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Mr. Mojo Risin’

17

August 2, 2012 by Marj Hatzell

As you’ve probably noticed, I haven’t been writing very much lately. And by writing, I mean blogging. And by noticed, I mean you probably haven’t. All eleven of you*.

It’s been a year. A very hard year. Last August started the avalanche of nonsense in my life. Sick parents, dead parents. You know, the usual fun stuff! Then my kids were in medical/mental health crises and things were fairly scary and bleak.

I herniated my sacral discs again and got shingles immediately after. Then I gave my husband shingles and then he got a nasty concussion. The same week we had a disastrous weekend at the family cabin.

I thought I was going to go to a big-ass blog conference this summer (starting today, in fact) and it turns out Bugaboo was off this week and there was no freaking way in aitch-EE-double-hockey sticks it would work for me to go. So that was a total bummer.

And while things are starting to look up and we’ve been having more and more improvements and returning to the “new normal” I have been zapped. I feel like I’m just trying to make it day-to-day. Survival mode. I get done what absosmurfly has to be done and that’s about it.

Then I started putting pressure on myself. Why was I faking-it-to-make-it? Why wasn’t I able to do everything? To be everything?  And it dawned on me!  I had a few lightbulb (LED, of course!) moments. To wit:

A) I am not supermom and I put too much pressure on myself to be so.

2) I make my life look too easy and while I try not to sugar coat it, I probably should be more…I dunno, forthcoming with information?

D) I have been so freaking busy with straightening out everyone else’s messes and taking care of everyone else that I never had time to actually grieve my father’s death.

OUCH.

That last part was a huge brick-to-head-resulting-in-concussion. I haven’t had time to mourn. I just jumped right into action and did what I had to do, whether it was make arrangements, help my mother, drive to appointments, take care of my kids, etc, etc. In other words, I went on living. But sometimes when you go a person goes on living they are really just going through the motions.

Wanna know how I really feel?

I feel like that four month period that happened between my father’s diagnosis and his subsequent death went far too fast. As in, it was a ride spinning out of control, one I didn’t want to be on. And we perfectionist-perfect-supermom types like to be in control.

I feel like I need time to just sit and do nothing and time to exhale. Because, you now, that’s gonna happen in my house.

I feel like I need to get a life. A social life. Go out more. Try some new restaurants. Or pubs. Or anything.

I feel like screaming at the top of my lungs. I feel like it isn’t fair. It’s not fair that my kids lost the only grandfather they knew. It’s not fair that he didn’t get to see Bug Boy dive this summer. It’s not fair he isn’t dropping by every week with a bag of pretzels for the kids. It isn’t fair I don’t get to make him his signature lunch, grilled cheese and soup. It’s not fair that my mother is without her husband, my siblings are without their father and my kids and niece and nephews are without their grandfather.

It’s not fair. And it sucks.

Cancer sucks.

But hey, now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I’m able to move forward. I’m going to work on processing my thoughts. I’m going to get to a better place.

And I’m going to eat potatoes.

And I’m hoping all of that will help me get my mojo back.

*Estimate based upon completely arbitrary algebraic equation that has absosmurfly nothing to do with math or actual page visits. The number eleven was used primarily because I GO TO ELEVEN.

 

 

17 thoughts on “Mr. Mojo Risin’

  1. RuthWells says:

    When you’ve found your mojo, can you help me find mine?

    Xoxo

  2. Janet says:

    If your readership is 7 – 11 we could be your slushies.

    Understand the mourning bit. I was finally able to cry for my dad 3 1/2 years later at his sister’s funeral. They both had Alzhiemer’s. I am finally to the point where I have things so I can ask others for help. With each ting that is checked off my list, I can feel a little bit of stress leave. Like yesterday when I was able to renew my driver’s lissence. It expired 4 years ago so I had to take the written and driving test. Scared me to death so I kept putting it off. Well I passed and it doesn’t have to be renewed until 2019!

    Hugs!

    I

  3. Heal. Process. Write when it works for you. Sending you lots of hugs.

  4. jillsmo says:

    LOVE YOU, Sister Friend ❤

  5. Hope says:

    I lost my mom to cancer in 2008. 8 months after my daughter was born, about a year after I got my son’s autism diagnosis. he was 5 years old and she was his primary caregiver before she got sick. shortly before her death, I realized something was wrong with my daughter, because at 8 months she wasn’t rolling over or sitting, let alone crawling. and her head circumference was Off. The .Chart. I had her eval with early intervention about 2 weeks before my mother died. turns out my daughter just has a really big head (thanks to my husband), but she also has PVL…periventricular leukomalacia. Similar to Cerebral Palsy…global developmental delays in motor function. we got her diagnosis about 5 months after my mom passed. MRI and EEG on a one year old is no picnic. and I remember feeling like you said…brick to head concussion. barely surviving. and ANGRY. I got into some therapy right quick and an antidepressant. and it helped. some. eventually, it gets better. But you’re right. Cancer sucks. there is no other way to say it. find the time to what you need to do for yourself…you will get through this. My daughter is 4 now and she started walking at 3. we are still struggling with speech, have yet to potty train, and she got a PDD-NOS diagnosis last october, but she is a joy! she has the best laugh you have ever heard. and she is the happiest girl in the world. Take care…hugs to you.

  6. It’s a well known fact that mojo often hides behind potatoes, particularly french fries and if you don’t find it there, it will surely be over by the hot fudge sundaes.

    Big hugs.

  7. Karen says:

    I so completely relate to this post, but in a slightly different way. Like you, I am very close with my dad and reading this made me realize how much I take his presence for granted. I’m so sorry for your loss … I know one day I’ll be writing words like yours. Thank you for the reality check.

    As far as your mojo, I can’t see where you ever lost it in the first place!

    Hugs from a sweltering 101 degree California. Keep on writing!

  8. kantal113 says:

    Love and light to you, Marj. Take all the time you need to find your mojo. We’ll all be here whenever you get back. xoxo

  9. mettapanda says:

    Hey Marj –
    Our culture likes to pretend that there’s a “right way” to grieve, or that we’ll “get over it.” We don’t. We learn to deal with it. But it’s easier to deal with it if you’re able to give yourself time and permission to process it. Sooo, find some time (I know – LOL, right!) and give yourself permission to go to the backyard and scream, or take a bubble bath and sob, or go through old photo albums (hard copy books or online albums) and have a good stroll down memory lane, accompanied by a cry. And don’t expect that there’s a time schedule on grief, cuz there isn’t.j
    If writing helps you, then write – and be as brutally honest as you need to be. And please don’t feel that we’re A) judging you for not blogging on a regular basis, B) thinking you’re failing for grieving “a year late”, or C) wondering if that’s your natural hair color. Because, really – what’s it matter what we think? We’re just voyeurs anyway. 😉
    Much love,
    CL

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