Ups and Downs - Coping, but sometimes not so well

Some hours, Mom's death just doesn't seem real. Other times all too much real. The hurt never seems to stop, it's like the tide in a storm. I feel this not just for myself. But for my family, watching them go through it, I wish I could take their hurt away and carry it myself. I always tried (though probably didn't succeed well) to protect my siblings - from whatever. I prayed for them. I wanted them to be happy. As I got older, I learned well how to step into shadows and hide my pain, my dreams, everything, so their needs could be met first. I guess I still do.

I look around at all the talent and gifts abundant in my family - and wonder at times what my place in it all is. I seem to offend others so easily - a compliment turns into something critical. And I strive again to step into the shadows, it's better to say nothing. I had to rewrite my last post, it didn't sound right ... the one about Mom. I hope it sounds better now.

Most of my posts like this - I never publish. This will probably be my last serious post. I'm always afraid I will offend or someone will misunderstand. It's easier to just publish pictures and fun stuff.

Last year at Mother's Day. Mom saved my life. I would gladly trade a million times over if I could have saved hers instead. I had a miscarriage, and things were not right, I was loosing a lot of blood - and didn't realize my body was basically in labor. In spite of my fear of hospitals and doctors, I went to the ER. Mom and Tim came too. Mom would not let them give me a full morphine dose. And when I reacted with a drop in my blood pressure and heart rate and a loss of consiousness, it was mom who noticed first and got things moving. It was Mom who helped get me up out of the wheelchair when I was too far gone to move and they were short an extra hand. My blood pressure was so low, something like 40 / 20, and my pulse around 25. If mom hadn't fought the dosage and prevented other dosages or caught it before it was too late ... I would have died.

That would have been the baby named after her had it lived, or the one I lost the year before that. I know she ached with both losses - every baby that I lost - just as much as I did.

I feel so inadiquate to the task I find myself facing. I pray daily for strength and wisdom and courage. I cry often when people are not around. I'm suppose to be the strong one ... or so I've been told. I'm the one who never cries - why do people assume that makes me strong? or maybe they think I don't care. But that doesn't mean I don't love deeply - and hurt for others easily. It only means I've learned well how to hide in the shadows.

If God doesn't help me with this task, I know I will fail. I can't do it alone. I pray God will help me with this daunting task for which I feel so ill equipped.