The ceiling at 48

one day, I'll be older than my mom ever was

pic: Darya @dnsvdr | Pinterest

When my beautiful mother died, aged 48, I was still far removed from feeling confronted with the fact I might reach the same age on day. I say might, because one of the effects of this tragic change of course is that I fully realised there’s no guarantee there will be another day after the one we’re living right now.

Firstly, I gave up (quite funny to start with). Suddenly there was no meaning to life, personal disaster after disaster happened and I could not escape the dreadful, somber feeling that haunted me, day after day. A bigger-than-life wave came over me and dragged me into a vortex. I remember on several occasions desperately screaming out into the sky “how do people do this??!” And I’d be answered with silence. The answer was clear though, just a scary one I did not want to hear at the time.

People get through it the same way I get through it. They do it without a clue or guide. And they usually do it by making it worse for themselves. By drowning in alcohol or drugs, running away from home, crying so hard you throw up, or fall asleep (or both). By not getting out of bed for weeks anymore, by neglecting sweet texts or calls by worried friends and family members. By not showing up to work. By eating high quantities of food, or none at all. By having nightmares - or worse - having good dreams, and waking up to the actual nightmare. Some people flee into only a few of these activities, some people do them all and stay there forever. I seriously hope that whoever finds themselves in one of these situations, will be as fed up with it as I was at some point. Anyone who goes through a hell like that deserves clarity. Answers.

Swallowed by grief and panic, my nervous system was constantly on edge. After hitting my lowest point I realised there had been times that I was head over heels in love with life. But my life had changed, and I had completely fallen out of love. I simply didn’t want to be dealing with this pain I was in anymore. But… was I really dealing with it? Or was I just making myself suffer from it? At the end of the day, every single activity except for facing the truth - that I needed to work on my mental health - was running away.

Shortly after, alexithymia kicked in. I could not feel a thing anymore. At least I was at a platform of quiet and nothingness, instead of self destruction. There was time. I hit a big realisation moment; the pain of having lost my relative(s, by now), the grief of that, I cannot smother. The amount of times I’d put a pillow on its face and tried to suffocate it were countless. But this thing doesn’t breathe. It just is.
Present in my body and head. Because it is a part of me. What I was doing, in my heavy struggling years, was letting this grief take over my body, while I sat in the back of my head in foetus position with my eyes closed and hands over my ears. But the knowledge of what was driving me could never vanish. I had to acknowledge its existence in the first place and look it in the eyes. It’s painful to look at, but it’s better to do it while not also dealing with a hangover, or sleep deprivation, or hunger. This all makes it so much worse. If nothing matters at this point anyway, then why not give healing a shot?

I found help. A professional, the first of many. But girl, was it worth it. Looking back at it, these first steps are the ones I’m the most grateful for. You can’t get anywhere without making a start. I tried to find who I really was. And I had to start from scratch. I’d been so lost, I didn’t even know what clothes I liked, what color of my hair I preferred, what my hobbies were. Slowly but surely, with a lot of work, I got back on my feet. I was making amazing decisions and life was becoming fun again!

Well, I got obsessed with it. (yes, you may laugh)

Making sure I’d live the days my mom couldn't, I tried to do as much as possible. Going to theme parks, gigs, planning dates with friends, seeking social media validation, spontaneous flights and trips abroad - I wanted everybody to know I was alive and kicking. Chasing the rush of happiness and crying when I felt like I “wasted” a day not doing much. Being as productive as I could. Cool, it gave a lot of life experience and definitely, the laughs I had were amazing. But as we’ve all heard of, balance is key. Taking time off, doing nothing, is absolutely necessary. We can’t be doing something significant every second of every day… and it's okay (despite what society tells you). I believe there’s no reward for forcing yourself to do things just ‘to be doing them’. You need to want it for the right reasons.

My mom and I used to love doing ‘nothing’. It might’ve been one of our favourite things to do. And I cherish that, so dearly. It reminds me to find that balance now. The most beautiful thing you can do, after losing someone you love, is living with them. Don’t stop life to dwell only in the past and don’t try to push every thought of them out. Live life. Take them with you. That doesn’t mean “live every day life the way they would”, live the life you are supposed to be living. Just like you did when they were here. They lived theirs. You had the honour to witness it while being your own, original person. Who has wonderful memories and learns from them. Grant others the possibility to experience the same with you. Let them feel honoured and happy they knew you. The real you.

These days I’m still having a hard time not to pay any attention to a ceiling that’s lowering itself onto me. My 48th year on this earth. It’s glass, there is a sky stretching beyond, so I know there’s more. But in 17 years, when I become older than my mom has ever been, I’ll be on true unknown soil.

There’s moments I can’t sleep and start to overthink, scared I won’t make it, that there’s a generational curse nobody has told me about. I softly try to claim my fifties by telling my friends about the lovely way I can envision us going on holidays together at that age, in hot and stylish outfits, laughing about how we don’t care what anyone thinks of us anymore. Using a filter on Tiktok, I make myself look like an old lady, just in case I may never see it in real life.

Before my mom passed, I tried to experience a trailer of what life would be like for me. “Just imagine she’s not here”. But I couldn’t feel a difference, because she was alive. And I’d never experienced a world that turned without her.

When I just lost her, people told tell me “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.” And that’s very well said. You can’t feel it, until suddenly, it’s all you feel.

I guess it will be the same when I get older. I don’t know what is waiting for me once that ceiling hits me. But if I’m lucky, it will.