My Mother Died A Year Ago Today

I consider myself to be a geniu-, I mean, a pretty good writer. I express myself through my writing much better than I ever did in person. Most of the time, if I want to say something about the state of the world, I write a play. If I want to vent, I post something on Medium. Writing is my sanctuary. Which is why I am at a loss for words as to why I can’t seem to be able to write a decent and coherent post about my mother. I figured I’d be writing tributes, articles and all sort of things to cope with the pain of losing her, but I can’t. I mean, I have, many times, on many platforms, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. Even within the depths of my pain, I can’t bring myself to do any of that to a level I’m satisfied with, because I’m numb.

A year ago today, the hospital called me to tell me she had died. I was at home, by myself. I had a missed call, because I was upstairs having a shower and my phone was charging. I came down, saw the missed call and knew immediately what it was. I called them back. They told me. I thanked for letting me know and hung up. And ever since then, I have been numb. Not in the sense of, like, moping around and crying or something. I’m just empty. Life goes on, everything’s ‘normal’, but I just feel nothing. I can hardly talk to my very supportive friends and family about it, because it won’t change anything and I just can’t. I can hardly cry anymore, because life goes on and I’ve got our dog Rio to take care of. I’ve got to take care of the house, even from abroad. There are things to do. So many things to do. Nobody tells about that side of things. People tell you about grieving, but they don’t tell you about the amount of stuff you are going to have to do, especially as an only child. You are never prepared for having to deal with your own grief and still having to get out of bed in the morning, because there’s something to do that day. I have to get in touch with people, go to her bank, cancel her subscriptions, respond to the emails she is still getting… And I’ve got to write the masterpiece(s) that would have made her proud. Every time I post something on one of my blogs, I always picture her reading it, like she always did. I always wonder what she would think of it and what she would say. She commented on everything I wrote, whether on the blogs themselves or when I would post it on Facebook. We bonded over pop culture a lot, so when Robert Redford died this year, on my birthday no less, I imagined the conversation me and her would have had about him. We would always text each other when a celebrity died. Especially if it was someone we both admired.

I’m sorry she didn’t get to go to Nepal. She travelled all over the world but that’s one of the few places she didn’t get to go. I’m sorry she didn’t get to go on one more cruise. She loved cruises. And I’m sorry for everyone and everything she left behind.

She never got to see my movie Open Hell. She will never see the others either. But they will be there, and she will be there, wherever she is, watching them, and me, from afar.