I'm Still a Wishy-Washy Pile of Goo

What they say about time is true, it does heal. It doesn’t take away the hurt, the void, the deep desire to have my mom back, but the constant pain is no longer there. I’m a little sad because on one level I feel that I am learning to not need my mom. I don’t ever want to not need her and I am afraid that with time, her memory will fade a bit. I’m trying to keep it fresh for my sake and for my kid’s sake. But my daughter doesn’t remember her being here anymore. That is hard to take.

People say “you never know what you had until it is gone.” Maybe true in some cases, but I know what I had. People also say that over time you forget the bad and only remember the good. Well in true Carole fashion, I intend to remember the good and the bad. Why not? It was the combination of the two that made our relationship so special. We didn’t agree on lots of things and probably still don’t. There were many times that I was right and she was just being ridiculous. As of today, I am still right. I will say though, that I do remember the good mostly. I remember every hug, every smile, every adventure and every prayer she heard me say before I went to bed. I knew what I had. I try to live my life in such a way that I understand what I have and that at a moment’s notice, it can be gone.

I appreciate what I have.

Don’t get me wrong, when something goes wrong, breaks or leaves for whatever reason, I take it very hard. Probably harder now that she is gone. I never knew true loss before. I remember the first time that I left home. I don’t mean going over to Kim’s house to stay for a night. I mean the I’m going and I can’t come home every night.

It was college and I know without a doubt that my mom was not happy about me leaving. We had some heated discussion about it. Not that she didn’t want me to get an education but about the reasons I was choosing the place I was going. She was right. (I’ll give you a moment for that to settle).

It’s true, I went to the college for all of the wrong reasons. I knew it then and I am grown-up enough now to say it out loud. Doesn’t matter now but at the time it was traumatic. Driving off, leaving my mom, my home, my safe place was one of the most difficult things I had done, up to that point. I cried, I longed to be that little girl that was tucked in every night and then told to “get back in bed.” Those days were over. I’ll let you in on a little secret…….my mom was in the car following me to school. It wasn’t until after she set up and decorated my apartment that she left….for good. Again, another secret…..my brother stayed and then took me home a few days later. I was given the gift of being the little girl for one more night. Then……I left. It was final. I was off to college and turning back was not an option.

Life changed. 

I decided at that moment that I was not going to tell those that I love good-bye again. I actually I can’t stand to. So I have my way of just saying “see you later.” In a very silly way I think that if I say that then it will be easier for me to handle; maybe tomorrow, maybe when it is my time. I don’t know if that makes me normal or just a wishy-washy puddle of goo. If I say that the it means that I do expect to see you later.

The week before my mom left was hard. I was afraid to be alone with her. I was afraid of what I would see and that it would be etched in my memory forever. Still, I did what I could. I sat with her, I listened to her breathe, I read to her and I forced myself to tell her that it was ok for her to go. She knew what was happening. I just hope that she never sensed my fear.

One afternoon, it was time for me to go. My babies were only 3 and they didn’t understand. Even though she was leaving, I had to be home at night with my kids. So each afternoon I would give her a hug and a kiss and she would say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.” It may be odd, but my response was always, “will you be here when I get back?” She would nod and I found great comfort and strength. I would go home, kiss my babies and then come back the next morning.

That last day was hard. She was asleep. Really I think she was gone and her body had just not shut down completely. Still, she was physically there and she was barely breathing. We watched, we waited. It was hard. You see, even though it was my mom’s body, she didn’t look like my mom. She was skin and bones, yellow from head to toe and her mouth had fallen open. We were told that this was normal. Our job was to keep her comfortable. We watched. 

It was time for me to go. I walked over and kneeled on the floor beside her and I touched her face as softly as I could. They told us that we had to be careful touching her at this point. We didn’t want to upset her or agitate her. Anyway, I gave her a kiss and I told her that I would see her later. That was the hardest thing I have ever done in my entire life. I knew that later was going to be a blink of an eye for her but an eternity for me. It was the last time I would ever see her physical body. 

I don’t regret, I look back but I never regret anything that has happen or any choice I have ever made. I don’t regret leaving that night. I don’t regret not seeing my mom leave. She knew it all, I told her before. She knew I loved her more than anyone could imagine. She knew we would see each other again. Still it was hard.

So why on this Valentine’s Day am I telling you this? I’m not sure. Maybe it is because I do believe that my mom and I had one of the greatest loves of all time. Maybe it is because I just miss her. I haven’t closed the book on that one yet.

For those who are keeping track, please don’t worry. I am moving along just fine. I struggle some days but mostly I am able to live. Time has helped soften the jagged edges of my grief. I am fine. I just have her on my mind today.