"...somewhere behind all/ the lights and the wheels
you secretly hope/ that you might cut a deal
and all the bad Karma/will fall off your back
just like Elvis's Mom/in a Cadillac..."
-Namalie Bennett
I'm still here, struggling, finding myself enraged, filled to the brim with all the anger I politely held back all the days of my life. Somehow Mom's death, and Dad's, have lifted the veil and the old Karma rising-theirs and my own-has smashed me flat.
No deals, just acceptance and expression and holding in and letting go and red and black and crying and screaming and sobbing and silence and ignoring those who want explanations but are afraid to ask. Especially ignoring those who look away embarrassed when I well up and start to cry. Mostly I am overwhelmed.
And I cry over everything. Memories, things I'd like to tell her, all the times she told me not to be angry (stuff it, stuff it), how nobody dared cry over my Grandmother's death because Mom didn't (I'm sure she had her reasons, too), the fairy house she used to make for Meg in the woods in the Poconos, how her dying took away the glue that held my siblings and I together. I cry on rainy days and hot days and clear days. And how angry I am at her for dying.
I have barely looked at my Dad yet, where there are many fewer good memories and much more anger.
Days are okay-I try to keep busy-nights are horrible.
I am taking it as it comes, processing what I can, recognizing I'll be processing it for a long time, and in my own inimical fashion.
Margo
