These are the words that keep echoing through my head (didn't want to put that as the subject because it's too morbid).
"Mom died. Mom died. She's dead. She's dead. She's dead"
Over and over again. I have to keep reminding myself and each time it's a shock.
"She's dead. She's dead. She's dead."
"She killed herself." "My mom killed herself."
My mom walked to her computer one morning, wrote out a note, and then went to the garage and shot herself.
I can't believe it's really true. I cannot reconcile this truth with the truth of my mother and who she was. So generous. So giving. Such a great mother and grandmother.
I'm very, very angry. And sad. And guilty. And in denial. I can't believe that I will never see her again. Never talk to her again. Never get to tell her about Jonah. Watch her see Jonah, hold Jonah, read to Jonah.
My mom, who was the most unselfish person I knew, did the most selfish thing.
And while I know, or think I know, that in some ways it wasn't really her - it's still hard. She was sick. Dealing with chronic pain for 5 years that carried with it severe depression and anxiety. The pain had gotten worse in the past month - exacerbated by a sudden case of shingles. I know that she was acting to end the pain. That she felt she could no longer live with it anymore. I want to understand that. I'm trying to understand that. But it's very hard. Because regardless of the reasons. Regardless of whether she was or wasn't "really" herself at the time. She is gone. Forever. And that means she left me.
And I can't understand how she could leave me.