I was going to try to write a poem, but you know what? Fuck it. Enough with the using poetry to try to make you figure out what's going on. I'll just say it.
The anniversary of my mother's death is creeping up on me. She died in February, but it was January that she went into the hospital. It was actually the day after my birthday that she was found collapsed on the floor of her apartment. We sent someone in to check on her after she didn't call me on my birthday.
I knew something was wrong when she didn't call. I called and left messages. I also tried to persuade my brothers to check on her that day, but they waited until the next day. I'm a little mad about that although I don't think in the end it made much of a difference.
Anyway, after she was found, she went to the hospital. I rushed home. The first week was rough. Then she got a little better and I returned to LA. I wanted to come back again but my brother thought she was showing signs of improvement and suggested I wait. A few days I got a call saying I better come back now.
I'm mad about that too although I'm more mad at myself for that one. I could have and should have come back. Actually, I never should have left. I was there for two of the three weeks she was in the hospital but alas the week where she was most talkative and in good spirits I wasn't there.
When I did return that Saturday night, she was fading. She knew I was there and I think she also knew that the clock was running out. She entered the unconscious world on Tuesday (I think) and was dead by Thursday -- Valentine's Day.
So yes, my birthday and Valentine's Day will now be memories of my mom's death.
That's OK, I was never too fond of either of those days.
I didn't really get to say goodbye. Does anyone? I know in movies and books there are those beautiful moments where one says goodbye to a loved one. I'm sure it happens in real life but not this time.
And that's on me. I could have said something or sought some closure but I went into shutdown mode. I had to, it's what my mom taught me.
She once wrote in a letter to me:
“By the time I was three or four I knew never to cry about anything, including pain. I’m not trying to arouse sympathy; I’m trying to explain why I must have seemed remote and detached (probably still do) to all of you. It was a survival technique, that’s all, and once mastered it’s difficult to shed.”
Indeed it is.
But the shadow may break me yet. God I hope so.
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3 comments:
Hey Rambler, I woke up sorting out a whole bunch of things this morning, the tangle of choice, blessing, guilt, going over and over, found this read this. Thank you Rambler for writing honestly and from the gut, for sharing (sorry for the cliche) the process... I know I don't even know you, but thanks.
Of course I hope all sorts of things for you that you already know I hope for you...you have made your mom come alive so vividly that...well, that has to be part of the real and essential purposes of writing...que sigues en la lucha
I also lost a parent this year and although I was his primary caregiver, I felt as if we did not really say all that much which was meaningful before he passed. I found that without the proper amount of sleep I am just nasty. The poor guy did not deserve this, We all did what we could to make his last 4 years as livable and comfortable as possible. You also tried to be there. You did what you could at the time. There will always be regrets but at least your heart meant well and you tried to understand each other. Maybe you could just remember your mom on these days, the good things. Her own honesty which is something you write about honestly. From what you have written, you seem to share a lot in common with her. Be as well as you can.
an addition to my earlier comment - the anniversary of my big sis's death was yesterday. The time leading up to the anniversary of that day was really, really challenging and I found myself reliving and rethinking so much including guilt and incomprehension and I found myself exhausted at work, working hard to keep my temper, and way over sharing with a kind stranger in a way that really embarrasses me now(ahem, sorry). Then the few days leading right up to the anniversary of her death weren't as bad and the day itself, well...it was lightness and peace compared to what led up to it. And somehow my sister's sense of humor came back to me in a tidal wave. She would have laughed her head off that Santa Con occurred on the anniversary of her death and she would have laughed that I still don't have the heart to unpack this big old suitcase sitting in the middle of my apartment with her clothes. My sister did not have the type of life that gets a memorial service or...well, you know. But there was grace and she tried one freaking moment at a time to be okay. SO, I now know for next year that the time leading up to the anniversary of her death is going to suck and I will have to make sure I don't act really weird , but then there is some kind of, grace or something. From what you have shown and written about your mom, I have no doubt your mom knew exactly how much she meant to you whether you expressed it verbally or not, and she knew more than that, too. She knew you, good and bad sides, and loved you.
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