We are well into Year 2 of Life Without Omi.  There has been a palpable change in the nature of my grieving since the anniversary of her death, as I sensed there would be.  Now that I have a little distance I've been thinking a lot about that first year, and especially the first few days/weeks/months.

For the first few weeks, it was as if I was living in a haze.  Her loss was there with every breath I took and word I uttered.  I started watching TV as I fell asleep to anesthetize my mind.  I woke up every morning feeling like I'd just had a load of bricks dropped on me.  My first thought every morning was, "She's gone.  Oh my God, she is gone."

Everything felt hard.  Taking care of our daily lives felt hard.  For the first two weeks I had a lot to occupy my mind: phone calls to make, funeral planning to be done, the obituary to write, my eulogy to work on, plans to make with out-of-town friends coming to her memorial service.  I was deeply present for all of this, but at the same time I felt like I was floating.

I also felt very alone, especially after the memorial service.  I had a few close friends who really took care of me, but overall I felt very alone and isolated.  In fact, isolation was one of my main themes that first year.  Brian happened to be in the busiest few months of his entire career between teaching, coaching, and a grad school class that had double the workload of any other class.  Plus he runs the homework center and sits on the school improvement team, which meets frequently.  My dad left for a two-month-long trip, which I actually felt was very good for him to do.  But it left me feeling extremely alone and isolated.

In part because of the isolation, I felt extremely angry.  At the time I felt extremely resentful of anyone who did not seem to care or reach out to me in the way I felt should have been proper.  My mom happened to be one of those people who insist on going above and beyond to help others, so I felt especially hurt and angry that not too many people did the same for me.  At the same time I felt grateful to the friends I had who rallied around me and showed me support, helped with the kids, and grieved with me.  These friends will always have a special place in my heart; I will always be grateful to them for keeping me from sinking too deeply into my grief.

Looking back, I don't know if I would have been less angry if I had felt less isolated.  Anger is a stage of grieving; I just didn't see the forest for the trees.  I believed my anger was the result of specific situations; I didn't realize it was because of my mom's death, as crazy as that sounds.  In fact, I felt very shocked that I accepted it so quickly.  I didn't try to bargain; there was never a second when I didn't believe it was true; I didn't blame the doctor who possibly (probably?) made the mistake that killed my mom.  So I didn't think I was angry about her loss, just sad.  I think that's a protective mechanism.  To have felt that anger directly about her death would have put me over the edge, so instead I took it out on other people and situations.  The only truth I know is that grief is a complex, living thing, and the only way through is time.