100 days

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For two weeks, I've felt the approach of this day. Perhaps I put too much thought into it, perhaps, like with many things in life I put too much meaning into "just another day". Brother seemed to have completely forgotten about the day. But it was the hundredth day after mum passed away , and the sadness and sense of longing and pain intensified.

I spent an hour or so last night at the river side, at a place where mum and I sat a while and admired the breath and beautiful of this land. I lay down to watch the clouds, and listened to songs. Inadvertently, tears began to shed, trickling down my cheeks as I sobbed quietly. The waves and music drowned out my crying.

This is a sadness that nobody, nobody can really understand. It is so personal, so raw because I was there, and it was traumatic. The nights and days, the almost endless fighting and struggle, and dying and eventually death... It saps a lot of energy from you, and leaves you so drained. Empty and drained...

100 days already since mum passed. Where is she now? Is she hurting seeing me cry so often and so much? Is she hurting because friends seem so hard to reach, and who I thought was true lasting, friendship seems so impatient and tired of my tears and me recounting my sorrows?

I laid out a full table of dishes for her... Vegetables, fruits, berries, drinks and even a bottle of Evian (my friend bought) to commemorate where we once were together. I cried when I asked her of she had finished. Of course it did not work...  It was fine cooking and preparing, but when it came to making the offering, I could not stop crying... Again, these are moments I realise that things take time, and that there is a shallow wound deep down.
Then I thought of calling my brother and his family. And in the presence of my little nephew, I threw the coins. And voila, it worked, and she had finished...

Mum is around me, mum is with me... And how it must pain her to see me cry so much, and to cry over such a trivial thing as relationship and feeling misunderstood...

Mum, I will be strong. I must be strong, because in this world, only I can make myself happy...

Flowers

I picked white lilies, white roses, pink lilies and some pink carnations. They made beautiful bouquet.

Mum would have liked the flowers, some are her favourite. I imagine she would give me a scolding if I gave her the bouquet, but I also know she would probably be touched and smiling inside.

"Beautiful flowers... Who are they for?" The nice florist asked as she carefully arranged them.

"for my mum..." I said, though with some hesitation at first, for I felt I was lying even though the truth is they really are for mum.

"She's a lucky mother. And you're a good son..."

I smiled, and said nothing. Was I, was I really?

The flowers are more than the scenery and beauty they bring into the room, they are more than just a symbol of remembrance as I commemorate one hundred days since mum's passing tomorrow. The flowers are from me to her, to tell her how I miss her, and how even she is no longer around, she is still my mother...

Reflections

Have I really become a selfish, self absorbed person as my friend accuses me of being?

Have I really let myself be so absorbed by the trauma of the past few months and death of my mum that I care so little about the wellbeing and feelings of others?

It hurts me to be told I've changed and become selfish and seemingly insensitive to the feelings of people around me. It hurts also when people who are your friends start talking amongst themselves about how different I am now compared to before. Are friends not supposed to support up, comport you, give you the space and time to mourn and grief instead of talk behind your back and expect you to quickly move forward? How it hurts that I was told by someone I should go see a professional instead of turning to people around me... I thought or perhaps idealised friends as people you could turn to in the greatest time of need.

I need to reflect on how I seem to have changed over the past few months, need to think about how I (according to at least one person...) can become selfish and self-absorbed and not even see it. Is the person correct in his harsh words and judgments or am I simply so oblivious to oblivious to my own failings and continually fool myself (and others...) into believing I'm an "angel" who could do littleness wrong...?

I closed my eyes and swallowed the misunderstandings and accusations of flaws in my character. How it hurts to be told I seem to have become such a difficult person to be around. How it hurts that at a time I most need and want to reach out for human contact and support, a friend reproaches me and makes me feel like I'm a terrible person with so many flaws and failings.
It hurts especially because after mum passed away, I promised myself, promised my mum, I'd live the life of a virtuous person, I'd continue being the kindness and generosity that my mum (and to an extent dad...) espoused and was.