The Zombie Mom

It has been 8 weeks since I heard my daughter’s voice, before she heard me say “I love you”.  I have not been able to write.  My mind is so cluttered.  Our counselor looked at me and said “you have a lot going on in your brain, it never rests, you are always thinking of several things at once or what you want to say”.  Yep, feels like a computer with too many tabs open.  He saw that in me on the 3rd visit.  Scott, he said, nope not the same.

What we have figured out in counseling is that after 27 years we really don’t know each other.  We really have not grasped how different the other one thinks or process experiences.  In the sessions we learn something about each other every time.  The only time I feel hopeful is the short time after the appointment.  I think maybe we can do the work to move closer together instead of further apart.  When I get home that feeling disappears.  We are just too tired.

The first week after Hayley’s death I had a new cause, share her donor story. The next week we were busy planning her service.  After the extraordinary service, messages began rolling in.  Stories about Hayley.  #belikehayley was now about something more than Be an Organ Donor.  Then there was weeks of consistently sobbing and begging for my baby back.  School started and a schedule of normalcy began.  We are starting three weeks of school for Henry.  Now comes the final two weeks that Hayley was supposed to be spending a wonderful summer with me.  Moving into her apartment next weekend, starting classes on the 27th.

Instead of feeling better it is getting worse for me.  My projects have started to slow down, the glassy baby sale is coming to an end and now there are only tasks that I have put off, the things I don’t want to do.  Calling insurance, dealing with her car, sending her death certificate to where it needs to go, filing for unemployment, writing the thank you notes that can never really express the extensive gratitude I feel.

I have been out more.  Thursday a field trip to meet puppies on a farm in Stanwood and a day with friends.  Friday a concert at the Fair.  A long drive to get there and time to cement a new friendship.  Time with my sister in law.  Emotional time with my mother.   An impromptu evening with a friend while my ice cream melted in the car.  Today, pedi, mani and brunch with a new friend, one that stepped up as a stranger opened their home and property to 500 people and is now my friend for life.  On the outside looking in, that might all look positive.  I am getting out, I am being social.  This would be what Hayley’s mom would normally be doing.

But every outing in the past week ends the same way.  Like a toddler that has been overstimulated as soon as I walk in the front door, I have to sleep, I am exhausted, my voice feels hoarse and I feel weak.  I have not cried today, I don’t think I did yesterday either.  I felt like crying several times.  There were the constant reminders of what I am missing, who I am missing.  But no tears.  I am like a Zombie at home.  I really cannot find the words to describe how I feel at the start of this 8th week.  I will try.

When I am out in the world I feel like there is a bubble of sadness surrounding me.  I was a Peanuts fan as a kid, you know Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Woodstock, and more.  I imagine myself like the character, Pig Pen.  Pig Pen walked around in a cloud of dirt.  I never understood why, or if his friends addressed his obvious grooming issues with him.  We didn’t question these things as 70’s kids.  But I walk around with a cloud of grief, sadness, annoyance, frustration, exhaustion, pain and anger.  I feel like I can see it circling around me.  I believe that others can see it too.   I feel like I am wearing a sign that says “my daughter is dead”.  You think this is not true, you think you don’t see the cloud, but you do.

You can see it in the fake smile.  You notice I have no eye make up on, why bother, crying and eye make up don’t mix.  Most often I have only brushed my teeth.   You may notice the new 25 pounds I am lugging around in the puffiness of my face, my neck, or my ass.  I can only fit into sweat pants.  You see that I am wearing men’s sweatpants.  What you don’t know is they were Hayley’s favorites.  I rarely match the top to the bottom.  I don’t style my hair.  Many times it is wet from the shower I forced myself to take before that store trip.  You are seeing the cloud of grief.  You see me move slowly.  You see me limp.  You see me walk like I have aged 40 years.  All of those visuals are the dirt that is swirling around me.  You see the cloud but you just can’t put your finger on it and your brain tells you I am supposed to look sad so that must be it.  I am a Zombie Mom.

At home I interact with Henry.  He is the one that can get a real smile out of me.  The time he hugs me for no reason.  When he tells me about something he is interested in without me prying it out of him with a hundred questions.  When he shows interest in the future when he talks about cars he likes.  He is the reason I even have a future.  When I speak to him, my voice sounds normal.  But the second he is out of the room, Zombie Mom.

Scott and I are rarely even interacting at this point.  In our defense we have both tried to be active this past week, just not together.  For the past 4 hours I have sat on the couch staring at the TV.  I have no recollection what I watched.  I know an hour was about shark attacks.  The only reason I remember that is I recall thinking, well let’s take Hawaii off the list of places we can go and hide from the holidays.  I only moved to get another water and to pee.  Whenever one of my kids says I don’t feel good, I have a headache, I am tired, I tell them drink some water and if you still feel bad let me know.  Water cures everything in our house.  It is my version of Caster Oil or Vicks Menthol Rub.

I can’t cry today.  I have stared at her photos.  I have thought about what could have been done to save her.  I have actually tried to make myself cry.  But I am numb.  I don’t even know where this entry is going.  But I truly believe I am not only broken, but I am different people.  Zombie Mom and Pig Pen Mom and Faking it Mom.  A friend asked if I had Fun at the Fair concert Friday night.  My knee jerk reaction was to say yes.  Isn’t that the right answer?  Seriously that should have been FUN.  Tone Loc, Salt and Peppa, drunk army wives behind us that said they loved us.  But what I said was “I am not sure if I did, I think I did, but I just think it is a different definition of fun now”.    Fun is relative.

You would think I would embrace Zombie Mom, embrace the numbness.  Compared to Sobbing Mom.  But you know what, this is so much worse.  Sobbing Mom can be comforted with a message from a friend or a bag of fruit and treats on the porch.  Zombie Mom can’t be reached with those simple acts of friendship.  I tried that today.  I had love coming at me from multiple places when I was out.  But it didn’t follow me home.

Zombie Mom scares me.  The thoughts are not about missing Hayley or about how much I have learned about her in the last 8 weeks.  Zombie mom feels numb, hopeless, lonely when not alone, and so very heavy.  Heavy like I am carrying around weights on my ankles, my wrists and on my shoulders.  I feel like I might just forget to breathe. The truly scary part is not really caring if I did forget.

Zombies are hard to destroy.  They can be shot and keep moving.  They have horrific injuries and keep walking.  Maybe being a Zombie Mom is just being a survivor.  The ability to move and walk despite a body and mind that is destroyed.  Is this the next “phase”?  Who wants to be around a zombie or pig pen?  Am I going to isolate myself until all of those open tabs in my brain are closed?  Is this what real depression feels like?  Would Hayley be ashamed of me?  I keep hearing “you are so strong”.  I don’t feel strong.  Do they mean it or are they just trying to wish it to be true?

I don’t know.