Miss You

No one knows when or why. What changes in the earth to say, “Ok, our time is over.” Nevertheless, here we are walking, living, breathing to make for ourselves a life. Our lives hold many things such as: warmth, trust, and love. None of us given the guarantee of tomorrow, but here we are in unity. Eyes tell a story all their own, laughter reminds us of cherished times. Tears remind us of all those emotions words could never capture.

I will always remember this woman. A woman who gave life. This woman her provided love (in her own unique way). Her life tells me a story. I want to be like her – strong, never a discouraging word. She had cancer – in her bones, in her body, on her brain. You never heard this woman say, “I can’t.” Doctors said, “She won’t be able to walk anymore”. She scoffs. With a walker in both hands – she was going to try. Pain in her steps but that didn’t stop her. This woman had determination. She had a reason to embrace her everyday.

I get angry sometimes. I want to blame her for not being here, for dying. Some days – rage sits in and my hopes she’ll appear somewhere and say, “Calm down, I’m right here.”

As I write – she begins to come alive. The way she walks, slow, and steady. Her laughter as it carries through what I once called “home”. Her character as “Mom” – begins to take form. As I can freely express anything, I wish. No, she’ll never come back, but this is where I can keep her alive. I can include her in tales of my past, present, or future. Whatever role I wish her to fill.

I wonder why I keep writing about her? I never use to. Oh, she was never dead. I stopped writing for pleasure less and less when she died. I became enveloped of her non-return that my words would tear me apart. I had to keep it together. I had to demonstrate cohesiveness. I was trying to finish my degree. “Tears don’t bother me” – I would say to myself.

However, I remember at night and early into the mornings I would cry. I would embrace your final days – playing and replaying what I could have done to keep you alive. I was so close to graduating – and you were so excited. My goodbyes were harsh and without emotion. I didn’t know exactly what to feel.

Two days ago, you were on the phone – you were laughing – telling me to stay out of trouble. After that, a coma? C’mon – Can’t be that easy. Doctors say that’s what happens before a body begins to spiral downward – their speech so clear – their mind so free. Funny. Weeks/ months before her thoughts were idle as she lay in her hospital room. I was a small girl to her. “Amy, I told you to clean your room!” she would blurt out. “Stop hiding!” as she would raise her heavy head as to look for me. I’m sitting in a chair next to her. “Mom, it’s ok I’m right here.” For month’s that’s what it was – I was the parent. I had to feed her. She told me, “No” once – what do you do? I gave her the spoon and Jell-O was everywhere. My mom was losing a battle and my mind never caught on.

So, here I am 29. My mom gone from this world and I on a journey of “new normals”. I hope to be carrying out a legacy – embraced with a passion of working with children as my mother did for so many years.

“Does life get easier?”
That’s hard to say. You constantly have to teach and re-teach yourself how to live. You only know what works.

This is definitely a journey shared my many – some go through it like myself – swallowing hard and hoping not to fall apart. Others cry when they’re sad and laugh when they’re happy. Whatever keeps you going.

I do know, you can wish it never happened until you are blue in the face, but guess what? It’s real. Everyday, it’s real.

One day I will embrace understanding – one day I will embrace her unspoken love as a means to be reminded – it’s ok to miss her for now, and to know I’ll always be her daughter. Nothing can take that away.