Inner Ramblings

I never really got the concept of letting go. In all honesty, it scared the ever loving daylights out of me. To let go was to relinquish the hold of something once fond, loved, and brought joy. I understand when that is taken from you that you go through the process of grief and acceptance of the fact . . . but, I’ve been denying it for damn near 4 years now. To let go of her . . . makes it all the more real that she’s gone, and I’m not sure I want to accept that. Not yet, anyhow. But . . . the longer I deny it- that I hold on- the more it’s going to hurt. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, maybe I just don’t care, or maybe . . . I just don’t know. Since that fateful day, my mind has been shaped into a more defensive fortress. More walls, archers, cannons to keep anything from getting in. Since that day, any loss doesn’t seem to hold a candle to it. It doesn’t hurt as much. Maybe I’m making myself numb to all loss from here on out. I can’t seem to allow myself to uncurl my fingers and let her memory slip away. But, ironic; as much as I try to hold everything in, it’s become bigger than I, and the sheer weight of everything I try to keep holding onto is crushing me. Little snippets of memories here and there slip passed my grasp; the sound of her voice, how she looked before it all happened, the warmth of her touch, the tenderness in her hug, the comfort of her hand in mine. It’s obvious the physical aspect of it all would fade from memory because it is no longer constant. But, the more I wall myself . . . I drown. I’ve not only created a safe house . . . but also, a dam. It’s as if, if I let myself feel . . . then it really happened. She’s really gone. I know she is in my mind . . . but my heart screams for me to wake up. It pleads with bone chilling cries that this is nothing more than a bad dream, that I will wake up, and she will still be here. I find myself staring at her number in my phone, everything inside me screaming to call, but deep down I know there won’t be an answer. I will no longer hear her voice in this life. I will no longer be able to seek her comfort or affection when needed. I will no longer be able to wrap my arms around her to anchor myself on solid ground. All I have left is an urn filled with her ashes; and that fact is something that is completely baffling. How someone could fit into my arms . . . now fits into my hands. The grey sediment that is left is a harsh reminder that this . . . this is real. It is torture to my heart- to gaze down on something that it completely unrecognizable, and know . . . this is your mother. The woman who gave you life.  Funny . . . she held me in her hands at my beginning, now I can hold her in mine at her end. Just reading that, letting the realization betray my senses sink in . . . makes my heart feel as if it will explode. Tears slice through my inner self like razorblades, their salty remnants causing a sting undeniable to that of a harsh slap of reality. I feel so . . . hollow. Yet, I’ve never felt more trapped- and I know I bring it on myself. Why put myself through such insanity and just accept the fact she’s dead? Even if I explained it in a way you would a child, you still wouldn’t understand. It’s a very complex back story, one that is woven in tragic remembrance, singed with fires of the past set ablaze by yours truly. One that honestly words would fail to express. It’s just . . . me. It’s how I handle it- or, don’t, I’m not really sure at this point. To accept it with every fiber of my being is to let her go, and to let her go is to release everything I know and set her memory free from me. To . . . let her die, again. I’ve been denying it and penting it up for so long, I know it’s going to hit me like a semi once I open those floodgates. I know I should, and I know I need to- I just don’t want to. It’s not that I’m afraid of change- I’m absolutely terrified of letting go. I’ve already let go of so many, lost more than I care to admit, buried and wept more than I want to remember. Friends, family, ones dearest to my heart. I’ve lost them all in many tragic ways. But this . . . there are no losses, no words, no experiences, nothing in life will ever prepare you for the loss of a parent. I know loss- it’s been the repetitious song of my life! And even knowing she was dying and that her final day drew near- it did nothing to keep my world from falling asunder, causing me to spiral into a chaotic unknown abyss. When she did finally pass, I was at peace. I knew she no longer suffered, as was her wish with God and the relentless prayers of my family and I. Even still, the mind’s logic accepted it, no problem. My heart on the other hand. . . that’s an ongoing battle. I don’t want to feel the sting of it, I don’t want to relive it again. Losing her once was hard enough. Letting go of her completely might be more than I can bear. One day, I will gather the strength, release the hold I have, and those floodgates to the dam I have created within myself will come crashing open, and everything I have repressed will hit me like a tidal wave. My punishment for not dealing with it like I should have- but apparently, I’m not like everyone else. I’m sure most of you realize that by now. So tomorrow, I will sing the songs of sorrow. I will mourn her yet again. And I know, no matter how hard I try to keep myself together, I will fall apart miserably into a heap of sobs and tears. Even writing that makes my insides writhe in disgust. Showing emotions? CRYING?! Absurd. Yet, against my own standards I have set for myself, and against my better judgment, I know they will come- those sweet, traitorous crystals will fall from my eyes again, alleviating at least some pressure. A remedy most find comfort in, and I have utter repulsion for. Alas, my own personal squabbles with myself will have to wait a day. My inner flogging for allowing such a heinous act-my personal opinion- will commence on the morrow after the sunrise to come. My heart says this is something I need to do . . . so off I go. One day, I will find myself accepting her death. I will allow myself to mourn without a care of who sees or hears and not punish myself for it. I will release the hold I have on all the memories. One day . . . I will let her die again, for the last time.