Chatting with Mom
July 14, 2013 at 5:33pm
It’s been three days since you left us. I feel better today than I did
yesterday. I hope that pattern continues.
I just want to say that you were an inspiration to me; a divorcee’ in the
mid-70’s had such a difficult path but you handled it with determination and
forgiveness. I know you made some mistakes along the way, and haven’t we
all, but you always managed to pick yourself up and move forward, no matter the
road blocks in your path. You were such a great lady, everyone who knew you
told me so. I knew that but it’s nice to hear from others.
I know that some days will be better than others and some will be
worse. I keep seeing you take your last breath, I hear your struggling
words, and the raspy gasp as you did your best to reassure me that I had
followed your wishes. Sometimes that gives me comfort, sometimes it makes
it difficult to breathe, but I hold on to those images, regardless because I
know they are important. You should remember the last moments with your
mother, shouldn’t you?
I have finally started using past tense when I talk about you, well most of
the time, without sobbing. I think I have some time to go before that’s
just a memory; maybe I need to wallow a little longer. I don’t know.
Everyone tells me I’m “strong” but I don’t feel strong. I feel
broken. I want to remember the good times, great things that we did,
wonderful conversations and quiet moments, but the picture of you lying in the
hospital bed overlaps everything…I am not strong, I am weak. I am angry
that you left so soon, frustrated that I couldn’t will you into better health,
and heart-broken that I feel that way at all.
I think of you all the time, I wake up thinking I need to check on you, but
your room is quiet. I tried to sort through some things yesterday; maybe
it’s just too soon. The boxes mock me by sitting on the bed, the floor,
the clothes hanging around -- a grim reminder that you aren’t coming back.
I washed clothes today and neatly folded all of your things, placed them on
the dresser and put them in your drawers before I thought about it. Then
I realized I could have just boxed them up, but maybe I’m not ready for that
I have quite a few pictures on flash drives to sort through but I just can’t
do that yet. Maybe tomorrow will be better and maybe not.
I miss our daily chats, your smiling face, your laughter and your
singing. God I miss you, I guess that’s not going to go away. I
hope it gets easier, they tell me it will, I’m just not sure I believe them
I love you Mom.