Mental Health

Grief is like Pop Rocks.

My mother died on January 3, 2024, but we – I – finished the last of the bureaucracy last Wednesday. All the notifications we need to do are done, all her services are cancelled, and all the government departments are updated – and why there isn’t one department to do that in this computer age is beyond me. Someone should create a death app. You enter the name of the person deceased along with the official government certificate, and it just crawls the web letting businesses and the government know.

I’m not bothering with points cards and the like. Those systems purge their inactives after a while, and in the meantime we’ve unsubscribed her email from everything.

We finished the details work on Wednesday. That was the day of the final signings at the bank. Everything’s now done. From Wednesday afternoon on has been a mental write-off for me. My brain is in chaos, and my world keeps reflecting that. My impulsivity is ratcheted up with grief: everything is dialled up. It feels like the neurons are firing frequently and randomly, leaving me feeling like a cat in a field full of squirrels.

And while I’m not going to discuss the upside-down couch in the living room, you’ll be relieved to know that I didn’t order a new fridge from Home Depot last night because I suddenly decided that the fully-functional-but-not-counter-depth fridge I already own needed to be replaced.

It made sense to me in the moment. It made less sense this morning.

Daily writing prompt
What is the last thing you learned?
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It’s wild, and sad, and chaotic, and angry, and regretful, and remorseful, and relief, and guilt. I’m learning that grief is many things and so, hard to compartmentalize. It’s everywhere, all at once, all the time. I think it will fade from its priority status as time passes, but I’ve also learned that there’s no dodging it. To be honest, I didn’t really try – I learned the lesson about the futility of attempting to dodge grief from watching others. It doesn’t take off if you refuse delivery, it lurks in the neighbourhood instead.

That’s not to say that grief – or rather the underlying cause – doesn’t piss me off. My brain is Pop Rocks, but quite a few of those rocks are anger and resentment-flavoured these days. I’m working on it. Let it go is the mantra, after all.

Resentment is a bitch
From 2019. That’s five years ago, in case you feel like being horrified.

10 thoughts on “Grief is like Pop Rocks.”

  2. I’d welcome a death Bot proxy (Alexa or Siri) that you can orally give your power attorney and turn it loose to do all. About the loss of a mom, I only have one thought. There is that funny feeling that implores: You are NOW a Grown up. Just carry ON!

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  5. My condolences, I loss my momma a few years ago and I am still trying to retrace some of my steps. Although it appears all that was rational about me became mechanical; I just don’t recall the half of what I did are how I even made it to the funeral day. My memories come in flashes. I wish I had taken the time to write my thoughts and actions during that time but I didn’t. My baby sister keeps telling me things that happen, but for the life of me I don’t recall closing the back accounts, sending back the new car or even picking the casket…. I just know what they told me I did. My thoughts are with you. ❤️

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    1. Thank you. I’m sorry you’re in this unfortunate club as well. I’m appreciating hearing from others that that brain fog and chaos is normal. But thanks also for remarking on journalling – I haven’t been, so I think I’ll make more of an effort.

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