I had an ENORMOUS breakthrough yesterday. After it being recommended so many times over the last 6 months, I put my pride aside, shuffled my self-conscious thoughts to the left and had a bit of a group chat. With my parents.
This, on any other day, between any other daughter and mum/dad combo, would be quite normal. Mundane. But it's a whole new ball game when your parents are no longer living.
I always thought it was weird, for a friend or a colleague to say "I can see the turmoil in your eyes, you're finding it tough to let go, why don't you chat to Mum and Dad?" First of all, I have manners and prefer to look someone in the face, preferably eyes, when I speak to them. I can't do this with them! I don't like the sound of my own voice. They can't talk back! What if I cry? What do you mean IF Lauren, as IF you WON'T cry?!
So to say I thought this little chat I should supposedly undertake was weird was quite an understatement.
Weird's my forte, so I first of all thought I'd chat to Mum.
Driving home from work, I called out and asked if Mum could hear me, she'd need to listen for the next few minutes. This was the "conversation" that followed:
Hey Mum, so yeah, ummmmm, freaking out a little bit that this is the first time I've ummmmm started a conversation with you and you can't actually talk back.
Well, I miss you. I want you to come home. Ummmmm. I love you? I'm not sure what else to say because this is still a little, just a tad, slightly WEIRD. Anyway, I need to stop now and concentrate on the road. Bye.
And with that, I pulled up in the drive way and noticed that I did feel a bit numb. From the elbows down. I was shaking a little. Pulled myself together, took a deep breath and went inside for the night. Hmmmm, that went okay, I'm okay. Lightning didn't strike me down.
The next morning, I realized that if I wanted to find out if this "chat with the angels" convo thingy would work or help me, I'd really have to keep working at it. But I didn't for around 4 weeks.
Yesterday was the day I decided to talk to Mum again. This time, I was sitting at home, with my daughter asleep in her crib having her morning nap, husband at work and son playing happily (hopefully) at kinder.
Chat #2 as follows:
Mum, I'm back. Where the hell are you? And why haven't you given me any goddamn sign that you're somewhere safe? I'm pissed that you had to leave us. I'm pissed that you left me and someone somewhere thought you were needed elsewhere. I bloody need you here! (insert sobbing here)
I miss you Mum. And if Dad's with you, I'll get to you later, Dad. I miss you so much Mum that I feel like my chest is caving in, most days. Some days, I wake up and I can't even breathe, it's that bad. I used to feel so horrible when I listened to you speak about your Mum's death, now I'm living in that same kind of limbo.
(insert very dramatic crying here)
Anyway, I can't keep talking to you when I'm all by myself because you won't be able to understand me through all the crying so just give me a sign that you can hear and understand me.
*Ruby wakes up*- thanks Mum, not the sign I was after but hey, no worries.
So I stopped silent. Tears streaming down my face, I called my husband. Bawling like a tiny toddler, I explained to him that I'd just had a chat to Mum, which probably sounded more than a bit strange to him. He calmed me down and I got off the phone, wanting to ring him again, but I forced myself to turn off my phone.
It was not even five minutes later when I was watching a recorded episode of One Born Every Minute that I noticed something. The woman was about to have a C/S, she was expecting a little girl, was going to name her Ruby, and her mother's name was Margaret. I took this as my sign from Mum and immediately jumped back on the couch to talk to her again.
Calmly, I started again.
Hey Mum, it's just me again. I've just seen something really freaky on TV and thought I'd keep our conversation going. I've stopped crying, you'll be happy to know. If you can see me, you'll know that's a lie (wiping away rivers of tears now)
I wanted you to know that it wasn't my idea to talk to you this way. But I didn't know how else to let go of all this stuff I'm holding on to.
Someone said it would be good for me to tell you exactly how I'm feeling. So here goes. I love you Mum and I'm not angry with you for leaving. I acknowledge you were sad and lonely and that I couldn't fix you no matter how hard I tried. If I had've been there when you left, instead of Jen, who knows what would've happened. I know that I wouldn't have coped and I guess, as horrible as it was, that is a gift from Jen. She took those moments of utter pain from me so part of this really would be easier for me. So yeah, I am grateful.
I understand that even though I never wanted you to go and you are the only person who understood how much I needed you (and still do), I'm okay with what has happened. I can't change it. So I'm trying to move forward. Only baby steps but I am moving. Please understand that I know you would be so distressed to know you have left us too soon, but you don't have to be. Parts of your life were so distressing. I know that. I couldn't help you and I really wish I could fix you and have you back with us.
I have never missed anyone like I miss you. I can't believe it has happened, after 6 months of living in a dream land. Some days, I just stare in to space then close my eyes, hoping that when I open them, I'll have a missed call from you.
I have this recurring thought that somehow, you thought your life was a waste. I don't know why. But it wasn't Mum. It did end too soon, but look at who you brought up. Two women, two mothers and wives who really care about each other and really love their families. You've gotta be proud of that right? If we are your greatest achievement, that is awesome. I'm proud of you.
Half a box of tissues later, I said goodbye to a small piece of Mum and a small piece of myself. The piece that was stopping me from being able to voice how I've really felt after 6 months of intensely confusing times.
The piece I let go was a part of the sadness that I've felt. The part of me that stood by Mum's coffin that day after my 31st birthday, not knowing if it was actually her inside or if she would suddenly appear behind me with her warm hand on my shoulder in comfort and we'd grieve together for someone else whom we both knew and loved. I let go of the piece of me that hoped she was really still alive.
The part of disbelief that held onto that phone call from my sister "Lauren, Mum's dead". Those three words that I repeat every hour of every day. They are real now. I've been hoping it would sink it sometime soon. And now it has. My first real conversation with Mum, without her present. I let it go, with lots of tears and a lot of pain. And somehow I felt a little bit lighter.
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