Early November mornings can get me down. It is so dark at 7 am. The sun did not rise till 8:07 Saskatoon time. I’m basking in its glow in the warmth of my sunroom. I’m sitting in front of my keyboard with my second cup of tea. My mother is watching over my right shoulder. Tonight will be 2 weeks since she’s left her earthly body. I’m sure she was greeted by Sheba at the gate, tail wagging and looking for her treat.

I do not yet know how to feel or how to start each day. I feel she’s still in her house with dad. I still see her face in my head. I still want to say “I’m going to mom’s”. I feel the loss of her upon waking in the dark of autumn mornings. I feel ok at night going to bed, knowing I don’t have to worry about her at night. Most nights I can sleep without a sleeping pill though I wake between 3 and 4 am. Now I can make myself stay in bed till 6. It’s better to stay and perhaps to fall back asleep again.

I am fortunate that I have the tools of words. I have always found relief in spilling onto the page. I haven’t found my way back to meditating yet but yesterday I did some qigong movements. Having neglected them so long, I couldn’t remembered them all. Fumbling and flailing works. I was moving. They will come back in time as surely as grief will recede. I ran into 2 of my mother’s friends the other day. We hugged and got misty eyed together. Both are widows of many years. One shared that it took her 3 years after losing her husband to feel ok again.

Though I am no stranger death and grief, it is my first at such a personal level. I’ve lost grandparents and other relatives and friends. I felt the sadness and loss. But it wasn’t the same. I have gotten off relatively easy. With my mother, I was still tied as if by the umbilical cord. I felt what she felt. At different times, like when I am at the kitchen sink, I’ve felt as if I was her. Have you ever had that phenomenon?

Enough words already for today. I have to move on with the day. Shake myself loose with some qigong and try to clear my growing clutter. Later, my sister and I are taking our father out for dim sum. He’s doing ok. We are taking good care of him.