I usually try to keep my blog light-hearted and fun, but for some reason I've felt compelled to write about my mom. I don't know what it is, but thoughts about the day she left this world for the great expanse of heaven is weighing heavily on my mind lately. I don't know a lot about grief, but I know I must write this down for reasons I don't yet know. Maybe someone who reads this is in the midst of losing someone they love, or maybe they recently did. All I know is that no two people grieve the same. If I can get to the end of my story I will try to share with you some of the lighter moments when my humor helped me through the darkness. Here is my story -- feel free to read it or feel free to skip it. I just had to write it...________________________________________________________
If there is anything I wish I could write about it would be my mom's death. Doesn't that sound morbid? What I mean is that I feel that day forever changed my life. I wasn't a child or a mother yet, but I was somewhere in-between. 23 years old and the whole world ahead of me. So here is my story, or the story of the darkest day I've had yet to endure.
It was the man and my first Valentine's Day. We had started dating in August. We didn't have any concrete plans, just that I would come home and sleep since I was working nights at the police department and we would catch up later. I remember coming home and my mom was on the phone with my aunt. She was pretty housebound around then because she had broken her ankle a month prior walking outside to shovel the driveway. She hated having to use a walker or crutches in public and chose to stay home and work on her knitting.
She told my aunt that I was home and they started teasing me and asking if the man was going to give me a ring for Valentine’s Day. I remember rolling my eyes and sauntering off to bed. I woke a few hours later and decided to get ready for my hot Valentine's Day date. My mom was watching her secret sin -- her soap operas -- in the living room. My dad wasn't home as he was helping someone move. I got ready and called the man. We decided to meet up at the fire station where he was a volunteer. As I left I asked my mom if there was anything she needed. She requested a Diet Rite with a straw in it. I got it for her and told her I was leaving. She said goodbye and that she loved me and to have a good time. I told her, "I love you too". Needless to say that was the last time I ever spoke to my mom again. A few hours later I received word that she had passed away at home with my aunt and the paramedics there with her.
I thought I would be able to go into more detail, but right now my heart is beating too quickly and my eyes are prickling with tears. I don't want to cry in front of my kids who are playing legos in the living room. I can't believe after almost 10 years it still causes such a visceral reaction in me. I try my hardest not to play the "what if" game. What if I hadn't left, but chose to stay home and hang out with her. What if my dad had been home that day? What if she hadn't gone outside to shovel that cold January morning and slipped and broke her ankle. What if....
I know as adults we are almost assured that we will witness the demise of our parents. We will watch them grow older and frailer. We will witness their metamorphosis from middle-age into elderly. We will see their hair grow thinner or grayer. We will see them move from complete independence into a needier roll. None of these things are easy, but there is always the time element to it. It usually doesn't happen overnight and we can have time to prepare.
I don't blame anyone for my mom not being here, mostly because when I play the "what if" game I have to remind myself my mom already had quite a few challenges. She had been diagnosed with Lupus and was on medication for that. She also was suffering from rheumatoid arthritis in her hands, which limited her from doing the crafts she so loved. Who knows what her life would be like right now. She may have more pain or be on more medications, coping with their nasty side effects. She may have had to face other illnesses that would have caused her pain or suffering.
While I miss her on a daily basis I can rejoice in the fact that I knew this wonderful woman, and that she CHOSE me to be a part of her life. To teach me what is right or wrong, to hold my hand when I was hurt or sad, and to lift me up when I was happy.
Every day that I am alive I am
honoring this woman who
gave so much of herself to
everyone and asked for so
little in return.
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