I never knew how much it hurts when your mother dies.  The nurse in me had always accepted that death is inevitable. No one lives forever. Everyone loses their parents eventually. It’s the natural order of things.  Except when it is your mother and then the abstract becomes excruciatingly personal.

Confusion is one stage of grief I did not expect. I expected denial. But I’m not in denial.  I know my mother died. I watched her take her last breath. No, what I feel is confusion. How can this be? My life has regained some semblance of normalcy. Work keeps me busy. I have moved past gut wrenching inertia and regained some of the  energy I need to do the things I always loved.  Snowshoeing in the mountains. Spending time with friends. But then I walk through a department store and see a jacket my mother would have loved for her birthday. DSC01819DSC02781 And there is no one to buy it for. And I’m confused.

How can this be? It just doesn’t make sense.  A world without my mother? Her heartbeat was the first sound I ever heard. While safe in her womb, her heartbeat was my first awareness of the world. And when it stopped, the world tipped, throwing me off balance and bringing me to my knees.

Since before I drew I my first breath, my mother was there. For my entire existence, she was there. She’s always been there. And now she is not. And how can that be? Okay, I know she died. I accept that. But why does it have to be forever? Why can’t she come back? Once in a while? Just for a chat? And a hug? I know she can’t stay. But maybe a visit now and then? Catch up on what my kids are doing. Chat about books and movies and how things used to be when we were all young and happy on the shores of Long Island Sound. How can it be this permanent? I can’t handle the permanence. It’s the permanence that makes no damn sense.



About Carol Bryant

Hi. My name is Carol Bryant. I'm a transplanted New Yorker, living in the shadows of the Rocky Mountains. While it was skiing that initially drew me to Colorado, it's been the laid-back, outdoor lifestyle which has kept me here for nearly 30 years. I'm a writer, nurse, travel agent and mediocre tennis player. I began my writing career 20 years ago, writing essays and magazine articles. Recently, I completed my first manuscript and am currently seeking representation for this work. It's a memoir of my nursing career which spans two continents, forty years and some of the most intriguing characters who have ever entered a hospital. I’ve been told that if I ever hope to have my memoir published, I need to establish a platform – a following of readers who enjoy my writing. So, I am shamelessly asking for you to become part of that platform. I plan to blog on various topics that I find entertaining. If you are entertained, moved to cry or laugh out loud, then I have accomplished what I have set out to do. I feel as if I am taking that first, timid step out onto the frozen lake, hoping that the ice will hold me. It’s scary as hell but I’ll give it a go. After some of the things I have faced down in my 40 years of nursing, how bad can blogging be? It beats shaving scrotums.
This entry was posted in Aging, death and dying, grief, Memories, motherhood and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to I JUST NEVER KNEW

  1. Pingback: I JUST NEVER KNEW | carolbryantblog

  2. Phil Bryant says:

    A very down to earth, realistic description of what it is like to lose a loved one. You really bring out your inner emotions of what you went through and are still coping with in an abbreviated and to the point style, which is very effective.


  3. Louise Fusco says:

    Well said. Please keep writing


  4. Barbara Dalton says:

    I know how you feel, death is hard to understand. There are days I would like to tell my mother something or ask a question, then I realize those days are long gone. The ache in my heart never goes away, I can remember her arms around me for that special hug she would give me. The love & friendship we had, oh how I wish we could just sit & talk again. Prayers help but the ache is still there. Remember your not alone, your mother was very special to me, my wonderful aunt Terry. hugs


  5. Geri Johnson says:

    Carol, I love this! It is so true and I still have tears in my eyes! Geri P.S. I put your book by your front door

    Sent from my iPhone



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