If the tooth be told having multiple extractions wasn’t too bad.Dentists today are much nicer than the evil butchers that were about when I was a child. We stopped for a bit of a rest halfway through and I only needed stitches in a couple of spots.
My shiny plastic choppers were placed in my mouth and after about 15 minutes of face washing, deep breathing and generally getting my shit together,I was able to drive myself home.The Spouse rode shotgun though, just in case.
We made it safely home and I have been getting a little bit better every day.The false teeth are incredibly painful to wear for long but I was able to keep them in for two and a half hours yesterday and I keep on thinking small steps Kimmy. Small steps.
The first time I looked in the mirror at my toothless reflection I began to cry. I looked so different.Old and ugly and alien.I wanted to ring my mother and have Mum make it all better.*sigh*
I have been feeling as vulnerable and grief stricken as I was in the first few days following the funeral and I don’t like it. I don’t like crying, I don’t like feeling vulnerable and I certainly don’t like the bathroom mirror at the moment.
Small steps Kimmy. Small steps.
Mum’s house is definitely on the market now, it was advertised in Thursday’s paper. The real estate agent has been showing people through the house all week and it is impossible to pretend that it isn’t happening any more. All I can do is hope that a nice young couple buy it and are happy there.
So this week has been a huge week emotionally for me and I am desperately seeking positives to cling to so that my head doesn’t explode, because that just wouldn’t be pretty.
If you want happy you wont find it here today. You should probably just google lolcats instead.
I met with the real estate agents at Mum’s on Monday and about 5 minutes into the conversation the tears started to roll down my cheeks. I walked to the window and watched the rain for a moment or two whilst I regained my composure. The real estate agents shuffled their feet and mumbled that it was perfectly understandable and were visibly relieved when we got back down to business.
A price has been set. There will be an open home in two weeks. It is all happening very quickly.
Yesterday I stood in the middle of Mum’s living area and tried to see the house with unbiased eyes and I couldn’t manage it. All I could see was my mother and my mothers things. After two hours of working like a cut cat I had the house presentable enough for marketing photos to be taken.
When I came home, The Spouse had cooked dinner and as he hugged me he asked if I was okay. I told him that I was and that I had a bit of a cry.What I didn’t describe to him was how I had stood for ages, just staring at the suitcase that I had brought home from the hospital, willing myself to open it. When I finally did open it I could smell the hospital and my Mother. I buried my face into Mum’s favourite pjs and in between my sobs I tried to capture her scent.
Today, finally after weeks of grey, grey weather that has been slowly sending me a little insane, the sky is blue. Mum’s good friend Lyn rang me last night and it was a relief to be able to talk to someone other than Veronica that actually gets how much we miss Mum.
It has been ten weeks and somedays the pain is so raw it hurts to breathe.
At least I have this place, my blog, where I can just dump all the words that are in my head and walk away. Contrary to what Veronica’s evil little troll thinks, I am not writing for sympathy. I am writing for myself. I am writing out the pain so that today I can go outside and enjoy the blue sky before I have to go back down to Mum’s and pack away more of her life into cardboard boxes.
