Life in Death’s Wake

Summary

The article "Life in Death's Wake" discusses the personal journey of coping with the loss of a loved one, specifically the author's mother, and the struggle to find joy and a new sense of normalcy amidst grief.

Abstract

The author of "Life in Death's Wake" shares a deeply personal account of mourning the loss of their mother, a process that has spanned over two decades. Initially, the author felt compelled to remain in a perpetual state of sorrow, believing it to be a way to honor their mother's memory. However, this led to a cycle of guilt for both grieving and finding moments of happiness. The article describes the author's evolution from feeling like a shell of themselves, to learning to live with their loss, using emotional crutches and relational prostheses to manage their grief. The author acknowledges that while their mother's death has irrevocably changed them, her life continues to influence who they are becoming. The piece reflects on the transformation that comes with mourning, comparing it to surviving a botched amputation, and emphasizes that life after loss becomes a new normal, where the deceased is remembered and visited in memory.

Opinions

The author initially believed that experiencing anything less than constant sorrow would dishonor their mother's memory.
They felt guilty for both wallowing in grief and for feeling happy, indicating a complex emotional struggle.
The author describes their mourning as akin to a botched amputation, with initial acute pain followed by a spread of grief like gangrene.
Over time, the author began to experience moments of relief and light, suggesting that grief can evolve and become more manageable.
The author found solace in emotional crutches and relational prostheses, which helped them adjust to life after loss.
They acknowledge the permanence of their transformation, accepting that reclaiming their pre-loss self is impossible.
The author holds their mother in high regard, describing her as an amazing woman who was beautiful, smart, funny, and full of faith.
They express that while their life has changed significantly due to their mother's death, her influence remains profound and continues to shape their identity.
The author admits to spending time failing and pulling away from the world while learning to navigate their grief.
They consider themselves an emotional amputee who has learned to walk with a limp, indicating a life forever marked by loss but not paralyzed by it.
The article conveys that the author has come to terms with their new normal, recognizing that their mother's death has changed their life's trajectory, while her life has left an indelible impact.

Mourning a Loved One

Some deaths force us to relearn how to live. When my mother first passed away, I felt that to maintain anything less than a state of perpetual sorrow for the rest of my life would be to dishonor her memory. But I also knew she’d want me to rediscover my joy. So then I spent years feeling guilty for wallowing and guilty for feeling happy. My mother died in 2001, and I still sometimes struggle to bear my mourning for her.

I’ve had to let go of what I used to think mourning a loved one meant. I’ve had to make sure that I didn’t stop living on behalf of her death — because for a while, there, I stopped actively participating in my life. I put everything on pause internally while I waited for “the real me” to return to myself — the person I was before she died.

I was in a sad state. The pursuit of sanity was driving me crazy. Trying to seem stable while I was still emotionally raw and psychologically fragile was exhausting. I’d wake up every day and search the ceiling above my bed for a reason to get up. Keeping up appearances (and holding on to my job) became my only modicum of motivation. I’d go through the motions, but I was just a shell. Living felt like dying. I was suffocating in a world full of air. The simplest task — getting dressed, showering, or cooking a meal — felt like climbing a mountain. Any happiness I managed to scrounge up would quickly evaporate.

For me, mourning has been like surviving a botched amputation. First there was pain — acute, debilitating pain. Then grief spread like gangrene — making everything dark and black. My mind would play tricks on me at first. I’d think I heard my mother calling my name or her key in the front door. I’d see a woman who, from a distance, looked like her. Time passed — months upon months — years — and those phantom sensations began to occur less and less.

I began to have moments of relief. Some light started to filter into the occasional day. Eventually I learned to manage (as opposed to faking it). I found emotional crutches and relational prostheses. It all took some getting used to, but it helped. Some days I felt like I might be able to regain my pre-loss self, but other days I was keenly aware of being incomplete — forever changed. On the worst days the wound felt fresh. Eventually I came to accept that reclaiming who I once was had become impossible. My pre-loss self was now a mirage. I could only proceed as a new version — one that would have to visit her in memory.

My mother was an amazing woman. She spoke her mind with complete (and loving) honesty. She was beautiful and smart and funny. She had her imperfections, but she wore them flawlessly. Her eyes lit up when she smiled — eyes that looked like mine, but not as squinty. Her faith humbled me. I marveled at her ability to spend hours in the “boring” chapters of the Bible. She knew how to splurge, save, and give generously. I miss her for a lifetime full of reasons.

I didn’t take a master class in mourning. I experimented. I spent a lot of time failing and flailing and pulling away from the world. But I was fortunate to have some loved ones faithfully waiting in the wings for me until I reemerged.

Now I’m an emotional amputee; I’ve lost a loved one. I move through life with a limp, but I can walk. Even though it pains me to admit it, life in the wake of my mother’s death has become the new normal. I am who I am because of and without her. I’ve stopped trying to figure out how different I’d be if she were still living. Her death forever changed my life’s trajectory, but her life affected me even more deeply.

A version of this piece originally appeared on the blog Write Away.