Friday, 7 December 2018

Goodbye my dear

It was the funeral of my beloved Mother in Law (BMIL) yesterday.

As one might expect, my heart and my eyes cried a lot, and I tried to do it quietly.  BMIL was a private person, and would have been embarrassed by unrestrained blubbing.    After the service, we stood by the coffin in silence, each saying our own personal goodbye.

 I stood there, with my hand gently on the coffin (telepathically explaining to my BMIL that I was only touching it gently because I know she didn't like to be hugged).  I had already thought about what I wanted to say to her,  and I said my speech to her (again, by telepathy).  The internally spoken words, and the feelings they represented, intensified my need to sob.  I wanted to finish my conversation, and I wanted to leave before I couldn't keep the sobs under control.

Ironically, my attempts at suppressing the sobs took up all the oxygen in my lungs, and I needed to breathe.  The suppressing of the blubs backfired, almost literally. 

Inadvertenly, and most embarrassingly,  an attempted gasp for breath resulted in a howl.

I was mortified.

Naturally, people assumed I was wailing in grief. 

I was very upset and I was indeed very emotional, but I wasn't howling.    Having people try to comfort me, at my apparent enormous emotional distress, was awful.     I felt like I'd made a scene, people would look at me and think I was a drama queen.    I felt a fraud.    

I tried to explain, to those attempting to comfort me, that I wasn't howling in grief, it had been an involuntary sound when I was gasping for breath... but as I was trying to explain,  I realised that the explanation was almost worse than the howling.

I miss her.

I've missed her for a long time.  Alzheimers is such a cruel disease.