Friday Things // 01.29.2021
The one thinking a whole lot about time.
Happy Friday, friends!
Look at this — finally got my act together to send this out earlier in the day! I usually write these Yay Club posts riiiiight before they go out. I was about to say I’m not usually a procrastinator, but that’s a lie. I definitely am.
I’m the kind of person who needs a deadline or consequence to motivate me in most things, or else I will wait to the last minute. Like buying Christmas gifts! Or, when I was in college, writing a paper.
Literally the only thing I’m not like that with is working out. I don’t know why… maybe because to me, working out — or opting not to — has automatic consequences built in. (Mental health, physical health, you know the deal.)
Anyways, here we are, not procrastinating. Gold star.
If you’re new to these posts (letters? notes? Still trying to figure out the best way to identify The Yay Club…), I try to share whatever is on my heart on that given Friday, or stuck in my head. Today, it’s a conversation I had with a friend earlier this week, about grief, and the notion of timelines for being “over” something.
Let me back up.
Tuesday marked six months since my mom passed away. If you don’t know me well, long story short, I lost my mom to complications from cancer at the end of July. It was very sudden, very unexpected, and she had only been diagnosed in March of 2020. She and I were best friends.
And so… Tuesday. Six months. Which I actually didn’t even realize until that evening, when it clicked what the date was (because pandemic time is very fuzzy).
I’m not sure how I expected to feel by this point, or what I thought it would be like. I mean, to know my favorite person on the planet had been gone for six whole months, and that I haven’t heard her voice in that many months, plus two days (because she’d been put on a ventilator).
Some days, I am so proud of myself, and think I’ve handled * this * well, all things considering. That I’ve held myself together more days than not, and have learned to compartmentalize in a way I never thought myself physically capable of before this most unfortunate of experiences. Other days, I want to stay on couch all day, alternating between tears and ripping myself apart for all of the things I could have done “better” before she died. Could I have been a better daughter? Did she really know how much I cared? Did she know I was there, that of course I would come when we realized how truly dire the situation had become?
I’m not sure how I feel now, to be honest. Mostly close to at peace, or ever searching for it, but certainly not 100%. To say I wish my mom was here is an understatement, just as much now as I did back in July, but I am able to not let the pain overtake me the way it did initially. Is that good? Is that growth? I have no idea, but what it is, is me trying my best to putter through, and that’s all any of us can do.
But here’s the thing — and this brings me back to that conversation with a friend I mentioned earlier — there is no timeline for grief. It’s such a personal experience, and everyone walks through it differently.
My friend had shared that someone had told her nine months was the “right” amount of time in which you should be done processing your grief. Days later, and that has stuck in my head. What an arbitrary amount of time! Why nine months? Because if it took that amount of time to bring a person into this world, then it should take the same amount to usher them out? Who gets to decide this? Who says when— or if — you’re over something? Or that you have to be, ever, at all? There are multiple forms and levels of grief, and I mean grieving in the broadest definition of the word, from the loss of person to a pet, to even grief over loss of our pre-pandemic world and/or past identities.
Just generally speaking, why are we expected to hold ourselves accountable to some generic schedule to process extremely complicated emotions? Is it supposed to mean something if you feel back to normal sooner, or it takes much longer? If you’re asking me, which no one is, my unsolicited opinion is solid NOPE. Life is far too layered and multi-hyphenate and one-size-does-not-fit-all for some blanket statement.
Still. Here we are. Six months.
Sometimes I’m still so angry. Sometimes, often, I want to understand why. And sometimes, I just want a pat on the back for getting out of bed.
Hell, we could all say that though, no? For making it through these last 10 months. For continuing to show up, hard as it may have been on certain days.
I’ve said this before, but my mom was my number one fan — the person I could always count on to be there, and who read everything I wrote. If I was having trouble sleeping and was awake at 2am, I knew without a doubt she’d answer my text message, and stay up watching “Friends” with me from a state away. And I thought — I was sure — that always meant forever. But, turns out, that’s not so, friends. That’s not quite how it works. And that has been the hardest part to swallow of it all.
This all makes me think of a quote I read recently: “There is no right time; there is only time, and what you choose to do with it.”
(I have no idea who said it originally, but if you do, please let me know.)
My mom was really, really good at that, and in the last six months, I’ve come to realize that more than ever. She was really good at using that time she had, as heart-achingly cut short as it may have been, to let the people in her lives know they mattered to her every moment she could.
I’ll leave you with that thought, okay? Maybe there’s not a plethora of opportunities out there for living your best, most vivacious life (vivacious is a fun word, don’t you think?), but there’s definitely plenty of space and minutes available for you to remind people you care. That you love them, that you’re proud of them, and that they’re doing a great job.
SO, I love you! I’m proud of you! You’re doing a great job — I mean it.
Thanks for reading, and happy weekend,
Joelle
p.s. if you like these lil Friday notes, or found today’s resonated with you, share it with a friend!
I’ve thought about this post so much since reading it. There is no one size fits all grief experience. I think you should be able to give yourself permission to feel however you want, and take as much time as you need. Some moments are so impactful and life changing in ways, it can be really hard to make sense of it all. There might be days where you feel more like yourself, and other days where you want to just ugly cry and eat pancakes. It’s a win when we can still take care of ourselves and keep going in the hardest moments— and those small everyday wins need to be enough sometimes. We don’t always have to survive AND thrive, we can take it day by day for that second part.
On another note, I loved the anecdote about your mom watching Friends with you long distance style! Such a sweet detail.
💕💕💕