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 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.