The long nights

Bedtime, the most trying time of the night. I still say goodnight to her hoping that I will hear her reply. I still don't sleep, well, maybe an hour or two at a time, but never good sleep. As I wash my face, I can see the stress in every inch of my appearance. My eyes look blank, deep dark circles have taken up permanent residence. I always wonder if there will ever be a glimmer of hope left in me waiting to emerge. I doubt it.
I will once again wake up tomorrow hoping that this was all a bad dream; she will be in her room waiting for me to dress her. I still keep both phones by my bed in case the hospital calls telling me they made a horrible mistake, and she is alive and well. Even though I was there with her when she died, I felt the last beat of her heart, I heard her last breath; I still keep the phones near me.
Have I thought about suicide, everyday. However, I cannot justify leaving pets behind with no one to take care of them.
I was even hoping that I would see her ghost. The only ghost in this house is me.

Holding on

As I clean out the house after my mother's death, I am left deciding what to keep and what to remove. This process is easier said than done. Everything I touch hold a memory; her hands once touched every item. She kept things in bins; these things were important to her in some way, important enough for her to save them. How do I discard them? I have decided to wait a year, and get my mind in a better perspective before I remove anything else.
Items I thought I had lost long ago were found in rolled up doilies, things from my childhood, things she saved so I wouldn't lose them.
She was such a strong woman. Even when she was at her sickest she still managed to do a load of laundry, feed the animals, do the dishes. My mother was amazing. I can't even begin to describe how much I loved her.
I thought she could do anything. Whenever I couldn't do something, she could. During her cancer treatment, she never complained. It was almost as if the sicker she got, the stronger she became. When she was unable to walk more than a few yards, she would say that maybe tomorrow would be better. I guess I never really knew how horrible she felt because she never showed her pain. I should have seen it, but chose I think, not to. It was easier on my mind to believe there was still hope, to believe she would recover, to believe she was going to live. If I could turn back time, there is so very much I would change, but I cannot, and have to live with my actions. Did I take good care of her, yes I did, but I could have done better.
June 1, 2010 was the first time she ever needed a wheel chair to get into the doctor's office. When the exam was over the doctor decided that a few days in the hospital was a good idea, her wbc was critically low. She never came out of the hospital. She died June 21, 2010.

Nothing but time

I am off work today; I have so much to do and can't seem to get motivated to do anything. It is a chore just to breathe. My grief has crippled me. When my mother was alive, and I was taking care of her, my days off were filled with doctor visits, my mother's laughter, her voice, her smell, her touch. All of that is gone now, there is only me. I don't need a doctor, I do not laugh, I rarely speak, I cry.
For some, friends are enough to take the edge off loneliness. I care not for their company, it just irritates me.
My whole life comes down to this: It was always us and we, mum is gone, and I have to learn to be me and I. This is the hardest thing I will ever do. She was my best friend.
I was a half-way decent person when it was us. I no longer feel the need to try to please anyone; this is me.
Everyone tells me time will heal. Obviously, they didn't have the same relationship with their mothers as I had. We used to tell each other that united we stand, divided we fall. I fell when she died, and I can't seem to get off my knees and lift myself up.

one month

One month ago, my mum died from liver/colon cancer. She had been fighting this disease for 3 yrs.
Not only did her death rip my heart out, but it completely changed my views on life, and death. One minute you are here, talking to those you love, the next minute you are dead, gone forever.
The only thing good about her death is she is no longer in pain. I think about what a fool I was truly believing she would or could beat this cancer. Instead of allowing her to enjoy what little time she had left of the life, I made her endure chemotherapy, and other harsh medical treatments. She loved me enough to pretend she was okay with the probing, the surgeries, and the side effects of the toxins that were pumped into her continuously. No matter how sick it made her. She would tell me she wanted to stop treatment, but when she saw the sadness in my eyes, it made her change her mind; she would agree to more torturous treatment.
Without her I have no life. She was my world. When her life ended, so did any form of life in this house, in my world. I never realized how loud silence could be.
I would have done anything to keep her alive. In the end she chose Hospice.