Looking For Mom

I had a dream last night that I was in my old bedroom of the house that I grew up in. I was in my mid–teens or thereabouts. Something didn’t feel quite right, so I started running down the narrow staircase that we had and began to frantically search for my mother.

“Mom? Mom! Are you there? Mom?!”

Instead of finding my ma, I discovered my kid brother laying on the couch crying.

“She’s gone,” he whispered.

A sense of dread came over me, a panicky feeling that I find hard to describe. It was pure fear and abandonment, I can say that much.

But dreams are so often like that, the finer details become lost once you wake up, so difficult to recall and fully articulate.

It took me a few confused minutes to understand that I’m no longer a teenager, but a mostly capable middle-aged woman. I don’t live in my old home, but now reside in my own condo with my 22 year old daughter, not my little brother anymore, who will be turning 41 at the end of October.

Once I realized that it was a just a dream, I felt an intense relief that I was where I was, even though the main plot is still the same. It’s going on 5 months now since my mom died and I still want to sometimes run around screaming for her to come back.


This is a photo of my mom at her 65th birthday party. She was drunk. If she were here right now, she’d be pissed that I’m showing this picture to anyone. Sorry, mom.

Death is so fucking final. Like my younger brother said in my dream, she’s really gone. There’s no sense in trying to go look for her.

Each day that passes, the void that her death has left inside of me grows wider and larger.

Yet my dream, as unpleasant as it was, seems like a tiny gift telling me that I have come so much farther as a person than I was 30 years ago and that she was a part of that.

My daughter and I have discussed seeing a medium at some point. My mom believed that certain people can truly communicate with the dead. It’s not cheap and anyways, I don’t believe that either of us are ready to take that leap quite yet. But it’s something that we might look into at a later time.

What do you think about the subject?


Sunny Days Always Bring Me Down

I hate when the sun rises and illuminates my bedroom, indicating that it’s time for me to get out of bed.

My phone no longer rings at 8 am. My mom is gone and she called me every morning to help me with the difficult transition from sleeping to being awake. How I miss that daily call. I know that I’ve mentioned this before, but I can’t seem to shake the need to repeat myself.

I get this really icky feeling that I can’t seem to find words to explain, which started during the summer of 2015 and has recently made a comeback. It’s dread, fear and panic rolled into one nasty emotion.

Is it a form of existential dread, wonky brain chemicals or what, I haven’t the slightest clue.

Some mornings are better than others. I come downstairs and take care of my dogs first, food and water for them, then I let them outside to do their thing. I make my solo cup of coffee and then use the restroom myself. I take my morning medications and when my coffee is ready, I go sit in front of my laptop and turn it on.

Just do the next thing, the grief group book advises.

My boyfriend sends me a good morning text and I’ll respond, as soon as I can think straight enough to form words. He’s the main person that’s keeping me going right now, my lantern in the darkness.

Today would have been my 10th wedding anniversary. How things can change in just one decade. This date means absolutely nothing to me now, yet it brings back memories of how happy my mom was to finally marry me off to someone she trusted, that promised to love and care for me.

Well, we didn’t know.

There’s no way to guess how many years I have left. Only God knows the exact date, time and circumstances. He even knows if I’ll lose my battle with my own self and jump off of a cliff when I’m 51.

Fuck, I am morbid. Steven hates it when I think like that, but I’ve never hid it from him. It comes with the package.

Yes, I still often wish that I could pop off sooner than later, but this is a thought that I’m so accustomed to having, I barely take notice of it anymore. Just like the tide, it comes and goes.

I read something interesting the other day, on how to deal with anxiety and other unwelcome thoughts…face, accept, float, let time pass.


This book is on my reading list, but I’ve watched a few videos and read some of Dr. Weekes advice. She even recommended that suicidal ideation be treated with that same mantra, unless there’s an active plan being put into place.

These are all thoughts of a tired mind.

Well, then I suppose that my mind is pretty damned fucking tired, doc.

I think that I might start sleeping on the couch at night. Maybe a change of scenery will help keep that icky doom thing from laying its ice fingers on me.

I could use a break from it.

I don’t get to see my new therapist until December 5th. The woman who did my intake interview told me that there’s so many people who need psychiatric help and only so many providers to offer that assistance.

I’ve been going to my grief support group at the church every Monday evening, although there’s only two other woman, besides the two lovely ladies who are in charge of it. But they are all extremely nice people and I’m glad to have met them.

It helps somewhat to know that I’m not the only one who feels the need to share my grief instead of keeping it all to myself.

Oh No! Merry is a Jesus Freak!


Hey there, you guys. It’s just me again.

The silence on my last post was deafening. (Do you see what I did there?)

Not only that, but my last post also had the lowest views, in like, a long ass time.

I’ve been blogging almost 7 years (next month is my anniversary) and in that amount of time, many of you have gotten to know me quite well. You know about my life, my trials and problems, my failures and my triumphs.

I can only imagine what some of you guys might be thinking now.

Merry is a Jesus freak.

I got that from my daughter, by the way. Wow mom, you sure do talk about Jesus a lot lately.

Truthfully, it’s been a long time coming.

Here’s the thing that has weighed heavily on my mind recently…what does that mean when it comes to my personality?

Will I stop swearing?

Will I totally lose my twisted sense of humor?

Will I stop thinking that farts are hilarious?

Will I become all self-righteous and start preaching to everyone?

I highly fucking doubt it.

I really wanted to share my entire journey thus far and it took me a few hours (and tons of editing) to get it just right. I didn’t expect it to be one of my most popular posts, but I’m still proud that I had the nerve to hit that publish button. Some topics are just not all that well received.

There was not even one curse word. Go take a look, I’ll read my bible while you’re gone.

See? A true miracle.

I’m not about to start judging people and shit.¬†We’re all in this together.

Like John Lennon said, whatever gets you through the night.

It’s all right.