5 Years Later

I had a conversation with someone once about the philosophical question of what happens to you when you die? His claim was nothing. No afterlife. No reincarnation. Nothing.

Being raised Catholic, I was taught that Heaven was the ultimate goal and resting place after you die. As a child, I imagined my loved ones hanging out all together on a cloud, watching down on the rest of us and judging our life choices. The older I get, the less I believe Heaven exists. Religious and cultural beliefs about death are just methods to cope, and I mean, I get it. How do you manage such intense longing and sadness for the rest of your life? There's no textbook answer because believe me, if there was, I would've found it by now. All I know is my mom was alive one day then gone that same night. There is nothing that will ever make me feel better about it.

My grief manifests in ways that would go undetected to a non-grieving person. I don't let people use the beach towels my mom bought me because I don't want to them to wear out as fast. I wear the white Crocs my dad found in their walk-in closet even though they're a size too big. I'm annoyed Daniel Tiger teaches children that grownups come back because I learned the hard way that sometimes they don't.

I still cry for my mother, especially in times of sadness, fear or stress. I was in a car accident on the highway last month. My body was in shock. People kept reminding me to breathe. I try not to let my mind wander to the ways in which it could've been so much worse. I was brave until the car ride to the tow lot when I sobbed on the phone to my Auntie M, wanting my mom. She said, "I know," and I didn't have to elaborate. Later that evening, I felt a familiar pressure from my sinuses down to under my eyes. The only other time I experienced that sensation was in the days after my mom died.

Sadly, good memories of my mother are hard to immediately recall. From walking on eggshells due to her unpredictable explosive anger to taking care of her physical needs and watching her deteriorate, I live in a constant state of fight or flight. I don't believe she would be happy for me. My independence was her greatest fear in terms of her own self-preservation and because growing up and moving away would have meant I didn't "need" her anymore.

Part of me is relieved my boyfriend Ryan didn't meet my mom. Unfortunately, a greater part than the one that is sad about the fact. I'm glad that Ryan knows this version of me and our relationship has been able to flourish naturally without my overbearing mother looming in the background. He is so patient and easily forgiving when I'm quickly irritated and often cranky. He challenges the not-so-great parts of me that are a direct result from my upbringing. He makes me want to be a better, healthier, more positive person. I wouldn't have met Ryan if my mom didn't die as I wouldn't have ran away to Massachusetts at the first opportunity. There isn't a version of my life where the two coexist and I think I'm okay with that.

My mother was insecure about the legitmacy of her maternity as she was unable to have biological children. She became jealous when other women showed me and my sister affection in ways that she was unable to provide, like certain gifts, experiences, or just a listening ear. I found her resentment confusing because it felt like extreme possessiveness masked as love. Now when the women in my life take care of me, I feel a twinge of guilt for accepting it because they're not my mom. Like when Auntie M holds me when I cry or Aunt Sharon tells me she'll always answer the phone no matter what time I call. And, more recently, like every time Ryan's mom feeds me homecooked meals, helps with moving apartments, and shopping for big purchases. These women are some of the only people I have to receive any resemblence of maternal energy from so I think I'll hold onto them all just a little bit tighter.

I'm not as sad as I thought I would be today. Of course I miss my mom, but I'm also furious that she left me so unequipped to figure out life without her. I don't see an end in sight for when the rage will quell, the sadness will dissipate, and the grief won't feel so heavy. I've just learned to live with it. So much has happened in the last five years and so much will continue to happen in the next five and all of these emotions and thoughts will always still be here.