Thursday, December 15, 2011

And I See Their Faces

I walk around in a daze, shaking my head and muttering to myself.   Phrases like, "I don't understand it.", "How could this have happened?" and of course "Why?" chase each other around and around in my head.

The visions in my head are constant.   I see my mother's face, I see my son's face.  Both faces have the same expression.   They don't speak, but they look at me with pleading eyes as if to say, please help me.

I make the bed, sort the laundry and watch the View, all the while shaking my head and muttering to myself and I see their faces.

I go to Curves, and vaguely hear the chatter of the other women in the background.   I wonder why everyone is smiling and singing along to "Rockin Around The Christmas Tree. I  automatically move when the Curves lady says "Change Stations", all the while shaking my head and muttering to myself and I see their faces.

As we walk through the mall looking for ornaments and Critter hats I  feel exhausted.    On the way home in the car, I knit a few stitches, then stop and stare at the needles in my hands, shake my head and mutter to myself and I see their faces.

While in the laundry room folding clothes, I have a different thought.  I am a failure as a mother.  I didn't do my job.  I should have insisted that he eat more vegetables.  I should have been more loving.  I should have been able to make it okay, just like I promised it would be.  I should have been a better daughter.  I should have been more patient with her.   And I see their faces.

All of the tears that I have been holding onto, escape.  The muttering comes in between the sobs.  The pain is almost unbearable as I see their faces.

I want to be able to feel comforted by my mother.

I want to be able to comfort my son.

I feel the anger and frustration of a spoiled child who can't have what she wants most in the world and I want to scream.  Instead, I hold onto Ross and he promises me that everything is going to be okay.


  1. It really will be ok. Honest. Hang in there, and know that above all, you are not a failure. Good things will come, you'll see. Blessings~*

  2. I'm so sorry about your son and your mother. It's a gift that you can write so beautifully about them. It will be a gift someday for your grandson to read what you wrote about his father. 

  3. A blogging acquaintance suggested that I stop by and take a moment to read your poignant words.  I am sorry for your losses.  As the card below suggests, I cannot begin to comprehend the depths of your sorrow.  All I can say is that your words demonstrate that indomitable human spirit that says, "Just when I think I can't go on, I do anyway, and eventually the pain dulls."  It doesn't go away, but it becomes more manageable, and becomes one with you.  All I can say is that your words send me on the most direct path possible, to give my own 89 year old mom a visit, and to tell each of my three sons that I love him.  Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.

  4. Yes, do visit your mom.  
     Even though I am sure your sons know that you love them, saying  the words "I love you" will draw you even closer to them. Thank you for your thoughts.

  5. There are no words...but I hope there is some small comfort in knowing that your words have been heard (and felt) out here in the world.

  6. I can't begin to tell you how much the kindness of people's words (particularly those I have never even met) comforts me.  Thank you.  I can feel the love :)

  7. Dear Lynda
    I can't imagine the pain you're in. I've caught up on the past few days entries and hope that writing is helping you. The card from your brother was extremely touching. Sometimes people come through with words you'd never have thought them capable of. Losing someone any time is difficult and during the holidays even more difficult. I hope you will be seeing your grandchildren during this time and seeing your son in them. May you know that Joe is still with you in your heart and that he will never be far away from your soul.