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Feeling a bit muddled.

Not outwardly… oh no, the 2-week notice is still going quite well and I’m counting down. Only 6 more days of hydraulic valves!! WOOHOO :)

But inwardly… things are bumbling about. Our appt with Dr Jerry didn’t go that great last night. It didn’t actually go BADLY… it just didn’t go well. It was a non-session. Bobby and Dr Jerry chatted about the life of Billy Graham (yeah, because that’s what we’re paying $100/hr for?) and I just sat and rummaged through my thoughts and tried to come up with something worth examining. Ended up bashing Bobby’s family – that’s always good fodder – but my heart just wasn’t in it.

I’m excited about the next step. I’ve started a “Freedom To Do List” – things that I’ve been meaning to do, but just haven’t gotten around to. Things like actually putting pictures in the empty frames hanging on the walls, and figuring out how to add bedside lighting in my and Bobby’s room, and cleaning out the disgusting excuse for a koi pond in our backyard.

But I want my mother. Not a sharp, stabbing pain this time.. just a dull, constant ache. Nothing can fix it. Nothing can make it stop. I dream about her almost every night. Not the bad, horror-movie dreams anymore, but strange, haunting blips. Sometimes she’s still here physically and healthy. Sometimes here and unhealthy. Sometimes she’s gone, and I’m searching for her. It’s sometimes impossible to comprehend that she’s truly gone. How can she be gone. There’s still enough child in me to be hurt and angry that she’s never contacted me. I want to hear her voice. I dreamed last night that Jen, Sue and I were at a picnic with lots of people… I think it may have been Mama’s 50th birthday picnic. But she was already gone and had been for a while. Then suddenly, I heard a little cough, a little sound that was unmistably my mother… and when I turned around, she was there. She was beautiful and healthy, wearing her pink linen birthday dress that she was buried in, with her little curls and big smile. And I screamed and threw myself at her, sobbing with joy and relief and amazement, clutching her and screaming “Mama, I thought you were gone, I thought you had left me.” And she looked so confused and replied “Sarah, why would you think that?”

Now I know what Dr Jerry and everyone else would say… Sarah, your mother lives on in you. (By the way, I’m not sure I’ll ever watch “The Lion King” again.. the death of Mufasa is just a little too real, animated or not). And I KNOW that. I’m sick of hearing it, actually…. I KNOW that I have some Mama in me, and I need to grip that because that’s apparently all of Mama that I’m going to get from now on. But that’s not enough. It’s just not. I want HER. I want to hug her, and laugh with her, and smell freshly cut grass and soap when she walks in the door, and fuss at her for picking at her ant-mauled feet. I know I can’t have that. But that’s what I want.

Damn it, now I’m crying again. This cubicle has seen more tears than any cubicle should… the freakin’ carpet should be mildewed under my chair.