How I Dealt With Pain (My Mom Died–Part 4)

I’ve received a lot of feedback in emails since my last few posts. BTW, if you wouldn’t mind posting your thoughts here, so they can be shared with others, I think we would all appreciate it. It makes it easier for me to talk to everyone at once, rather than replying to emails, though I understand if the feelings are private or tender.

The repeated question is how I’m doing now, and how did I deal with the pain after my mom died. One friend said she hasn’t cried yet as much as she feels she should after her mom died from cancer. That specifically got me thinking about the week I ran off with my Uncle Bob.

Uncle Bob is my mom’s personality (all the good stuff) in a huge military worn body, with a sprinkle of crazy and a hefty dose of fantastic laughter. I love that man dearly. Spend 3-4 days a week with him, and when my mom died, the two of us didn’t shed a tear. We did all we could to be the anchors for the family, to help others work it out, to be strength to Kathilynn and the kids, but never asking anything of anyone else.

Under the stress, nearly a year later, I started having heart and chest problems. I got dizzy…and my temper was like napalm. However, anything about my mother as a subject caused me to instantly bottle up. Bob was the same way. Well my friends noticed, and they got worried. So the guys from church all chipped in and bought two trips out to Wendover Nevada, for a Lobster dinner and a night out of town.

The night we left, Kathi pulled Uncle Bob aside and made him promise to watch over me. To give me room, but not let me end up in jail. Everything else she knew I was capable of doing was ok by her–just let me do it. He agreed. We didn’t say a word all the way to the casino, and then found the restaurant. The meal was incredible, and as we filled our bellies, we started to talk about mom. The good times, the bad times, things that annoyed us about her, things she was frustrated with us about. This went on through the night.

During the meal, I vented and just let the tears flow. No one here knew me and I’ve likely never see anyone here again anyway, so I balled. I swore. I cursed the Universe for taking my mom and even cursed my mom for falling asleep at the wheel. The little Mexican waitresses came and asked what was wrong and Uncle Bob told them in Spanish a condensed version. I don’t know what he said, but several of the women came out and tenderly hugged me and gave their condolences, the manager looking on. When he heard about our conversation in the booth, he came to our table and offered to let us stay all night, and kept the kitchen open for us an additional 3 hours after they cleaned up after everyone else.

Trust me, there are those who understand the importance of grieving. That night I smoked for the first time in almost 16 years. I also drank until I couldn’t see straight and cried about my mom even more, all the way home on the bus while Uncle Bob took me under wing and delivered me safe to Kathilynn once more.

There was a life turning event for me, and it was the true beginning of my healing process, and the healing for Uncle Bob. We never regretted that night, and I came home to a loving family who allowed me to vent in the only way I knew how, away from those I would have offended, and it worked.