So tonight has really sucked. As Samantha once again refuses to sleep I cry while she screams at me wondering why I am left to do this alone. I am tired of hearing everyone's consolations and the oh you are better off without him crap. No, I'm not. I'd be better if he were here helping me, if he were here being a good dad and husband. And on top of it all I really miss my mom. Regardless of my relationship with her I really need her right now. Not someone else's mommy, my mommy. The one that gives you a hug and tells you it will be all right and you know it will because your mommy said so. The one that tells you it doesn't matter because no one loves you more than her anyway and she will always love you. The one that tells you no one is good enough for you anyway (even if it were the president) and makes you feel like you are the world to her and that's all that matters. I miss my mommy. I miss sitting on the couch next to her when I watched Buffy (when I was much younger) because I was afraid of the vampires and she let me hide in her shirt and put her arm around me to make me feel safe. I need her arms around me now to make me feel safe and loved. I don't care if she yells and screams and calls me names and is mean and we argue, I need my mommy to tell me it will be ok. I want her to say see I told you he wasn't good enough for you but it will be ok because I am here and I will fix everything.

I read a book on motherloss awhile back and it talks about women whose mothers have died. Most of the women are older and have had a good long time with their mothers but it did talk about motherloss at a younger age too. The book talks about the cycle of a mother daughter relationship. The daughter is the little girl and adores her mother, then turns into the evil teen who hates her mother, then the indifferent 20something, and then when she becomes a mother she slowly begins to realize what being a mother is all about and reconnects with her mother on a totally different level. Well, my mom left somewhere between the hate and indifferent stage. And now, only 5 months in, I am beginning to realize the pain I caused her and I can't tell her how sorry I am. I know now that there is no love like that of a mother for her daughter and even now I can't imagine how painful it had to have been for her to hear me screaming at her how much I hated her and how I wish I had stayed with my real mother and how I wish I would die or she would die or any number of horrible things I yelled at her. Shame on me for having actually said those things and inflicting pain on the one person that loved me most in the world. And what is worse is that I know she continued to love me even when I yelled those horrible things at her, because she was my mom and no matter what she was going to love me. And I can't tell her I am sorry. I can "put it out in the universe" like the rabbi told me but she isn't here to tell me she knows and it's ok. Not that she would necessarily, because I am sure there is more of a lesson to learn here, but eventually I know she would tell me it was ok. The loss of my mother is nothing compared to the pain I feel knowing how much I must have hurt her. I miss her terribly and know I will for the rest of my life, but I hope that I can overcome this pain and forgive myself as I hope she would have done for me.

It hurts to know that I can never share with her my daughter. Her triumphs as she walks and speaks and starts school. Her pain as she fails and loses boyfriends and best friends. Her joy at her graduation, wedding and birth of her own child. The one person in the world I will want to tell most and she won't be here.

I am definitely still mad, and I am sure I will be for a long time. I now realize I was in denial all the way up until my brother called Saturday morning. As she was in the hospice and I was in the hospital she sounded well on the phone, and I knew she would come through and come home. As I visited her and saw her fading away I knew she would come back with a vengance and kick everyone's ass around her. Eventually I couldn't go anymore because if I did I could no longer deny it. And selfish as it was denial was easier. I wasn't ready to let her go, I'm still not ready. When he called that Friday and I went to see her, she had one last bit of energy to drink a little, and I hung onto that, knowing that if she had that energy she could still make it if I prayed hard enough and made deals with God she could stay and get well. I told her it was ok to go and prayed that she could stay and be well again. Denial Denial. When I first saw her in her bed not moving, not breathing, I waited for her to roll over and jump up and yell gotcha. Anything, because it couldn't be real. My mother couldn't really be gone. I wasn't ready.

So I sat and I told her....I told her everything. She knows I am sorry and she knows how much I love her...knew, damnit, knew. She knew, but I never really got to tell her. I was just mad she was dying, mad at her for leaving me when I still needed her. Mad at her disease, mad at her for choosing to smoke and live unhealthy knowing I was here and needed her. Mad at the world. Furious. And I still am, I am pissed that my mother is gone. It is so much easier to be mad. I did my bargaining in the last hour and was rejected, so now I am angry again. What really scares me is the depression I have yet to hit, knowing my history with that issue. I am still postpartum so when it hits, if it hits anytime soon, it will be tremendous.

I feel lost. I really have no family now and it seems as if no one cares. What upsets me most is that my 'real' family doesn't even really know who I am. They think they have a great idea of who I am but I know for a fact they don't. My mother didn't even know who I was. I was so angry with her the last three years for being sick, and before that I was a teenager-self explanatory. I am a woman with a family and responsibilities that I take care of, quite well amazingly enough. Yeah I need help every once in awhile but who doesn't. Unfortunately they only see me as the little obnoxious spoiled brat I once was. And because of that perception don't care to even try to know me. So, I am lost.

No husband to help with the screaming baby, no mother to tell me it will be ok, and no family to talk to about how much I miss and need my mother. I guess that really is being alone.