It has been seven months since the death of my mother. After many chapters, and plenty of time to reflect, there is one large problem that still needs fixing.
I have yet to move on from this event. I have pushed myself to get my medical issues fixed, and I have started to adjust to a life without her. Holidays have come and gone, new traditions are being built and my family tries their best to cope. Personally, the hardest part for me in all of this is finding the willpower to push forward.
Every morning I wake up with a grudge towards life. An unhealthy level of disinterest with the world around me and the things in it. All my actions are met with constant criticism from myself on if they are really worth the effort put in. I am alive, and I have so much life left to live, yet in the same breath, so did my mother. Her time spent was well used, and she pushed herself to do things that I can barely do. She laughed, loved, cried, and created. Meanwhile, the best I can muster myself to do is just follow the same patterns I’ve been doing for decades.
I still hate the fact that her life ended while mine continued. A life filled with so much positivity and promise, where mine is filled with spite and pessimism. Sure they are measly mindsets that could be altered, but why bother? Why struggle to change who I am when fate could have simply chosen to kill me instead? What benefit is there in leaving a person like me alive when someone like her could do so much more?
I know this mindset is a poisonous one, but it is how I truly feel. I don’t see a light at the end of all this, just a meager struggle to keep myself from giving into my darkest thoughts and correcting the mistake that fate made. But what can I do? There is no real way to fill the void left, and when weighed pound for pound, my death would have been far less painful to the family than hers. I wanted to take her place. I wanted to be the one laying there in pain, awaiting the end of my mindlessly shortened life. I wanted my mother, the stronger one, to be left consoling the family and keeping things together. I know she could do it far better than I can, and I know my death would be easier to cope with than it has been for hers.
But ultimately what is the use? Short of suicide, my life will not end so easily. I will continue to live on, continue to watch as those I care about die, leaving me to one day stand alone atop a lonely family pillar. Here stands the last remnant of what was once a happy family. It is sickening to think about, but even sicker to live through. Time will never stop moving, people will never stop dying, and I will have to find a way to deal with it all. I hate it.
I can barely look myself in the mirror, I struggle wanting to get up every morning to do the things I need to do and I can’t stop thinking about the eventuality of death. I want to find some light in all this loss, but I think there is just no real positive side to it all. A person who I cared about died, and no amount of smiles or hugs can change that. I can’t laugh away the pain, nor can I drown out the sadness and fear. All I can do is just keep doing what I’ve always done, and hope that when the time comes, I will be ready to stand atop my lonely pillar.
