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Four years ago today I had already heard the last words my mom ever spoke to me

17 Sunday Apr 2022

Posted by in Family, Non-Fiction

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She told me that I had been her rock. She had been in and out of the hospital for four months and I’d been there for most of it. I was there for her because it made me feel better to be near her when she was sick.

Mostly because out of all four of her kids, I lived the furthest away, and wasn’t able to see her as much as I would have liked.

Those were the last words she said to me. She’ had said them as I left her in the hospital, by herself, hours away from home. I had no idea the next time I saw her she would be in and out of consciousness.

I know those were her last words to be.

It hadn’t occurred to me at the time that they’d be her last. Had I known that’d be the last time I’d hear her voice I wouldn’t have left that room.

Thinking about it now I realize I haven’t grieved for her in a while. Not just felt sad that she’s not here anymore. I do that daily. But really grieved. I remain wrapped up in my own frustration and depression and honestly constant physical pain of some sort.

Oh and mindlessly watching short videos on the internets.

I have a tick tack.

On Tuesday (4/19) it’ll be four years since she died. I have to work that day. It’s my least favorite work day. I hate Tuesdays. I’m sure I’ll be my usual borderline angry but trying to hide it self.

But with a touch of sad.

She would have loved my Kid’s gap-tooth grin. She would have loved watching the grandbabies hunt eggs, and my oldest nephew being a goofball. She would have enjoyed sitting with us outside while the kids played. She would have liked my brother‘a fiancé, I think. I’ve only met her a few times. But mom liked everyone, at least until they did her dirty.

I had no idea that writing a blog post about her would be hard. I’m laying next to my my sleeping Kid, writing this, trying not to cry.

The pain of loss, of losing someone you love so much, it never goes away. It is a wound that never heals. And it can never heal because we keep—whether intentional or not—picking at the scab that covers it. We let it bleed a little.

But I will not lie and say that it doesn’t get a little easier to cope with the pain. Over time, you get used to it. It’s like an uncomfortable buzzing sound coming from your ceiling fan. But you cannot sleep without the cool air so you leave it on. And eventually you forget it.

Or how you can always see your nose, your brain just erases it.

All I know is that every day for the last four years my heart has ached and wished she was still here. Eventually I stopped crying every day. But sometimes I hear a sad song, or watch the video from her surprise 60th Birthday party. And I peel away the scab and let the wound bleed.

Doing so sometimes feels like a little bit of therapy. But then I calm down, dry my eyes. And maybe I should start remembering that I’m her rock. Even if rocks gotta cry.

In Loving Memory. 11/10/1956-04/19/2018

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We Love You, Always.

-c

My mom wants me to write her a letter.

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Family, Non-Fiction

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We don’t live far from each other. I talk to her every day.

When I was a kid (because everything before college graduation was childhood) I’d write her letters. Sometimes it was little notes telling her “good night and I love you” sometimes they were longer. My sister and I used to sneak and clean the house while she slept (in those days she was a much heavier sleeper and we were night owls) and I’d leave her a note.

When I went to college they were mailed but fewer and less frequent. If she wanted to send me some money she’d fold it up and put it in an envelope. But she always felt weird about just sending money. She always said she loved me.

She’s been in the hospital since January 3rd. It’s her lungs and they won’t release her until she’s breathing better, which is difficult considering all her issues. But she’s doing better.

She said something, that first night. She said she’d never smoke again.

The emergency room doctor wanted to intubate her. He said she’s struggling to hard to breathe that she’s slowly wearing herself out, and eventually she’s be too tired.

She was less than thrilled. She’s been incubated before and almost didn’t come off it. So they tried something else this time, a bipap (cpap?). The doc said it was a “long shot” and if it didn’t work, then we’d have to go the other way.

Luckily it worked. Though she’s still not where they’d like her before they send her home, she is doing much better and for that I’m grateful.

When my mom is sick she has stages, regardless of the illness, she goes from (1) knowing she needs to be there, (2) feeling better and getting hopeful she can leave soon, (3) getting antsy, (4) wanting something salty to eat, and (5) getting frustrated and wanting to leave ASAP.

She’s been through all these, though I think she’ll be stuck there a little longer. Right now, though, she’s missing my dad. He’s been sick himself with flu, and his just gotten to feeling good enough to go back to work. She hasn’t seen him since Tuesday the 2nd, excluding Wednesday morning and when she saw him for a few seconds when I picked her up to take her to the ER.

Though she’s close to me at her current hospital, I can’t see her everyday, between work and a sick toddler myself. But she knows I, as well as my sister, would be there every day if we could.

Tonight, before I got off the phone with her, she asked me to write her a letter. Because she hasn’t gotten one in a while. She also made sure to tell me to tell “her bug” she loved her, multiple times. Her Bug was running circles around the living room while holding my video camera. So we didn’t get much out of her.

But I got busy, like I always do, and didn’t get around to writing it. The only reason I have time to write this blog at 11:45pm is because I’m using my iPod and laying in bed.

But I will write my momma a letter, and I’ll fill it with whatever I think will make her smile, or feel better. Because I love making people happy, especially her.

-c

My Mom

05 Friday Jan 2018

Posted by in Family

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I am the mother of a three year old who amazes me every day.

I have written stories that people are actually excited to read.

I was the first person in my family to graduate college.

I’ve had the same job (and done well) for almost nine years.

And nothing has made me prouder recently than hearing my mom say “I will never smoke again.”

Granted she’s 61 and just now affirming it. And she had to feel like she was dying to say it. But she sounds sincere and determined, despite the C-PAP/BI-PAP/”scuba mask” machine on her face.

For years she has been fighting with smoking related issues (COPD, emphysema) gradually making her daily life more and more difficult. For decades we have begged her to quit smoking.

But it took another near death experience to convince her. I’m okay with that.

My mother has raised her own four kids, helped raise some of her eleven grandchildren, helped care for several more kids who were not her own. She’s a major part of so many lives and those lives would turn upside down if she were to leave us.

And if her quitting a 40+ year habit would only add a few years to her life, then, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure sure has all the support she needs.

I love you my momma.

-c