oh well]

The lesson I learned about my grief this year was through a fight with poor Greg. He’s been great this past week- giving me tons of space if I asked or being there to hang out even if I think he’d rather be watching baseball. He didn’t force conversations but would have listened had I wanted to talk. All in all it went pretty well.

Friday came and went. We traveled to see my favorite band play a double set concert in Chicago on Saturday and it was amazing. On Sunday we were both home, a little tired from the night before’s outtings and Greg got frustrated.  Now, I still maintain my innocence in what started this fight. While at times, I am definitely known for not knowing when I’m hungry and suffering from a Krings tradition of getting incredibly grumpy from not eating. That does happen to me, and I know I’m not fun to be around then. That said, this did not happen on Sunday, but Greg got mad at me for not making myself a meal.

Greg does almost all the cooking at our house. He’s great at it, and often really enjoys it as a hobby. I do understand that he doesn’t always LOVE cooking- but he would almost always rather prepare something for a meal instead of snacking on something easy or throwing together a sandwich.

Me? Not so much. I’d rather have a bowl of cereal. Thats about all there is to it for me. I don’t like to do dishes so why would I dirty them. I’m not that picky- I can eat the same thing multiple meals, multiple days in a row and be quite content.

On Sunday, Greg got mad at me for feeling like he had to make me lunch or I wouldn’t eat or I would just have cereal or… whatever. I don’t know really.I’m not sure quite where it came from, but I felt awful that he would think I was that demanding. We have different food standards, and meal concepts, and while I always appreciate the delicious meals he prepares, it is always fancy to me, because I could have had cereal and been happy. I came into the kitchen to help clean up dishes from before we left for the concert and he left the kitchen. I was a little hurt, but did all the cleaning myself and then left the room. He went back into the kitchen and started cooking. I was more hurt by his obvious avoidance, and went into our room to hide about it a little. I didn’t want to be blowing things out of proportion, but I was definitely feeling like he was mad, and not telling me. And when he came and found me, he was mad. He was mad for the things he built up in his head that I must have thought. I’ve been there before too- its why communication is important. Anyways, so we were having it out. Greg’s built up Holly was quite the bitch and that really hurt me. I didn’t understand what I had done wrong or why he was so mad or being angry at me. I was hurt. Actually, the situation ended that day with me apologizing for things I didn’t do or say, and him not apologizing for attributing those horrible things to me. I don’t know if he realizes he didn’t apologize or own any of it, but I do and that is still hanging with me about it a little.

Anyways, the fight is not the point of this post. What came out of it, when I was “done” with my grieving week, is that he can’t be mad at me about how I learned to take care of myself. Growing up, both my parents ran their own businesses. This was different for my siblings where my mom stayed home and did things like, make cookies or doughnuts for them as after school snacks (and taught my siblings a lot of these kitchen skills). Me, not so much, and that was fine. As I got older, my mom got sick. She sold her business and focused on taking care of her. Makes sense,we all did. And I don’t regret it or wish it happened differently. But I did start taking care of myself, and my meals at around age 15. I ate a lot of freezer food, sandwiches, cereal and take out. Thats what I knew how to do. And that didn’t change much as I aged. Especially in that, once I was living on my own and out of the dorms, I developed a serious stomach condition where everything but liquids made me sick. Cooking was never a skill I learned, nor had motivation too.  Anyways, realizing this about myself was important I think for both Greg and me. I cannot fault myself for the circumstances where one generally learns these skills, and therefore, neither should he. I now understand that its probably because of these circumstances that I avoid cooking so much. My hatred for grocery stores and shopping isn’t just a dislike for florescent lights but likely stems from the fact that that was my job once my mom got too sick. It was a task that caused me a lot of anxiety as I didn’t quite know what was needed ever and I got a lot of pity stares from the small town people who felt bad that I had to take over this chore. Whatever, not that big of a deal, but I’m sure that is where my anxiety reaction to stores stems from.

I don’t have a lot of patience, in general. I hate being bad at things, feeling incompetent and messing up. Those are things that make me feel badly about myself. Combined those with the grief realizations I had, and I now understand my food reactions a little better. I hope Greg does too, so we can avoid the built up frustration spaces that allow us to think such horrible untrue things. It is something I’m willing to work on, and these realizations do help. Awareness is always better. But I know I need to learn it in a safe place, where I don’t have to feel shame if I screw up- which is my natural reaction. Hopefully its something I can learn from Greg and it can be fun… but I see the challenges of that too. Anyways, something to think about and something I learned from my “grief week” this year.

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Eight years

In the past eight years so much has happened.

  • I graduated high school
  • I got a tattoo
  • I moved away for the summer
  • I started college.
  • I had my own first scary medical experience.
  • My Dad had cancer.
  • I changed colleges; moved states.
  • I changed my life plans.
  • I made new, better best friends.
  • I became a pot head.
  • I started volunteering in a field that would late direct my first career moves/educational paths.
  • I was a leader at everything I joined.
  • I got a kitten that I sillily named Spanish who now mostly goes by The Chicken unless she is in trouble 🙂
  • I lost touch with my high school friends.
  • I was raped twice.
  • I held different jobs.
  • I found a love for my frisbee golf hobby.
  • Most of my friends left the town where I lived.
  • I traveled to Washington, Idaho, Oregon, Texas, Colorado, Wyoming.
  • I graduated college with an acceptable GPA (over 3.5) and therefore with honors.
  • I got and kicked ass at my first professional job.
  • I had a major illness that went undiagnosed for over a year. I had two major surgeries, one still technically experimental. I advocated for my own medical rights.
  • I stood up to my superiors based on ideals, even though it was not the best move politically.
  • I met a boy who changed my life.
  • I feel in love.
  • I changed my life plans, goals for a boy- something I never thought I would do and have  not regretted once.
  • I was proposed to.
  • I live(d) with said boy.
  • I moved to a place I had only visited for a  total of 40ish hours.
  • I moved across the country with only a car load and my cat (the movers and the boy came soon later)
  • I was unemployed and depressed.
  • I am waging my way through a new professional environment and dynamic.
  • I don’t talk to my family nearly as much as I did 8 years ago.
  • I am an adult now. At 18, I was lost.
  • I’m starting a graduate program for the love of the field, the work, and certainly not for the money.
  • I have serious intentions of babies- something I swore up and down at 18 that I wouldn’t ever have
  • I traveled to Illinois, Wisconsin (duh 🙂 ), and Washington DC.
  • My worldview has changed. My religious beliefs have changed. My world it self has entirely changed.
So much has changed since my mom died that I wonder what is the same. The intangibles. I don’t even know.
This is the first time I have cried today. The sun shiny morning made me think that I could focus on celebration of her memory alone. And then the icefog at work chilled me out a bit (apologies for the pun 🙂 )  I opened this blog with the intention of posting a picture that now has no business being here, and this is what spilled out. Grieving is good, I keep telling myself. Even though I slightly feel that with each remembrance, the memories slightly fade and blur. We’ll see.

it is everywhere

This is the week of the year I can’t escape, wish or smoke away. I can’t ever ignore it, celebrate it or wallow in my grief. Yesterday was Mother’s Day and in 4 more short days it will be the 8th anniversary of my Mother’s death. I just had to count it out to eight two times to believe myself.  It certainly doesn’t feel fresh anymore, but 8 years seems like its been too long already. Not that one day wasn’t too long without my Mom… i don’t know. This is probably not a smart post to be writing at work with my office door open, as I’m already fighting back tears. But that’s just it. I don’t even know why I feel sad today. I mean, if anything, I should feel sad that my Mom has passed but I can’t say that is just it that’s behind the tears welled within my eyes. That is obviously horribly sad but not what I feel this week. I can hardly imagine what things would be like if she was alive today. I have no idea if I would be here, be with Greg, be doing the work that I do. I just can’t say. Her death changed me in ways that nothing else has and there’s just no going back. I can however, liken my life to those whom I am close to whose mother’s did not die too young at only 50 years old. I can liken my life to theirs, and imagine my Mom in the role their maternal parent takes, but only for a minute before I second guess. Because I truly have no idea what it would be like for her to still be here. I’m pretty sure that is the saddest thing.

Now I am officially out of kleenex at my desk and for that reason, along with a million others inside me, thats all for now.