Hurting

Confession: I am a friggen mess. Usually over the span of 24 hours I am angry, sad, depressed, anxious, bitter, melancholy, tired, achy, tense, overwhelmed, overstimulated, guilty, worried, cranky, sorry, grateful, and irritable with the more than occasional hot flash. Some days I can't stand to be me and prefer to keep my nightmare mood swings to myself. I have been assured by professionals that this will pass. I am desperately counting on it.

We are holding a memorial service for my mother and brother at the end of the month. That, in addition to the upcoming one year anniversary of my brother's suicide is taking a toll on my mental health. I have to keep reminding myself that it will get better.

The service will be held at the church where my parents were married. I've heard wonderful things about the pastor who will be performing the service but I've never met him and he did not know Mom or Keith. He asked if I, along with other family and friends, would email him stories and background to include in her sermon. Easier said than done.

Every day I tell myself that I've got to start writing something down about my mother. I never get more than a paragraph before I completely shut down. It's just too painful. I have beautiful memories of my mother. Great stories of fun times and moments of side splitting laughter. As I'm sitting here a dozen memories flashed before me but I cannot bring myself to think of them too long, and certainly not spend the time to write them down. Once the tears start I can't control when they stop, so I do what I can to keep them from starting. Memories force me to acknowledge that my mother is really gone forever. They slap me in the face with the truth that there will be no more laughing with my mom. No more phone calls. No more hugs or smiles or goofy times. Remembering happy times is too damn hard.

On the flip side, I had very little trouble writing something down about Keith. I shared the harsh reality of my brother's life and his death. I wrote of his love for his children and also the sadness in his world. I cried while I typed and had to stop several times to catch my breath. That said, it is much more difficult to think about the good times than the bad. In my email to the pastor I told him I was still working on something for my mom, but it will come later.

The pastor called me this afternoon after he read my email about Keith. I wasn't emotionally prepared to speak to him so I let his call go to voicemail. Several hours later I listened to the message and had a bit of a breakdown. He said what needed to be said and what I needed to hear. He's a man of compassion and I have faith he will do a beautiful job on the sermon.

This is all so hard. Every single bit of it. I go to suicide support meetings every month and see my therapist weekly. I thought I was handling things 'okay' but it feels like I've only touched the surface of recovery. Trying to wrap my heart around the loss of my mother on top of everything else is simply overwhelming.

I spoke to my dad tonight after I listened to the pastor's message. It was a good chat and we both admitted that we're looking forward to the service being over with. I know it is very important for the family and will provide much healing, but honestly the day after can't come soon enough.

23 days and counting.