This is it.   My last post.
It was supposed to be on the anniversary of mom's rebirth, also known as my 39th birthday, but like most things in my life lately, plan A did not materialize.  I took comfort in the fact that I had 25 more plans available to me and so I confidently moved on through alphabet.  It wasn't until I had hit the "LMNOP" landscape that it occurred to me I might very well need to move on to another alphabet altogether.

The past several months have been filled with changes; BIG life changes.  I am not talking about vamping the living room paint color or adding blonde highlights to my otherwise dark-chocolate mane.  I am talking about surgical repairs, liquid-diet recoveries, international uprooting, air shipments, sea shipments, invasive background checks, extensive health checks, family reunions, homelessness and intercontinental travel.......with a 3 year old.

I say this to remind myself that 30 different plans for finishing a blog is ok when your life is being lived on different continents and in different cultures.

As my family embarks on another adventure I am struck by the resiliency of life.  It amazes me and saddens me at the same time.  I am grateful for the forward motion that continues to propel us into  new and awesome opportunities, but I am still longing for time to respectfully stop and allow the world to once again acknowledge the loss of someone special.

And so this afternoon I am stopping my clock as I compose this last post.  This blog has allowed me to reflect and grieve in ways that were constructive and meaningful.  Thank you to all those who took the time, energy and thoughtfulness to read my words and make them part of your own story.  This has helped me immensely. 

And so I will close with a letter to my mom.

Dear mom,

I miss you. Still.  I miss so many things that it seems ridiculous to begin a list.  I mostly miss the feeling of your arms around me.  Even now at 39, I long to bury myself in the softness of your flesh.  It was there that everything in the world was made right. 

At night, when I am closing my eyes I try to persuade the universe into letting you enter my dreams.  I am not sure who the gatekeeper is in this situation. Do I need to send something?  Offer something to sweeten the deal?  Please let me know if there is something I can do to make your dream-presence more frequent (cameos will do but regular roles are preferred). 

Dreams are such a gift.  When you visit me it is as if we are meeting in another dimension.  I laugh with you, I eat with you, I talk with you.........and for a few seconds when I am re-entering this world we call reality, I feel you are here.

I know that I have made choices that are hard for you to understand.  Thank you for loving me anyway and supporting me even-though.  I love my life and I am happy.  I say this because it is true and because it is the most I can hope for my own son.  If he were to say these words to me I would feel great pride, joy and comfort.  I am hoping you feel the same.

I know what it is to be loved.

I know what it is to love. 

Thank you for showing me.

With you always,
Kristine

Damn

Damn grief.

I can't believe it's been months since I have posted. 

Months.

A  (Grand)father flew across a vast ocean, crocodile teeth were purchased, zoos were frequented, ice-cream was consumed in copious quantities, wine was drunk, Galliano was scavenged, black pepper crab was dissected, Thanksgiving arrived, a turkey was dressed and carved, family and friends celebrated, concerts were performed, conducted and attended, bird parks were visited, a half marathon was completed, celebratory beers were drunk, pizzas were devoured, goodbyes were said, a tree was decorated with a mom-star atop, glug and egg-nog were imbibed, Christmas dinner was planned, snow fell..... sudsy on the Singapore streets, presents were ravaged, carols were sung, a little boy drunk with Christmas fun passed out in his bed, a new year was toasted, new jobs were acquired, a 40th birthday was celebrated, a Valentine's tea party was had, a Bali break was enjoyed and now here we are.......

Months.

Months compressed into a single paragraph.  It doesn't work.

It's no good. 

Damn Grief.

I am actively restraining myself from hitting the delete button.

This is why I didn't write. 

What started out as cathartic became......well.....anti-cathartic.  Not quite destructive but definitely not helpful either.  Writing was tiresome, loathsome, a chore. 

A person compressed into single paragraphs.  It doesn't work.

My grief compressed into single paragraphs?  It doesn't work.

I see now that at the time I couldn't write.  It all seemed trite or cliche or something that I can't quite articulate.  Yes!  That's it!  Everything in the past few months has been something I can't articulate.

So I was left speechless.

Plus, I was lazy.  Writing means feeling and feeling takes energy.  I was drowning in apathy.....writing apathy.  I mean....did you READ the running record of the last few months?  I completed a half-marathon for God's sake!  So how is it that I could run 13 miles and yet, reflecting deeply about my mom seemed exhausting? 

Damn grief.

Then there's the little problem I have of feeling like she is still alive.  Not in the crazy-she isn't really dead-what body?-it was a hoax-she is living in Chicago-really!-she is out at bunco nite right now-sort of way.  More of a .......I don't get it. 

My brain gets it. 

Of course.

I mean I SAW her body.  I felt liquid oozing from her skin, I wiped fluid from her mouth, I listened to her beep and blip, I hugged her ballooning flesh. 

This is my new strategy......I attempt to remember the most horrible and horrific moments of her death in hopes that the pain will dislodge me from my disillusionment......much like the person who pinches himself awake from a bad dream.  The more pain the quicker the release. 

Right?

It's not working.

Damn grief.

I still feel like she is in "our" kitchen getting dinner prepared, cursing at the expensive oven that would always break down, and sipping a bit of white wine.

I feel that if I picked up the phone and dialed the number right now she would answer.

I did it.  I called.  Of course she didn't answer.  No surprise there.

My brain gets it.

It did ring though.  I actually got excited to hear her double hello.  It was always a statement/question greeting......."Hello.  Hello?"  This prompted much teasing from me but still didn't affect her peculiar (okay mom! eccentric) answering habits.

Then I got the ubiquitous, "Sorry.  The number you have reached has been disconnected or is not in service anymore." 

I'll say!

Damn Grief.

Last week I was sick.  While my physical self was at battle with god knows what, my emotional self decided to take advantage.  It strategically moved all troops to the font lines for some serious purging.

I couldn't stop crying, remembering, "wanting my mommy" for lack of a better expression.

My subconscious was elated with this sudden chip in the armor and decided to bring out the big guns.

Well, if this was war then I'd use my own survival tactics.  I decided to distract myself with a good novel.

I chose one (unbeknownst to me) about boy whose father dies in 9/11.  Damn subconscious.

I finished the novel and chose another.  I wouldn't give in.  This one (unbeknownst to me) was about a mother AND father who die.  Damn subconscious.

Fine.  If my subconscious wants to fight dirty I can fight dirty.  So I take off for a 3 day relaxing get away in Bali.  On the plane I decided to lose myself in a movie.  I chose "The Descendents" which, (lets all say it together now.....unbeknownst to me) was about a woman who is on life support and the consequences that ensue.  Damn!  Damn! Damn subconscious.

***insert note**** I strongly advise the reading of all synopses and the viewing of all trailers before choosing any reading or video material.......especially when grieving. 

I decided I was done with novels and movies for the duration of my get away....... subconscious won THAT battle.  We disembarked, elbowed our way through crowds of over-weight tourists and sketchy touts until we found our transport.  We arrived at our hotel bleary but excited.  The receptionist handed over our key cards and informed us that we would be enjoying our stay in room 318.

Seriously?  318?  As in........ three........eighteen..........?

Damn.