I just passed the one-year marker of finding out my mother died.
I had no contact with her for years. I discovered her death online, as her obituary popped up. It was associated with my name, because of my published writing.
It has been… tricky. This year. Her death.
Most of the time, perhaps, because of my decision to go “no contact” with my mother, I thought it was less traumatic. I didn’t really cry, sob, “grieve” as I was expecting I would.
Most of the time, I suppose, I was numb, passing as “unaffected.”
“Sleepwalking” through the grief?
A few days ago, I remembered a sleepwalking incident from my childhood.
I was reacting to some kind of nightmare, I guess. I was probably six.
It was winter, so, in this nightmare reaction mode, while supposedly sleepwalking, I had the presence of mind to gear up in winter coat, mittens, boots.
I put them on, over my nightgown, and, in a frenzied state, I ran outside, down by the barn, screaming for my mother. I was panicking.
I felt alone in the world, terrified of what was to come.
I guess I was screaming bloody murder at a high volume, loud enough for my mother to wake up.
After yelling for “Mommy” for what felt like forever (probably only about five or ten minutes), Mom’s return yell “woke” me up. I saw her standing at our front door, in her nightgown, looking annoyed and concerned.
After all, her little girl is standing outside, in winter, hollering.
At the very least, she was concerned about me waking up my dad and enraging him.
Anyway, upon noticing my mother, calling out to me, I remember snapping to consciousness, feeling relieved and exhilarated, screeching “Mommy” as I sprinted to the house.
I felt the sticky sensation of my cold bare legs jostling against the interior of my winter boots. I didn’t wear socks.
“He makes my feet like the feet of deer. And sets me on my high places.”
Psalm 18:33
I tried telling her what upset me so much. I couldn’t remember the details of the nightmare.
I just was overwhelmed by the terror of being without her.
Being alone.
A desperate fawn, crying out.
That memory brings up the famous Disney Classic, “Bambi.”
There is the famous scene (spoiler alert), in which the fawn’s mother is shot to death by hunters. We see the helpless Bambi crying, in distress, for his mother.
Bambi’s father suddenly stands before him, in the snow,
