The day before my mom went into the hospital, I had lunch with her. A totally spontaneous, why don't you come over after you get off work lunch. When I was done at the bank, I picked up Chinese food from our favorite place and brought it to her house. We sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen on the swivel chairs, across from the Lady and the Tramp mural I painted as a teenager, in the house that I grew up in, and we had our Chinese food and just talked.
Amongst the many topics, one was what would happen after the baby came, and I'd finally made the decision I wanted my mom to watch him. I'd been debating whether or not to do day care, how I was going to get Nemo off and on the bus, how I was going to make it all work, and I'll never forget one of the things my mom said to me.
"Kathryn, we'll make it work."
We.
That's what it's like in my family. We're a team. We do it together. We make it work. We may have had our flaws, our mother / daughter differences, but I can tell you, no matter what demons we may have faced, or how terrible they seemed at the time, I'd give anything to have them back. I'd take any of the trouble if it meant I could have her back.
There are days when I just don't want to do it. I'm waiting for the one where I throw my hands in the air and say, I quit. I'm done. It's just not a luxury that a mother can afford. And I don't have a mother to lean on anymore. Of course, the big things hurt, but the little things can hurt just as much. Like today, after Squirt's four month check up when I realized that my mother would have called me to find out how big he was, how much he'd grown.
When I was cleaning out some of her scrapbooking supplies, I found so many slips of paper that had Nemo's name, the date, how old he was, and his measurements. I'd forgotten until today, for some reason, how she used to do that.
So it's not always the big things that set you off.
But sometimes it is.
Sometimes it's looking at the Christmas tree and the decorations you set up over the weekend and wishing you could take them down. It's trying not to stifle Nemo's joy with your pain. And sometimes, you fail miserably and end up screaming in rage because your pain is so great that all the not talking about just causes this fiery explosion that you wish your children never had to see.
I never thought I'd hate a holiday so much. I never thought I'd be such a Scrooge that I'd walk into a grocery store and think expletive Christmas music.
Everyone in my family knows, my dad, my sister, my nana. It is not Christmas without her. My mother was Christmas. She was the embodiment of that spirit of giving, of that whole season. It was her favorite holiday.
I can remember when I was little and I'd go to bed on Christmas Eve, trying so hard to stay awake, so hard to hear Santa bringing our presents. It never worked, but without fail, every morning, I'd wake up and the living room would be so beautiful, so amazing, all the stockings lined up, so many presents under the tree, it wasn't just like magic, it was magic.
Who made that world for me?
Who gave me Disney?
I can see the beauty of sharing these traditions with my children. I can get that it's Squirt's first Christmas, I can understand that Nemo is old enough to get it. My head knows all these things. It's my heart that's screaming out in pain, crying like a wounded child, wanting to go backwards.
The last day I saw my mother before she went into the hospital was the last time I would talk to her...well, when she could actually respond. I told her I loved her, she said the same to me. We hugged, we kissed...we always did these things, always a kiss goodbye. I can't really say that if I'd known that was my last day that I would have acted any differently.
And I'm all for progress and moving forward, but God, how I wish I could go back. I wish I could go back to a time when a hug from my mother would take all this pain away.
Now, I am the mother. I am the hug-giver. The kisser of boo-boos. The creator of the magic. It's something to find strength in, even when it's hard to do.
My long, and rather convoluted point is that I don't know how much I'll be on here this month. I'm having an extraordinarily hard time, quite frankly, this holiday thing is knocking me on my...well, you know.
I tell you, now more than ever, I need that Disney trip. I am looking forward to it. I cannot wait to go. Can't wait to take my children to the resort, can't wait to put Squirt's feet in the sand for the first time. I'm so looking forward to eating at Chef Mickey's for our late breakfast and shopping in the Contemporary with Nana afterwards, just like we always do.
There will always be a hole. Always feel like someone's missing. Always be a part of me that still can't fathom that she's gone, a part of me that just cannot wrap my head around it.
And even in my sadness, I know what she would want. I know that she wouldn't want her child to be in so much pain. And even though I know that, sometimes, it's so hard to pull out of it. And quite frankly, I don't know what more I can do but go to therapy and watch the days pass. Try to revel in every moment of Squirt being a baby because it goes by so fast. And try to watch Nemo experiencing all the joys of his first year of big boy school.
My children. I thank God for them. Without them, I don't think I'd get out of bed in the morning.
I can't wait to take them to Disney World.
Didn't want to spill my guts to a stranger in case I typed the address wrong.
