At a loss

Saturday at 11:30am I almost didn't get a call from my stepdad. I was chatting with Pete about how I needed to see if Kelley needed any help moving.
Like always, my heart speeds up a bit when Greg calls. It's rare, and I always wonder for a split second, if this is the call. And so it was.
My mom is gone. Supposedly, a painless end to years of decline, most recently of which was quite quick.

I called my brother, to tell him. I heard his smile when he answered and heard his tears when I hung up. Promises of seeing each other soon and communicated details on our lips.

I drove, on what may be the most beautiful day of the year. A shockingly gorgeous fall day that was in stark opposition to my mood. I went, alone, to do whatever needed to be done. Turns out, not too much, but I am glad I was there to be with Greg. He is so broken hearted. It is almost shameful to watch someone experience that level of grief. She might have been my mother for 26 years, but somehow, even over just 8 years, they had kindled a love that grew into each other to the point that he is as if he is but half himself now. To watch a former Green Beret crumble in grief, to hear him cry with such ferocity - it is sorrowful in itself.

My own tears came rushed and burned, but seem to have dried up. For now anyway. It's not as if it was all that shocking, but it felt like it to hear those words. It felt like a sucker punch. A weight, a knot of sorrow sat in my stomach as I drove and while I sorted through things in preparation of what will be dozens, perhaps hundreds in their home this week.

I went through hundreds and hundreds of photos. I thought people would want to see them. It was surprisingly good. My mom was SO beautiful. She had a smile that lit up her whole face. I don't know when I last saw that smile. It might have been a few months ago, but honestly, the past few months might as well have been years. Or days. It's hard to say. I'm glad I could do that. Greg could not.

I'm not sure what else to say right now. Other than this -
You may or may not see me cry. You may or may not hear my voice crack in memory. I might smile and laugh as I work to make my sweet Adalie giggle. Do not for a moment doubt that my grief is real and strong. It's also months (years?) into the process. It is mature, though refreshed, it is not new really. It's been months since I've been able to do so many of the things I want to do with my mom. I have no doubt these thoughts will pop up and fill me with heartache for years, forever. But my grief is for me. It is not for her. My mom no longer suffers. She no longer is trapped in a body that is failing her. We live in a fallen world and cancer is an unfortunate part of it, but hope exists. Hope for a home in Heaven.

If you have called, texted, emailed, prayed, brought food, offered to house my child (and my husband), offered to fold my laundry, sent verses of comfort, posted caring statuses, I am so appreciative. I'm not really up for talking about "it" right now, so I might not answer your call, but I listen to your messages and I read everyone. I feel loved beyond measure. I will never be able to properly thank all of you, but I will try to be as good a friend to you.