When Will I Be Good At It?

Hello all, 

I hesitated posting this, telling myself no one wanted another dose of Pitiful Paula....but writing is how I have gotten through some really tough days. So I forgave myself for oversharing, and this is the result.

In school I was an overachiever. Far from gifted, but I was a self-motivated student. Nothing made me more proud than a “Great job!” atta girl from my teachers on my returned assignments. I did the extra credit, read the extra pages, studied for the quizzes, and delighted in the good grades and praise that followed. I wasn’t gifted, but I was “good at” learning. 

I never anticipated having to be good at grieving. My mom died when I was in my early thirties. I said goodbye to my sister and my dad just four days apart in my 40’s. My brother left us in 2016 – leaving me as the only surviving member of my birth family. 

Then George. And now Scott....

So here I am. Experienced griever, Paula Marie. Tested. Knowledgeable. I get "atta girls" from kind and compassionate friends... “Great job, Paula! You’re so strong. I don’t know how you do it.” All the support and kind words have surely helped. But after a lifetime of goodbyes, three years without George, and six months missing Scott, here’s the real truth, folks…

I totally suck at this when special days and dates arrive.

Like THIS Mother’s Day. My first without my first-born calling me. No card with the extra message every Hultman felt obliged to add, in keeping with George’s legendary “card notes”. No "Men Who BBQ" family dinner. No hugs or laughter from my boy with the ever-present smile. Just when I felt I had reached the “more happy memories/fewer tears” level, I fell down another flight on the grief stairway. And the climb back up isn’t any easier. Especially today.

It’s always the anticipation of “_____ Days” that incite the struggle. I have put to use all of the priceless teachings from my two years of mindfulness and meditation practice. Suffering is inevitable; how we engage with it is a choice.

I chose to spend the past week being grateful for the peace and happiness my new garden projects have brought me. And I went to the Happiest Place on Earth just days after it reopened, gleefully wearing my Disney-adorned mask. I made plans with Alison, Becca and the three Grands for ANOTHER Disneyland visit this week - with 25% capacity restrictions and minimal wait times, it gives a whole new meaning to the Fantasyland experience!

Yet the triggers still manage to appear and derail me. Unexpected moments when tears bubble up and occasionally turn to snot-nosed sobs. I have learned it’s best to welcome the grief - my too familiar and unwelcome friend - for a while. And I’m good at it.

Yesterday's flashpoint was in the garage. Both George and Scott “live” there now, in fishing reels, golf clubs, too many tools and bins, boxes and carts full of  "stuff” that I still haven't the fortitude to clear out. The sight of it all typically brings me comfort. I feel them there. Except yesterday when I needed a power screwdriver for one of my new garden projects. I was at a complete loss to find one! I wandered aimlessly from the tool bench to the toolbox, and through the half of the garage filled with Scott’s remaining “shop” belongings. Finally, I found one! But the battery was missing. Then I found another. But no phillips-head bit that fit it. There was another one. Oops, no that’s a drill. If I were being tested on my knowledge of power tools I would certainly not pass! And instead of laughing about it, I melted down. I missed my boys and I cried. I put away the project until one of my “other sons“ can help me - because I’m not good at it.

Today came an unexpected knee-buckling moment as I sorted through the mail and saw a letter from OneLegacy, the organ donation foundation. I read their thoughtful words, reminding me it has been (almost) six months since Scott left. Counseling me on taking time to grieve. Then I saw it - the brochure included with the letter - “Writing to Transplant Recipients” - my invitation to initiate contact with the recipients of Scott’s heart, liver and kidneys. As much as I have been praying they will accept my invitation to communicate, getting this pamphlet today brought a level of emotion I wasn’t prepared for. Not when I was feeling Scott’s absence so deeply. I read the brochure cover, then put it down and walked away. It was not the Mother’s Day “card” I would have ever imagined receiving.

So there you have it. I’m not good at ___ Days - yet. Maybe it’s just too soon. Another year of firsts to suffer through.

But there is one thing I do know for sure. I am grateful and blessed to be sharing Mother’s Day with my beautiful daughter tomorrow. Alison and I are closer than ever, navigating life the best we can and holding each other a lot closer these days. Appreciating every moment together. 

And we're good at it. 

3-Word Wisdom 13: Call your mother

As much as I loved both of my parents, my mother was probably the one person who made the biggest impact on my life. Her influence was not the result of an overbearing presence. There were no lectures. I don’t remember a cross word or unkind comment. She was friendly, tolerant, and intelligent - and she had a wicked sense of humor. Mom’s love was unconditional, and she and Dad always trusted me to make the right decision. As a teenager, my biggest deterrent to the temptation of “breaking the rules” was not the fear of making my parents mad – much worse was the thought of letting my parents down. As an adult, when faced with a difficult decision, I often asked myself, “What would Mom have done?”

Mom was considerably older than my friend's mothers, and I went through a period during my early childhood when I was ashamed of my parent's gray hair and seniority compared to my classmates. Children can be cruel, and I was embarrassed when kids would call my parents old - or shopkeepers would address them as my grandparents. I adored Mother and Daddy, and was conflicted with the love I felt for them, and my secret desire for them to be younger. Thankfully this period was not long-lived, and some of the tales became the stuff of funny family lore in later years. Yet, as a young adult, their advanced age had a more profound impact on me - when I faced the reality of their mortality - and realized that they would likely not live to see my young family grow.

I was in my early thirties when Mom died. I was not ready for her to go. We thought she was in the hospital to be healed, yet she never came home. I visited her on the day that was to be her last – yet I didn’t know that the casual peck on the cheek was going to my final kiss goodbye. I had so much more to learn from her - so much to thank her for. The first few years she was gone were the most difficult, and more than once – when I had great news to share – my first instinct was to call Mom. Her absence from my life left a huge void. Mom has been gone for 26 years, and I still miss her. Yet she is always with me, as I continue to reflect upon her as my model of a truly beautiful person.

Today’s 3-Word Wisdom: Call your mother. If you are fortunate to still have your mom in your life, make time to let her know you care. Savor the time you have with her and show your appreciation for the lessons she has taught you. To my dear nieces and friends who also lost their mothers too soon, I can never replace her, but will always be here to offer “motherly” advice. That’s what Mom would have done.

Dad, Paula and Mom, 1955

I love you , Mom. Frances Maxwell Coats Preston
1908 - 1984