Five Years Ago

 Tomorrow marks the 5th anniversary of Mom’s death. Five years tomorrow at 11:40am. I can’t believe it’s been five years. Everything just seems like a blur to me these past years. I’m taking the day off work as I haven’t worked on any of the previous anniversaries and never will. I will be doing a certain ritual—a tradition, if you will—as I do every year at the time of death.

  My emotions are not so much sadness anymore, just anger and bitterness sometimes, directed at her for not trying to live and for secretly drinking herself to death; but also directed at myself for not seeing the signs and not doing everything in my power to keep her alive. It’s almost like some supernatural (re:evil) cover was put over my eyes, a malevolent pair of blinders that kept me some seeing reality and doing something about it. That anger turns into fits of rage every now and then, fortunately I keep it within the well-insulated walls of my house and is never, ever showcased in public.

  Not much else has happened these past five years, just work and sitting at home and going on little road trips to mountain cabins twice a year or so and visiting old friends up there while I’m at it. I got a promotion at work over years ago; Mom would have been proud. I’ve gained quite a bit of weight these past few years out of depression, I guess. I don’t know. I was involved in a car accident in Tampa two months ago, totaling my car of 13 years and causing me some injuries. I’m temporarily using Mom’s old car (seen in a previous blog). It would have been nice to have been able to call Mom afterwards and for her to be there for me as I went through recovery and all the mess of an accident, but I had nobody to call except for that father of mine. Life without your soulmate is empty.

  That’s all for now. I greatly encourage all of you to read my other blog posts over the past five years. Check them out!

Four Years Ago

 This is the fourth anniversary of Mom's death today. I have a certain ritual that I conduct every year at 11:40, the time of her death, and this year was no exception. I remember everything about that week four years ago, all the bad and the sad and the horrors and the shock. Some might say I suffered from PTSD from all of it; I would certainly agree. Living four years without my beloved parent has been a most unhappy time, one that I would never wish on anyone. 

The "thoughts and prayers" comments are always silly. The out of touch Baby Boomers think empty words and clichéd religious phrases are encouragement, but my generation is unphased by all of that; we see right through it, and it means nothing. Losing your soulmate, your loved one, is simply a personal experience, a matter that nobody else can help with. It's a one-person struggle, as lonely and isolated as that may seem. 

  So I check off another year. Nothing is the same anymore. 

https://www.bankspagetheus.com/m/obituaries/Carol-Collins-5/Memories

Three Years Ago

 Tomorrow is the third anniversary of Mom's death. No, it doesn't really get that much easier. No, I don't "move on" from something so traumatic and life-changing; I just try to make do the best I can until I'm ready to go. The "brain fog" is long gone. Crying and wailing all the time is also in the distant past. But the incredible lonliness and emptiness remains as nothing positive has supplanted it in any way. 

  In the past year since my last post, I spent thousands of dollars on a therapist via the BetterHelp app; it was nice to talk to somebody off and on for several months. I've been able to throw away lots of Mom's junk that I just kept in closets and sheds, unwilling to part with it; I realized none of it was needed or had any sentimental value to me at all. So there have been positive things that I've been able to do in the past year. 

  Ever since Mom's death, I've been on a Facebook group for people who have lost their mother. A woman on there took a picture of me and my beloved mother and made a cute painting of it. I'll share it here and bid you adeiou for now.

Two Years Ago

  Monday at 11:40am marks the two-year anniversary of my beloved mother and best friend's death at 64. It hasn’t been a happy two years. It’s nothing I would wish on anyone, and nobody can understand unless they’ve gone through the same devastating and life-changing loss. I’ve had people who lack empathy say things like “I’ve lost an uncle and a cousin one time.” Ummm…ok. Are you an only child, single, childless and alone, with a useless father and no other close family? Did you spend 39 years straight with your mother, side-by-side almost non-stop, together in practically every aspect of life? No? End of discussion. Go very far away.

   I’ve had virtually no support from Mom’s family during the death and afterwards. No cards, no calls, no condolences on Mom’s obituary page. Two of Mom’s siblings haven’t even acknowledged her untimely death, and one asshole uncle told me to hurry up and move up just hours after I watched the woman who saw my first breath breathe her last. And in less than a year, two longtime friends have died unexpectedly, and another has moved far away to another region of the nation. 

   My world has gotten smaller and darker in the past two years, and I’m not the same person I used to be. All one can do is just keep going on, I suppose. 

Some Minor Progress?

 I finally moved Mom's sick bed back from the living room corner to the guest room. It had been sitting there unused for two years this month as Mom was sent to the hospital and then to a nursing home, where she died soon after on August 16th, 2019. I rarely am in my living room, so I kept putting it off as I guess I wanted to hold on to any memories of my beloved mother as I could. My online therapist encouraged me to finally move it back, and I did just that this week.  I found lots of books and paperwork under the bed and I cleaned that all up. I then brought out Mom's clothes basket that had been sitting in another corner, and I went through that, throwing away most of the clothes but keeping some favorites she wore, as well as the last thing she wore before leaving my home forever. I feel that this was a bit of progress in my grief.

Where it stayed since Mom's death

What was underneath 

Time for the clothes basket 

Back where it originally was 

Her 66th Birthday

 Mom's 66th birthday would have been tomorrow. Every year, I would scour the greeting card section to find the perfect card for her. My birthday is exactly one month from hers, and she would do the same for me. We both kept each other's bday cards for life. For the second year now after her death, I still bought a card for my momma, and I'll probably do so as long as I live. I read it out loud and placed it on her piano on top of last year's card. I guess it's just a tradition I'll always have.

My Review of Cornerstone Hospice

 I wanted to post a review online for Cornerstone Hospice in Tavares, Florida, since Mom's death, but it was too painful for me to do. I thought about it and thought about it. I finally got around to it. I posted it on Google Reviews as well as Yelp, and will probably post it on Facebook Reviews as well. Here's what I wrote:

I don’t have good remarks about Cornerstone that so many on here have. My mother and absolute best friend, Carol Diane Collins, died on August 16th, 2019. Now a year and a half later, I feel I finally need to write a review. In her dying weeks, I was summoned to the hospital; the medical staff said that it was time for a Hospice consultation, and they recommended Cornerstone. I was met with Suzanne Pasco, who didn’t seem to want to be there, and seemed like this was almost of a annoyance to her to have to meet with me about putting Mom into a Hospice House for the remainder of her life, which turned out to just be a couple of weeks. She said that she didn’t think my dying mother was ready for a Hospice House, despite the doctors saying she was. She then stated that patients are only put into Hospice just 48 hours before they die, which I later learned to be a complete lie. Pasco put on a phony smile and left. I then had to scramble frantically to try to put my mother in a nursing home, as I am an only child with no family and no support of any kind, who works full-time and would not be able to give my precious momma the help she needed in her final days. Using her Social Security money that she just started getting, I was able to put Mom into Cypress Care in Wildwood. Within a few days, they called, saying I needed a Hospice consult. I was met with another representative from Cornerstone, saying that it was now too late to put Mom in a Hospice House and that she had no idea why this wasn’t done in the first place; she said Mom should have been placed there days before. 

 So my wonderful, sweet momma had to endure the final week of her life in a busy nursing home, surrounded by three other patients in a small room, one of them blaring Maury Povich and Jerry Springer filth all day, every day. No privacy, no peace and quiet, no dignity, that me and my soulmate deserved. Nobody from Cornerstone offered counseling, no help, I was on my own the entire time. I have no idea why I was overlooked. But those final weeks left me pained and scarred emotionally, and even 18 months later, things are still hurtful.  

Mom's Car

 I thought I would share this with all of you as it’s been a long time since I’ve posted on here. Tomorrow is the 18 month anniversary of the loss of my beloved mother and absolute best friend, Carol. One and a half years without my soulmate. One of the very few things of any value that she had left in her possession when she died was her car. I decided that there was no way I was going to part with that car, even if it meant paying a bit more with insurance and the initial title transfer fee (which the tag office cut in half when they realized the car was bequeathed to me). It was the first vehicle that Mom bought on her own, the first one she paid off on her own; it was hers and hers alone. Mom neglected it badly in her final year of life, so I have fixed it up, top to bottom, cleaning it, getting all the needed maintenance done, and taking care of it even more than my own car. 

 There’s also a sort of spiritual connection with it. Some months before she started getting sick, Mom was involved in a car accident. A woman driving a brand-new Toyota Tacoma pickup truck slammed into Mom’s car at a roundabout. The truck was badly damaged and had to be towed away, but Mom’s car had no damage. Nothing, not even a dent or scratch. The lady who caused the accident couldn’t believe it, but then she looked at the plate on the front of Mom’s car and said, “Yep, now I get it. Now I understand.” I used to pick on Mom for the tag, saying it was goofy, but methinks it’s going to stay on there. I don’t drive the car too much, so I expect to have it for a long time. Keeping the vehicle and taking care of it at all times is sort of a memorial for Mom; I do this in her memory.

Anniversary

It was exactly a year ago today that I lost my beloved mother and absolute best friend, Carol Diane Gibbs Collins at 64 years old. I stayed by her side for the week that she was dying, her last words to me were "I love you" before she became uncommunicative for days. I didn't know what to do today, so I just drove to the nursing room where she died, sat in my car in the empty visitor parking lot with Mom's ashes for little while until the minute of her death. I even wore the exact same clothes I wore on that tragic day. I'm just very sentimental and traditional in that way. It was overcast and drizzly last year, the kind of days that Mom loved; today, it was partly sunny and hot.

 A year later, and things aren't all that much better in life; I just go through the motions in life: work, home, going out with a friend or two not often enough anymore. Things just aren't the same anymore; nothing's fun or exciting, because just about everything in my life had Mom right by my side. My twin, my next door neighbor, and my soulmate, gone 20 years too soon. I'm an only child, my father is useless, Mom's extended family hasn't been there for me, and obviously I don't have a spouse and kids. I had no money for grief therapy, so I've grieved alone for a year. I think about my momma every waking hour of my life. 

Time Has Stopped in My Living Room

  It was a year ago yesterday afternoon that my Mom spent her last day at my house. After being my next door neighbor for over ten years (and living in this house for 17 years before I took it over), she had to move in with me at the beginning of 2019 because she was getting sick and had lost everything because she couldn't work anymore. So we got the bed out of my tiny guest room and put it in the corner of the living room. That was her home for seven months, not including the several stays at the hospital and hotel. She had gotten so terribly ill from cirrhosis, each day was another disaster. I came home from work one year ago today, and Mom was halfway on the bed, barely able to do anything. She had messed herself, and couldn't even answer basic questions like her SS number, her full name, names of the president and governor. It was a nightmare to cap off seven months straight of living nightmares for me.

  I called 911, and she was carted away one last time as she mouthed "I love you" to me. One week in the hospital, then two weeks at a nursing home until her untimely and devastating death on August 16th at age 64. I haven't moved or thrown away anything of Mom's in my living room. Her bed is still there, liver disease books on her nightstand (she had been misdiagnosed for months by typically uncaring doctors, so I frantically bought books to try to help, but it was far too late). Her clothes still sit crumpled in a basket behind a special lift chair I bought for her because I thought she was going to recover. Time stopped in my living room on July 25th, 2019, and one full year later, it's still stopped. I spend very little time in there anyway, sometimes just to talk to her bed like Mom's still there, but I know this can't stay like this forever.

The 65th Birthday

Today would have been Mom's 65th birthday. Exactly a month from today is my 40th. She spent her last birthday in the hospital, recovering from severe dehydration. But her other, misdiagnosed illness was taking over, and she never got better. Her last decent week was the end of May. The next 2 1/2 months were a living nightmare, scarring and traumatic for me, every day, until her preventable and premature death. I took the day off work today because I didn't really want to be around anybody. Very, very few people can understand devastating loss and profound grief, especially when you are devoted to your mother and absolute best friend for almost your entire 39 years of life, and she was to me. Mom always got me lovely cards for my bday and I would do the same for her, and we kept all of the cards we gave each other over the years. I still bought her a card this year. I probably always will. I think about her every waking hour.

Gotta Start Somewhere

Well, hello. I guess it's time for a brief introduction. My name is Ryan, I'm 39 years old, and I live in central Florida. My beloved mother and absolute best friend, Carol, died on August 16th, 2019, at just 64 years old and after a brief illness. I'm an only child and my father and I have never had a real relationship, so it was just Mom and me for almost my entire life. She was my rock, my cheerleader, my confidant, my soulmate, of sorts, my kindred spirit. She was also my next door neighbor for over ten years, so I saw or talked to her every single day of my life then.

I've blogged about other issues and topics before under a different moniker, so I decided to dedicate a blog to the untimely and devastating loss of my mother, something that--over nine months later--is still fresh on my mind and heart, and something I think about literally every waking hour of my life. I will write about her illness, her death, my grief and my memories. I've had absolutely nobody to talk to about my pain and unfathomable heartbreak as I have no real, supportive family, my friends simply can't understand and relate, and I have no insurance, so I haven't been able to undergo grief counseling that I badly need. So, I'll write.

I have so many blogs I want to write, so many things I want to share, in hopes that others can relate and understand, and hopefully they can get some help for their grief as well through my stories. So many things to say! It may take a while for me to sort my thoughts out, but I'm finally working on it after nine full months of being too sad to sit down and write. I hope you'll pull up a chair and sit a spell.