B- Day

Yesterday was my mom's birthday and I was so busy feeling sorry for myself that I didn't even mourn her like I usually do on this day. I tried to keep myself busy. We didn't do cake this year. I've been feeling so overwhelmed that I didn't even remember to get a cake. 

My good girlfriend texted me that her dad is dying. I feel badly for her because I know the anvil of pain that is about to fall on her head. It's going to feel unbearable and there is no way to prep her. Dizzle's mom and grandma died and I watched her go through it, and even seeing her devastated did nothing to ease the specific devastation that was coming for me. It's just something you have to feel, there is no way around it. 

A guy I went to college with just got married and had a baby. The baby many be an only child and will have to deal with this loss twice on her own. I don't think people consider that enough before they have kids, which is cruel. 

Anyway, happy b-day Mommy. 

Mommy

I've been missing my mommy of late. I always miss her, but lately, I have been longing to talk to her so badly. 

Oddly enough, talking to her when she was alive could irritate me like no other. She was always giving me unasked for advice which drove me up the wall! But I was also just getting to know her. We butted heads my whole childhood because I didn't like her mooching leech of a boyfriend. As a young adult, I no longer had to see her deal with him, which left room for us to acquaint ourselves with each other. Now she's gone and I find myself needing to talk to her.

If she had not been cremated, I'd totally be advocating for a Pet Cemetery situation just so we could chat before she'd try to kill me. In this case, I'm sad this is not a scene from a Stephen King fantasy. I no longer wish to be sad. Time for bed. 

The Grieving Posts 4: The Jesus Piece

The other day I woke up feeling particularly upset about my mom, so I rolled over and texted P. It was very, very early and since he is a nurse that works those crazy nurse hours, I knew he was awake. I vomited all my emotions about everything in this text that was very long, and his response was simply, "You need to pray to Allah." Ugh! With his devout Muslim self. I should have known that was going to be his response.
For some reason, I was taken back to earlier last year when I talked to my friend Gail. She had been through it over the past few years. I am talking bad relationships, car repossessions, lost jobs, etc. When she called me, it sounded like the sun was finally coming out in her life. Seeing that she has always been a Super Christian, I said, "Don't forget to thank God for seeing you through." That is when she dropped a bomb on me: she is now practicing Santeria.
I wanted to be respectful of what she had just said, but I was still like, "What?!" This is a girl that was so God-fearing that she was afraid to do anything! She had once given me a stern talking to because I had told her I had had a conversation with some Mormons. Now she's gettin' Babalawo with it? It didn't make any sense. So, she went on to explain why she was beginning to practice and it all boiled down to her wanting to feel in control of her destiny and not wanting to feel like she was just a pawn at God's will. I understood what she was saying, but it also sounded like she was mad a God.
Yes, I lost my mom, but I'm not mad at God. I understand that as hurtful as this all is, it is all part of the cycle of life. However, I also do not feel like praying as P suggested either because I know that God knows what is going on. I have always felt connected to Him, so I also know that he knows how I am feeling. I am still praying to God for a good job. I am still praying for more money. I am still praying for a better hairstyle for my facial shape and a one-term Trump presidency, but for some reason, I just can't pray on my mom or anything that has to do with her.When the doctors came into the waiting area and told us that she had died, I prayed that He would let her into Heaven. Maybe that was all the conversation that He and I needed to have. Who knows? I'm no theologian, just a girl trying to deal.

The Grieving Posts 3: Men and Mourning

I never wanted to be that woman who felt like she needed a man. Let me just say ladies, you don't know how much you need one until someone close to you dies. I realized this at my grandmother's funeral earlier last year. After the ceremony, my uncle cursed me out for no reason while my other uncle just sat there with his ankles crossed like nothing was happening. It was then that I realized it would have been great if I'd had a beau to beat the crap out of both of them.

Now on to my mother's passing. As I wrote my thank you cards, helped plan her wake, and waded through all the family stuff that comes with the passing of a parent, all I could think of was how much I wished I had a man in my life to hug me through all of it. I was surrounded by my mourning siblings and my aunt and other women that cared for me and that were providing me with love and support. Didn't matter. All I wanted was a strong hug from a strong man. I know. I'm pathetic. 

The funny thing is that I was talking to someone at the time. We had only been talking for a second when this happened, so I didn't want to come off as too needy. A parent passing is a huge thing to deal with when you first meet someone. So I simply asked him if he minded coming over to give me a hug. He said he wasn't coming over unless I could promise him sex. Needless to say, I ended up hugging myself to sleep. #whataloser

So when my homecoming came I want you to believe me when I tell you that I was collecting man hugs from my old classmates like they were going out of style. And no, that that was not enough. Man hugs are like Pringles: you can't have just one. 

"I know what you mean," Dizzle said when I told her how I was feeling. "Sometimes you just want to be held."

"Yeah, but I feel bad because the women in my life give me so much support and love that it could literally lift me off the ground," I whined, lying across the hotel room bed. 

"It's not the same," she said. She was right. It's not. 

So now we are six months in and still, no hugs. I actually hurt my shoulder trying to give myself a bear hug about three months ago. I feel like a woman with strength of character would use this time to exercise or learn to cook or pray or do something productive. I'm yearning for a hug from a man I don't have. It's so sad I almost hate to write it. But don't worry. In writing these posts, I am trying to take control of the wheel and turn things around. I mean, I was very close to picking up a Steve Harvey book the other day and, I think that we can all agree that, once that happens, I can throw in the towel. #toostressedtothinklikeaman

The Grieving Posts 2: Fair Weather Friends

Most of you were here for me when I lost my job and got tossed out of my apartment like a dingy dishrag. If not, believe me when I tell you that it was ugly. I was the DEFINITION of a struggling friend. I was financially and emotionally needy, and, as expected, some of my "friends" found this to be the perfect time to bid their adieu to our friendship. And I totally got it! If a stack of past due bills hadn't been blocking my path to the door, I would have walked out on myself! It was a rough time but, believe it or not, my mom dying has caused more friends to walk out on me than my needing to borrow $20!
The one that hurts the most is a friend that I had had since college. We had spent hours on the phone over the years listening to our dramas and encouraging each other; crying over boys and praying. I mean, I really felt that we knew each other's hearts and we were genuinely there for each other. Honey, I told that girl that my mom died and I have not heard from her in six months. Six. Months. She straight ghosted on a sistah! And she isn't the only friend that has done this.
I hate to be the bearer of bad news but here is the long and short of it: someone close to you is going to die at some point. And when this happens, you are going to be very hurt when your "friends" leave you hanging. But I want you to know now what it has taken me six months to understand: death scares people. People don't want to say it or think about it or address it at all! They almost feel like if they console you, they will be acknowledging that it exists and, within minutes, the Grim Reaper will be knocking on their door. They may treat you like your have coodies, but don't be upset. They are as freaked and dumbfounded as you have been in the past when people you knew lost loved ones. However, you can be hurt, just as you have been the other times you have gotten dumped.

The Grieving Posts 1: Mood Swings

I have been having some major mood swings lately. As my true readers know, I am not that emotionally stable as it is. I am assuming that all of this is connected to the fact that my mom died in August and I have not even begun to deal with it. I am pretty much refusing to cry and acting like everything is business as usual. I am fully aware that this is not healthy, but I decided that this was the best way to proceed when I woke up the day after she died and realized that the world had had the nerve to go on.
Not long after her death, I reached out to a friend of mine who is a shrink. I hit her up about what I have been experiencing and the mental health fat that she gave me to chew on was the equivalent of you can't out pizza The Hut. 😕You would be giving me the same face if you knew the HOURS of advice I have poured into this girl since I was 19. Here is my advice to you: make your core strong, so when shit happens, you can look within yourself and self-soothe. As you well know, my core is about as strong as damp Ramen noodles, so I'm screwed.
I don't know if you have experienced the passing of a parent, but I will explain to you how it feels to me: like I have forgotten something. Like I left something. Like I can't find something. It dawned on me recently that this must be what true incompleteness feels like. Is this going to be the way that I am going to feel the rest of my life? Like something is missing?
I don't know. For now, my moods are just 'a swingin'. I have flashes of sadness mixed with long periods of tiredness and irritation. I have great anxiety when it comes to me having to leave my house. I don't know what that's about.
Sadly, I am fully aware that this is just the beginning. This sucks because I am about at the end of my last good nerve.

Random

The other day, my mother and I had an interesting conversation. We had a serious discussion on who was more famous: Zoey or Emily Deschanel. Really, I can't decide. I LOVE Bones and New Girl. Like, they are both my go-tos on Netflix. They both have pretty eyes and good hair. I will admit that Zoey wears adorable dresses, but Emily always looks hot at award shows. Mommy had good points. She said that Emily is awesome, true, but Zoey has been on TV and in movies, so Zoey has to win. I argued that true, we haven't really seen Emily in movies, but I feel like Bones has been on since the beginning of time. They are like on the 100th season. So, no conclusion was reached. We decided it was an impossible decision to make.

Mixed Priorities

Yesterday, my mom picked me up to take me to an event for my job. I was super happy to see her because she brought me food and I am broke, lol. Any way, I get into the car and she shows me that she has gotten a new phone that was $79 bucks!
It took everything in me not to drop my mouth opens. Recently, she was approved for some government assistant which my family desperately needed. My mom has been unable to find work for the past two years. So she was approved for a stipend, but it is VERY little. I feel like she could have done so may wiser things with the dough, like get my siblings some new clothes or something.
But shockingly enough, that is not what really bothered me. My brother is in college and he was not approved for work-study. He can not find a job. She could be sending him cash, seeing that all last year I sent him $100 a month! On top of that, I am literally living hand to mouth with NO disposable income at all. The week before I get paid, I munch on Ramen Noodles and water, yet I still manage to pay my brother's cell phone bill. I decided that that is a bill that I am going to send her way seeing that she has the dough and I am strugglin'.
Looking at her new, shiny phone, I couldn't believe my eyes. But I didn't say anything. She just brought me food after all and was doing me a favor by dropping me off. I have to find the right time to tell her. Sigh, I know that she is going to make a scene. I just don't think this is fair.

Grown

I pay my own bills. I have now gone on my first date. I am officially too old to be on The Real Word. I almost had sex. I can vote. I mean, the evidence is never ending that I am grown. So why, why, oh why does my mother still talk to me like I am 5 1/2?
Yesterday, while visiting her, she bought a package of cookies and like a fool, I attempted to go back to the pack for seconds and she grunts all loud and scrunches up her face. So I'm like, "Uggh!" That was all that was needed for her to spring into a 40-second attack.
She just started going on and on about how she is tired of not being able to say anything to me and she is tired of my attitude and blah, blah, blah. I just wanted to raise my hand and be like, "Pardon me madame...I'M GROWN! I'll get another cookie if I want another cookie!"
But of course, I didn't say that. You have to respect your parents, even when they are being nuts. Plus, I may be grown, but not too grown to get my ass whooped.

Mother Dearest

My mom throws adult tantrums.
Seriously. She is throwing one right now.
I can feel her slamming things, but I can't hear what she is saying. I'm pretty sure I don't want to.
This is not a new thing. She has been throwing them forever. As of late, the topic of her tantrums has been dishes. I am guessing that right now there are a lot of dishes in the sink, she is about to cook, and their are tons of dishes to do before she starts. But here is the thing: she cooked last night. When I cooked this weekend, swollen leg and all, I did the dishes. She cooked last night, left the dishes, now she's pissed.
Just another happy day at happiness house.