The Haze of My Denial

Months after the death of my mom, I remember seeing her in all of the familiar places. I saw her at the hair salon she normally went to. I saw her at the pharmacy, where she picked up her medications. I saw her walking through our neighborhood. I saw her walking into the grocery store, where my stepfather worked. I saw her everywhere, yet she was gone.

Time stood still and then it progressed to moving in what felt like slow motion. When people tried talking to me, I couldn’t focus on anything that they were saying. I heard the words but couldn't make sense of anything. It felt like I was living in duo realities; the reality that once was just a few months ago and the reality that I was currently trying to understand.

I was stuck in what felt like a fog, where logically, I knew that my mother died but I couldn't emotionally, mentally, or spiritually accept that it actually happened. I said the words, "My mother died" and I just couldn't believe it. In my heart, I felt that this was a mistake. This wasn't supposed to happen. And something in my mind gave me a small glimmer of hope that if I could figure out what happened to my mom, I could figure out a way to reverse the outcome. The logical part of me understood this would never be the case but the part of me that didn't want to accept defeat, couldn't think that my mom's death had actually happened. My mother’s death in fact did feel like defeat for me.

For months, everything and everyone just felt so distant. All my attention went towards trying to process what happened to my mom. It was days of ruminating thoughts that played like a broken record from point A to point Z over and over and over again. From the last time I spoke to her to the last time I saw her, what didn't I see? What were the signs that I disregarded? This couldn't have just happened out of nowhere.

For the first couple months of this nightmare, I was haunted even more by the fact that we didn't know her cause of death. My family and I had to wait for toxicology reports to come back, which took about 3 months. 3 months of wonder. 3 months of agony. 3 months of trying to figure out what happened. 

There was a massive disconnect that I felt from the world. For such a long time, my mother was my reason, my purpose, and now she was gone. I felt displaced. Almost as though I didn't belong here anymore. My mom brought me into this world, yet she no longer was here. When I saw life, I saw it with her in it. I learned to see life with her as my focal point. I had lost my focal point. I couldn't understand how I was supposed to continue life without her.

Everything felt so dark and gloomy, even on the sunniest of days. I guess this is why it's called the stage of denial because nothing makes sense at this time and even when it does, you wish that it wouldn't.