On Good Friday of this year, my grandma died. She was in her 90s and it was expected, but it was still hard. She had been in hospice care, and my mom and my aunt were there by her side until the end. My dad, brother, and I headed out that weekend for support and the funeral.
I can’t imagine how hard it was for my mom to deal with that. Knowing that the end was coming but having no idea when. How much stress was she under thinking that every breath my grandma took could be her last? How many questions and doubts ran through her mind? How often did she wonder if they had made the right choice? How much guilt coursed through her thinking that there was something more they could do but weren’t doing it?
Not only is that type of situation emotional, it’s traumatic. It’s something that stays with you for a long time. Having to make those decisions and going through the heartache and pain day in and day is life changing.
Before my grandma went into hospice, I had been facing some of my own challenges. I would talk to my mom every day, sometimes multiple times a day, looking for support, advice, and empathy. She was always there to provide.
When she headed back to be with my grandma, I reduced my contact. I didn’t cut it off completely; I sent her inspirational quotes and let her know that I was there if she needed anything. I stopped talking about my problems. The last thing she needed was that on top of everything else.
It was at the moment that I realized I had been depending on my mom too much. Part of me wanted—and hoped—that she would do or say something that would make all of my troubles and issues go away. It was unfair to expect that of her—and unrealistic. I realized then that I had to figure things out on my own. I had to learn to depend on myself.
Coming to this realization was difficult. It didn’t mean I had to cut my mom out of my life completely, and it certainly didn’t negate all of the wonderful things she had done for me. But it changed her role, how I viewed her. I knew I could still talk to her and that she would still support me, but it changed how I depended on her. That was my decision. One I came to on my own. I never said a word to her.
When I went back to be with my family for the funeral, emotions were high. There was sadness, but there was also joy. Pain, but also relief. If you’ve ever experienced a death, you know that all emotions often get mixed into the moment.
I had a hard time dealing with it. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. I had no idea how to support my mom or be there for her. I felt out of place. That’s a strange thing to feel around your own family, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I did what I could, but I never felt like my actions were right or enough. I was trying to find my place after the decision I had made and working through the issues that had existed before and never went away.
A few months after the funeral, things changed again. My life spiraled further into despair. I was back to texting and talking to my mom pretty much every day. Then, she had to deal with more tragedy. So, once again, I reduced my contact and refrained from heaping my issues on top of hers.
My mom and I have always had a good relationship. She has always been my support, my inspiration, my idol. She is an absolutely amazing woman, and she has always been so strong. It was hard for me to see her hurting. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how. I did what I could, but it never felt like it was enough.
Again, on top of all of that, I was dealing with my own trauma. Not having my mom be there like she had always been in the past was hard for me to handle. It left me feeling alone and isolated. I felt abandoned.
As unfair and awful as that sounds, I can’t deny my feelings. It made me angry—both at her and at the universe. I did the only thing I could: I withdrew into myself. I cut everyone off, including my mom. I shut out the world.
When my grandma died, I lost my mom. I lost her to tragedy, grief, and stress—both hers and my own. All of those things have changed me, and they have changed her.
I don’t think either of us know how to be there for each other right now. There are hurt feelings on both sides, and we are reeling from loss.
It’s hard to lose your mom. Mine is still around physically, but there has been an emotional disconnect.
It’s probably unfair for me to be upset and angry, but I don’t know how to let it go. She is also entitled to have those feelings, and to feel lonely, isolated, and abandoned. If she feels these things, I don’t know. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she did.
Logically, I understand how terrible it is for me to feel the way I do. But at the same time, dealing with change is hard. No one is going to come out of this loss being the same person they were before. How do you negotiate that?
I want to get to know my new mom once things have calmed down. I’m sure that we can once again have a relationship and talk. But that is going to take time—for both of us.
