I’m sorry for you loss.
Michael, I’ve been reading but didn’t know what to say. Still don’t, I just wanted you to know that I care and I’m very sorry for your pain.
I find a journal where she talks about wanting to talk more with me. I wanted to talk more with her. I didn’t really know how. Some of it came out accusatory. We both wanted to talk more with the other. I tried to use our last days to have that kind of talk.
dup
I’m so sorry. Talk to her now. Can she hear you? Who knows… but do it anyway. I couldn’t talk to my mother either, not as a child, teen, or adult. However, I was THERE at the end of her life, and so were you. A friend of mine says, “You can pretend to care, but you can’t pretend to show up.” Showing up counts for a lot.
It will take a while to assimilate this event, to *digest *it, as it were. Don’t put yourself on a timetable. It takes as long as it takes. Grief is an organic process that can’t be rushed.
I’m also an only child and when my mother died (in assisted living), I also wasn’t there. I was having a mammogram-- I got the call while I was sitting in the waiting area in my hospital gown. I’ve often heard of people waiting until their loved ones were out of the room to slip into the next world. We don’t know what that’s actually like. (Although all of us will surely find out…) With all this CV stuff going on, you’re bearing an extra burden. I’m so sorry. 
I’m very sorry for your loss.
The emotional response is hard to predict. My mother died in December from lung cancer. I felt strangely detached afterward, even at the memorial at her church where everyone around me wept. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me.
A few days later, while going through her things, I broke down sobbing after finding a handwritten grocery list in her purse. Watching slides of my mom on a giant screen while “Amazing Grace” played didn’t move me, but a scrap of paper with “milk, eggs, dog bones” scribbled on it left me crying like a child.
You’ll deal with it in your own way, on your own time.
So sorry for your loss.
Please don’t beat yourself up over how you should or shouldn’t feel. There’s no playbook; everybody processes these things differently, and whatever you’re feeling - it’s valid.
I fond a sparsely-written diary in which she’d written one of those letters you write someone without sending it to them. I really wish she’d sent it to me. Having it in the form of a letter rather than indirect verbal communication would have made it register, I think. That did start to make me cry.
I presume it’s fairly common to regret things you said, things you didn’t say, not having spent more time together?
Yes, very common.
No matter what, a person always seems to want to have had more time with the person who is gone.
How you feel is how you feel - there is no “right” way to feel, and how you feel might change from one minute to the next.
My mother was much the same way her last few months although much older, 97-98. Oddly enough, she still had cravings for blue berry muffins and pancakes and bacon. That seemed to help her keep her weight up until the last few days when she simply couldn’t handle much of anything any more.
Agreeing with Broomstick, on both counts.
It’s my impression that regretting things said and unsaid is so common as to be nearly ubiquitous.
And grief not only takes different people differently, it may take the same person differently at different times; leaving you feeling more or less fine on Tuesday, and suddenly overwhelmed Wednesday morning, or three weeks later at the grocery store.
One of the most useful things anyone said to me after my mother died was to tell me that for some time after her mother died, she felt that she wasn’t in her right mind. This is normal. But again, because it’s entirely normal doesn’t mean that it happens to everybody, or at the same time or for the same length of time to everyone that it does happen to.
nm, double post. Thought I’d checked whether that had already posted –
I’d say it it’s almost universal.
I tried to talk with her about her life and the good moments we had. She didn’t want to. Is that common?
I’m very sorry for your loss.
It’s not uncommon for people in their last days to withdraw from the world around them. I saw it with my father-in-law when he was dying of pancreatic cancer. His youngest son and his daughters wanted to get him to talk but he was very quiet. He said that he would talk to all of them when his eldest son came to visit, which unfortunately never happened.
Leo Tolstoy, in War and Peace, describes a character, Prince Andrey, who is dying and withdraws more and more, not wanting to talk. It’s shown as painful for the people around him but positive for the person near death:
“Not only did Prince Andrew know he would die, but he felt that he was dying and was already half dead. He was conscious of an aloofness from everything earthly and a strange and joyous lightness of existence. Without haste or agitation he awaited what was coming. That inexorable, eternal, distant, and unknown the presence of which he had felt continually all his life—was now near to him and, by the strange lightness he experienced, almost comprehensible and palpable…”
https://www.gutenberg.org/files/2600/2600-h/2600-h.htm#link2HCH0279
I presume it’s also common for the death to feel unreal. Yesterday, I came back, saw she wasn’t there and immediately thought she’d be back soon. Like, what do you mean, it can’t be?! Is it still called denial when you still admit the truth? As a kid, I couldn’t imagine “a world without mom”. Now the world feels cold and dark.
I saw a guy walk his cat on a leash. I immediately thought she’d like to see that. She’d have liked to see that.
It’s also getting me to think about my own mortality and where I am in life.
I understand what you mean about that realization that there’s a hole now in the fabric of your life. It hurts to run up against it again and again.
I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Thank you.
As I think I mentioned, I was staying with her for economic reasons and the pandemic isn’t making it easy to handle the financial aspect. Being alone in the same home is the emotional equivalent of negative space.
Well, I have my cats and a roommate is supposed to come in by June 1st at the latest. I’d already been feeling anxious, depressed, self-isolating and unmotivated but now working around other people seems like a great idea.
Yes, all of that’s also common. And, again, it may come and go.
(I still occasionally want to show something to my mother. She died in 2004. But by now it’s not such a wrench, when it happens.)