Sometimes I have this feeling, this urge to say something to someone. But every time I try to find the right time to say it, the right person to listen, the moment that feels right, it’s..just not right. Sometimes this goes on for a couple of hours. Sometimes this goes on for days, occasionally weeks and rare cases months. The desire never goes away. The underlying feeling that the words stuck in my head need to be said. There is time that I feel as if I am being slowly driven insane. I never find the right person to tell my words too. And when I really let go, when exhaustion has claimed me and all sanity gone I realize why I can never find the person who will listen. I realize that the answer has been in the forefront of my mind since the thought began. That it was my very mind who filed the thought away so I wouldn’t connect the dots to the answer. Because the answer is so much harder than the notion that I have no one to tell. The truth for once is just too much and my brain shields me from it.
The person who listens, the person who these words are for is no longer here. She is Renée. She is my Mother. She is someone special to each and everyone who knew her. And she is gone. She has been gone for a while now. But every time I have something important to say, it is her that I desperately wish I could tell. I now know that few people take the role that Mom did for me. That all the people in the world and only a few do for their people what she did for me. She could listen to your hopes and dreams and be with you all the way without putting her ideas on top of yours. She could listen to the most far-fetched idea, and you would come away feeling that there was a new hope that it could be true. Nothing was ever stupid or too little in her eyes. Somehow she inspired people to move mountains. Mom might not have had a strong academic gift in the general sense, but you knew she understood things way beyond what most of the ‘geniuses’ do.
To say there is a hole where she used to just sit and listen in my life…is possibly the biggest understatement I have said yet. Even with the wonderful family members and amazing friends I’ve known, there are some things that I really just want to tell one person and one person only. But she isn’t here. So I put it the side. Something about we have to live life and all that jazz. But on nights like this, it comes up. I can write like I am now, and I might feel a teeny bit better. I can call someone who knew Mom as well as me and basically blab about how I wish I could talk to her. I could draw and turn my mind completely away from the pain. But it never changes. The way I feel doesn’t change. Many told me that first year that things would be better someday. Mostly I believe we are all better at hiding our pain. But it hasn’t changed for me. I don’t think it’s changed for anyone in my family, just buried deeper. I don’t want people to see or understand anymore, I now know they cannot. No matter what they have had happen, they won’t quite get my story. A part of me realizes that it is good that this kind of darkness hasn’t touched many. It doesn’t help with the selfish part that is me trying to survive this pain. It just is, my own sort of hell I guess. I know my brothers bare this too. All we can say to each other is ‘me too’ with a slight shrug. The way of those who beyond words
Years and the feeling hasn’t changed a bit. It sits where my heart is supposed to be solid and strong. I think it’s in pieces. It just festers with the knowledge that this pain and guilt is my reality.
I hope everyone finds there ‘person’ they talk too. And they are something like Mom.