My Mom Left Me Here All Alone

Not Really, But, Like, How It Feels That Way

Grief makes you feel lonely, I had heard. File this under “things people told me when my mom was sick that I quickly dismissed.” It’s a big file, so good luck finding space. Advice for grieving while you’re still caregiving is like getting tips on the cycling leg of a triathlon while you’re still swimming. You’re trying not to drown so you don’t really have time to listen — thanks tho!

This concept of loneliness in grief never made sense to me because I knew that when my mom died, I wouldn’t be alone. I would actually describe my circle of friends, family, aunts, and former improv teammates as “comically large.” I would miss my mom. I would be sad. But I wouldn’t be lonely. That didn’t make sense. Not lonely. Not me. Nope. Reader, do you see the twist coming already? Since my mom died, I have felt incredibly lonely.

Personally, I hate it when things are true. 

When truisms, sayings, and accepted wisdoms are actually right? That feels like a betrayal. They shouldn’t apply to me! I’m not everybody. I’m me. Like when you drink water and that does, in fact, make you feel better -- what the hell is that, you know? I guess I’ll just sit over here being a carbon-based life-form like every other prairie dog, oak tree, bumble bee, and Ryan Seacrest out there. We are the same. 

What I didn’t understand before is that you feel lonely when someone dies because you are alone. Not alone on Earth, perhaps, but you are alone in the relationship you had with that person. You’re the only one still doing that whole thing. I’m in a mother-daughter relationship that's just daughter now. She bailed on me. She didn’t want to go, but here I am still watching season 14 of Sister Wives by my damn self. And she’s missing all their daughters’ weddings! Madison’s was a mess, Mykelti’s was a disaster and Aspyn’s truly tragic. Mariah’s might be the worst yet. Fingers crossed. But does it even matter if there’s a tacky wedding on Sister Wives if you can’t share it with your mom? This has been a philosophical question since the beginning of recorded human history. 

The rest of my immediate family is all men, so that’s just different. In the last week of my mom’s life she said “Good luck with these guys...You’re gonna need it.” You love to be owned by a woman on her deathbed. It ranks right up there with being owned on Twitter by Jersey Shore’s Snooki and the Emmy-winning female lead of Ladybugs, Jackée, all things that have actually happened to me. I regret nothing. All three of these women put me in my place, which is, I admit, a tier or two below them. While I still can’t speak to Snooki or Jackée’s larger point, I think now that my mom did kinda mean I would be alone with other people, famously the worst kind of alone. 

I miss sharing a definition of “weird” that I don’t have to explain. Like most of our relationship was just asking each other if something was weird. The correct answer was that, yes, it was always weird. You knew that before you asked, but you wanted to hear the other person say it. If one of us said something wasn’t weird, that was almost always politically motivated. Like if I said “that’s not weird,” what I really meant was “I know exactly why that’s weird to you, but I’m not following you down this logical journey to the conclusion you want to make. I’m cutting you off right here! I’m pretending it’s not weird!” Not being able to verify if something is weird is one of the hardest parts of life without my mom. Though I should remember: it’s always weird. That’s the answer. 

It’s hard because this is forever now. I swear it seems like every day, my mom is still dead. A lot of people have died since my mom, which is logical because there’s been an international pandemic and, in general, people are always dying. Death is coming for every prairie dog, oak tree, bumble bee, and Ryan Seacrest. Prince Philip died recently and that wasn’t really capital-S-sad because he was 99 years old and maybe a very bad person. But I was sad seeing Queen Elizabeth sit there by herself. He’s gone and she is alone in that marriage. Who is she going to talk to now -- Charles??? Pass. We know from Netflix’s unflinching documentary journalism The Crown that Prince Philip was, against all reason, the love of the Queen’s life. QE2 got to be married to the love of her life for 73 years, but that’s not comforting to her now. That makes it worse. That doesn’t soften the blow of death because you’re not outside your life looking at it like “huh, mostly good stuff here!” You’re experiencing it in that moment and it sucks. She’s never going to see him again. Plus her mom’s dead plus her dad plus her sister. And she’s the Queen of England. If that’s going to happen to Lilibet 1, we’re all screwed. We must end mortality NOW! 

I should probably state here that I’m not technically a spokesperson for the Royal Family and have no particular insight into the sovereign's psyche other than what I project on to her to process my own trauma, but still...I am right.

People think they can outwit grief by appreciating loved ones, especially parents, while they’re still here. Sure, you know you did not grow up in the Disney Channel Original Movie Smart House (dir. LeVar Burton). You understand and respect that a real person was doing everything for you growing up, but cataloguing and labeling your appreciation won’t eliminate the pain. My point -- and sorry it’s a doozy! -- is that it’s going to make it worse. The better that relationship the more it’s going to feel lonely when you’re the only one there. 

I want to be a good ambassador to the grief club. I want to make people feel heard and not alone. But I also feel like I’m not being honest when someone is new to the club because I try not to let on that it only gets harder. Your person gets farther away from you. I’m jealous of people who lost someone recently because reality hasn’t set in for them yet. It’s funny that I don’t just choose to be jealous of someone who hasn’t lost anyone. But your brain only lets you hope so much. Isn’t that weird?