Numb.
That is the best way to describe what I am feeling. Painstakingly numb. No one prepares you for this, this feeling. Part of me wants to feel something, anything just to prove that I am alive. But the other part of me is telling me to embrace this numbness, as it is better than the all consuming pain.
I watch in silence as they lower her six feet into the ground. I'm still in denial that she is gone. My mom, my best friend. She has been such an important part of my life. I don't know what to do without her.
Tears are streaming down my face as I focus on the casket, vaguely aware of the priest speaking in the background. I can hear him talking, but I am incapable of registering his words. Memories of my mother overwhelm me, making it even more difficult for me to accept the fact that she is gone.
For months I have watched her suffer. I have watched her lose weight, watched her wither away until nothing was left but skin and bones. I watched her suffer through the unbearable chemotherapy. But quitting never crossed her mind, she was a fighter. But the pancreatic cancer was stronger, defeating her.
A cold liquid splashes on my forehead and I am taken away from my thoughts. My vision comes back into focus as I look around, noticing everyone has left. I am alone in the cemetery, reminding me of everything I have lost. I am not just alone physically in this moment, but alone in life also. Another cold drop hits my cheek and I turn my face up to the sky, only for rain to begin to fall. The cold drops continue to pelt my face and the rest of my body, causing a burning in their wake. I am vaguely aware of my body becoming cold, the rain increasing the coldness coursing through my body.
"I love you, mom."
I whisper to the gravestone as I start to walk away, my body wanting to get out of the cold rain. I begrudgingly start moving my feet towards my Mustang. I can feel the rain drops hit me, absorbing into my clothes and causing my skin to become colder. But I'm too numb to care. I am on autopilot as I close the door and start the car, the engine roaring to life. My body is moving, but my brain is not processing what I am doing.
I finally arrive home, unable to recall my drive here. The white colonial house sits in front of me, the home I shared with my mother. Not many twenty seven year old adults are proud to say they live with their mother. But I take pride in it. Well, took pride in it. I moved back home 3 years ago when I was twenty four when my mom was officially diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I knew she would need me to help her during her treatment, so the best solution was for me to move back home. I don't regret moving back home for one second. If anything, it made us closer. It allowed us to create more memories together. It allowed me to be there for her.
The garage door opens to reveal my moms Toyota Highlander. My stomach drops as I take in the sight of the vehicle, a reminder that my mom is truly gone. I sit in my vehicle for a brief moment, trying to gather my strength to go inside the house.
I take a deep breath in preparation as I open the car door and rush into the garage to enter the house, wanting to avoid being in the rain any longer than needed. The house is quiet as I walk into the kitchen. The usual background noise of the TV is absent, something my mom would turn on daily. Even if she wasn't watching it, she always has it on for the noise. There's no candles burning, filling the house with a welcoming vanilla scent. The house is just cold, empty. Like me.
I take off my shoes and drop my now soaked purse to the floor, hearing a deep thud as it hits the tile. I go straight to the fridge and grab a bottle of wine, not bothering to grab a glass as I begin to remove the cork. I slowly work my way to the living room, taking a long sip of wine as I pass the photos covering the walls. Some are of my mom and I. Some include my father, a man I don't remember.
