I have several unfinished drafts of blog posts here on Ink-Stained Worlds that I will almost certainly never publish.
Most of them attempt to put into words my feelings regarding the death of my mother and the unusual relationship with grief that I seemed to have developed following her passing. Alas, I am not as eloquent as I would like, so I will quickly sum up the core of it:
I have not cried for my mother, and I do not expect to, since she died. I am not upset that she is dead – at all. I miss her fiercely, and I wish that I could discuss many things with her as once I did, but seeing the literal agony in which she lived the final months of her life, I am grateful for her death, because it has given her peace.
Grief counselling has never been something I have gelled with, but in my mother’s case I simply don’t feel the need. I have closure here – or, at least, as much closure as anyone could wish to have upon the death of their mother. I said my goodbyes. She knew that I love her. She is no longer in pain – and those things, for me, are enough. Grief is a very personal process and I had a quiet but intense friendship with my mother that grew and deepened in the years leading up to her passing. I appreciate that time. I do not wish for more, exactly, because I would not wish more life on her without being able to assure her quality of life, and that was denied to her by her condition.
To wish more life on her simply so that I could talk to her some more would be selfishness of the highest order. I would wish death upon the worst of Humanity before wishing upon them the ordeal through whish my mother passed – and she was the best human being I have ever met.
This post, as I am so wont to say, isn’t about that. It’s been bugging me that I haven’t written the above clearly and succinctly, and unlike the former posts (which I wrote with the mindset that I’d maybe put them out there, if I liked the way they turned out), I do fully intend to publish this one.
So. On to what this post is actually about. Continue reading