My mom died last summer. That’s my story, and I have stuck to it and it, to me. I have told it often to release some of the pain, yes, but also to get some mileage out of it. There! I said it. Sometimes I wanted people to know I was having a very bad day. Because my mommy died. At least that’s a good thing to blame for my inactivity, my lack of involvement, my inertia.

Please know I don’t mean any of this lightly. It was the most difficult thing I have EVER experienced, but now, it’s time to move on. Oh, the grieving process will continue for awhile yet. Tears will spill unbidden when I least expect them, like walking down the greeting card aisle at the grocery store. Oy! Still, it feels like it is time to move on, and I’m not sure I really know how. For oh, so many years, my mom was the center of my universe, because she raised me that way. She had drummed into me: help. your. family. always. period. Make no mistake, I did not readily take to that line of thinking, because we knocked heads a lot, but I always went back to do what I could to help her. This was particularly true in the years after Dad passed away in 1995. Being the only child set me up as the go-to girl, and believe you me, Mom was more than willing to call on me, sometimes at 1 A.M. if she needed me — even if she didn’t. I could tell you stories.

Since she has been gone, often I have realized I don’t know what to do with myself. No groceries to buy, no errands to run, no doctors to visit and visit and visit. No nothing. Just me. Here. With all of this time on my hands. The story remains. My mama is no longer on this earthly plain of existence — she’s tangoing into the sunset with Dad — but I am still here. I no longer have the luxury of excusing myself from life because Mom might need something. I no long have the laundry list of reasons why now would not be the best time to start. For years, I wished for freedom to launch without the impending doom of Mom’s silver-tongued but often spiked hammer to come down and tear me open once again for reasons often unknown. (If you have never lived with one who suffers from bipolar disorder, you don’t know what you’re missing).

This is not a pity party. Not the time for oh-poor-me, ain’t-it-awful. No! A thousand times NO! It is time to accept the precious gift of life I have been given, to claim that freedom I so longed for. It is time to step into each day with excitement and anticipation of what possibilities I might unlock. And it is time to say, “thank you, Mom, for loving me the best way you knew how, for preparing me for life based on the knowledge and experience you had, and for finally giving me wings to soar into unknown but promising adventures.” I love you, Mom, and I really, really miss you.

Look out, world! Here I come!

Getting started,
Steph Marks
Weaver of Words

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Have you had a similar experience? Something that seemingly has held you back in life and suddenly you realized, “Hey, now I’m free! No more excuses!” I would love for you to tell me about it and feel free to share this article if you found it helpful.

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