Trigger Warnings: parent death, pet death, drowning

Recently my mom passed away in a river accident.
She had brought her service dog (a German Shepherd) with her on a rafting trip with friends. From witness testimony, her raft got caught in some trees and as she was trying to detangle herself, her dog got spooked, and jumped into the river. My mom was tied to the dog, and they ended up drowning. They found both their bodies hours later.

I’m still reeling, and I’m in shock. It’s almost early morning and I still can’t get to sleep. I live in a different country and I need to head back to deal with her affairs. She was a single mother, so it’s up to me to figure things out. I have a lot of support, but it still feels so overwhelming.

I specifically would like any advice on how to deal with the “accident” part of her death. It would be one thing if she had died peacefully in her home. But the reason I can’t sleep is because my brain won’t stop trying to imagine what it must have been like in her final moments. The fear, the struggle, her body washing ashore and just sitting somewhere for hours until they could find her. How she must look like now. I will request they cremate her, the police pretty much recommended I don’t do a final look because of how she died. But the morbid curiosity is just there. I don’t know how to shut it off. I know she wouldn’t have wanted me to ruminate over it, but it’s almost like I’m getting the PTSD on her behalf.

I’m also so angry. Angry at her for thinking it would be safe to bring her dog on a raft. Angry at her for tying herself to said dog. But I realize this is more like “denial/bargaining”. My brain keeps making these angry scenarios where I’m yelling at her not to be so stupid. What would possess her to do something like this? But of course that’s just another part of grief.

I’m rambling, it’s late. (Or rather early?) I’m just really sad and tired. Any words would be appreciated.

I was a kintsugi bitch

A dull, forgotten, broken pot

And then you fixed me up

.

You lined me with your own

dweomercrafted brand of gold

Lac, Mel, et Saccharum

.

And when you’d starve me for attention,

Fed me more from your breast

Til you filled me up

.

And then I’d look you in the eyes

Sugar broiling in the stomach

Am I pretty now

..

Lost, full, and quite ignored

When you had leapt onto the floor

And said we’ve got to go

.

I grabbed your hand and followed blind

My stomach churned I lagged behind

You were the love I know

.

You said we’re going to the sea

My dear you’ll spend a life with me

We’ll make the waves a home

.

And I smiled ear to ear

Cheeks were blushing like a deer

Am I pretty now

..

And then we made it to the bay

quickly climbed into a boat

They never have to know

.

We headed south for centuries

They cannot take the memories

I never hunger now

.

And after weeks of solitude

A stranger came into the view

There was another boat

.

My stomach burned, concerned,

Not a soul had stood astern

You produced a rope

..

You gave a gentle kiss

And slid the twine across my wrists

And tied them into knots

Dipped my legs into the water

Either hand tied either helm

Stretched into a cross

I looked up at you in fear

Just to see you’ve disappeared

I started crying out.

My stomach burned under the water

And the sun was getting hotter

And I’m all alone.

I pleased come to feed me

Don’t leave me weak, depleting

I got no response.

The fish were getting curious

Flies buzzed something furious

They knew what I did not

That if you leave out milk and honey

In the heat, in weather sunny,

It’ll start to rot.

.

Months had passed in sickly motion

Head leaned back, my eyes were open

I died long ago.

The bugs ate at my open mouth

My skin was yellow, wrought with drought

My throat housed a mold

The waters smelled of sulfate

As the serpents ate my stomach ache

My blood has washed away

The rope gave up on hope and

Threw my purple, molten corpse into the ocean

Am I pretty now?

.

.

.

one day

i will die

one day

so will you.

the pictures on the wall

will end up in the trash

or old and tattered

in an attic.

our greatest of great-grandkids

won't know our faces or

how deeply we were saddened

to never see them grow

to never learn the world they know

to never speak their modern language

or watch the trees around them

grow.

for we'll be dead in the ground

and we'll never hear a sound

for what comes next ain't only silence

it ain't blood and it ain't violence

it just

ain't.

so for now we're killing time perhaps

we'll get laid or

learn to paint.

but in the end, it all goes out

into the trash

into the dust

and rest assured

into the ground.

.

if you choose to abuse me

i'd rather hear threats for ever than

hear no sound.

because if you're still here to hurt me

i can say that someone

stuck around.

.

.

.

before i'm buried in the ground.