Outside running errands today, I decided to make a stop to see my mother. It had been a while since I spoke to her, and figured that I should take a moment to spend some time with her. Turning down the street toward where she now resides, I felt apprehension and a bit of sadness. I've talked to her my entire life, but the more recent conversations have been one-sided. She doesn't answer when I speak, and doesn't offer advice like she used to. Hers is not a home of fine curtains and family photos hanging on the wall; it is one of earth and grass.
My mother has been gone for over four years now. She lost her battle with cancer on June 15, 2006.
It wasn't the first time I'd lost someone dear to me. I lost my brother nearly 12 years ago rather suddenly, and that alone was one of the biggest tragedies I had to endure up until that time. He had quite an impact on my life, and it took a long time to cope with that loss. But I've been able to move on from his death. I can accept it as part of reality. Different people have different effects on one's life, and while I've been able to handle the stress of losing my brother, I've found losing my mother has been even more difficult.
My mother was one of the healthiest people I ever knew. Even now, I can’t recall when she ever had so much as a cold. She was the strong person in our family. My father liked to consider himself the one in charge, but we all knew better. Mom called the shots, and any decision regarding our family went through her. She was invincible.
My mother was one of the healthiest people I ever knew. Even now, I can’t recall when she ever had so much as a cold. She was the strong person in our family. My father liked to consider himself the one in charge, but we all knew better. Mom called the shots, and any decision regarding our family went through her. She was invincible.
All of that changed in 2003, when she was first diagnosed. Suddenly, the strong, vibrant woman I called Mom started fading away. I watched as the color slowly faded from her face more each day. The hopeful, happy expression in her eyes turned to sadness and despair. She even lost her voice during the course of her chemotherapy. She had such a beautiful alto voice, but it became weak and raspy as her body was ravaged by the cancer, and by the treatments that were supposed to save her.
The time since her death has been difficult, even after so many years. The fact that my aunt died on the same day this year only served to bring back even more of those memories. It was only a few months ago that I was able to summon up the courage to actually visit her gravesite and tell her "goodbye". But even though that moment helped to relieve some of the pain I was feeling, I still don't believe I've completely accepted it. Going to see her is still a struggle, but I decided today that I had to do it.
It was a brief meeting, just long enough to tell Mom how I and the rest of the family are doing. I sometimes think it is a meaningless gesture, since if she truly is watching down on us, she already knows what is going on in our daily lives. Maybe I do it more for myself than for her. I reminded her again how much I love her, and how much I miss her. Part of me wishes that she could answer me, even if only one time, but I know that's impossible.
My drive home was somber. I didn't return immediately to my apartment; I spent almost an hour driving around. I've been trying to limit any unnecessary usage of gasoline since losing my job, but today I didn't have any concern for that. I needed to reminisce.
For most of my life, my mother was my point of reference for everything. Like I mentioned earlier, any decision went through her. Even if she wasn't directly affected by the choice - which classes to take, how to approach someone about an issue I was having with them, which car would be the best to buy - my mother had to be consulted. Not that she expected it...that was just way I handled everything. In the years since her passing, I have had to adjust - quite reluctantly - to not having her guidance. Though I was 26 when she died, I realized just how much I depended on her input. I didn't always change my mind based on what she said, but her opinion always mattered to me nonetheless. Now, I can't ask her anything. I still do, but she doesn't answer. They say everything happens for a reason, and her death did have the effect of making me grow up and depend more on my own judgment than hers. But I wish God had found a kinder way of teaching me that lesson. I still blame Him. Sometimes, I even think I hate Him...
Walking back into my apartment, for a second, I wondered what Mom would think of my place. Would she like it? Would she have picked the same furniture? Would she comment on my lackluster housekeeping? (I do clean a lot, but certainly not as much as she did.) Would she get along with my cat? My choices are my own, but a small part of me always wonders what she would do. It may be pathetic to some people, to still hold so tightly to someone who's been gone for so long, but I've never been good with change, and even worse with loss. The solace my father gets from knowing she is in Heaven doesn't provide the same comfort for me. I want her here, and will probably always feel that emptiness.
While my mother was still alive, she told me all the time how proud she was of me. I can only hope that with each passing day, and with each decision or choice I make, that I still make her proud. But hope is all I can do, because despite what other people may tell me, I'll never know for sure.
It was a brief meeting, just long enough to tell Mom how I and the rest of the family are doing. I sometimes think it is a meaningless gesture, since if she truly is watching down on us, she already knows what is going on in our daily lives. Maybe I do it more for myself than for her. I reminded her again how much I love her, and how much I miss her. Part of me wishes that she could answer me, even if only one time, but I know that's impossible.
My drive home was somber. I didn't return immediately to my apartment; I spent almost an hour driving around. I've been trying to limit any unnecessary usage of gasoline since losing my job, but today I didn't have any concern for that. I needed to reminisce.
For most of my life, my mother was my point of reference for everything. Like I mentioned earlier, any decision went through her. Even if she wasn't directly affected by the choice - which classes to take, how to approach someone about an issue I was having with them, which car would be the best to buy - my mother had to be consulted. Not that she expected it...that was just way I handled everything. In the years since her passing, I have had to adjust - quite reluctantly - to not having her guidance. Though I was 26 when she died, I realized just how much I depended on her input. I didn't always change my mind based on what she said, but her opinion always mattered to me nonetheless. Now, I can't ask her anything. I still do, but she doesn't answer. They say everything happens for a reason, and her death did have the effect of making me grow up and depend more on my own judgment than hers. But I wish God had found a kinder way of teaching me that lesson. I still blame Him. Sometimes, I even think I hate Him...
Walking back into my apartment, for a second, I wondered what Mom would think of my place. Would she like it? Would she have picked the same furniture? Would she comment on my lackluster housekeeping? (I do clean a lot, but certainly not as much as she did.) Would she get along with my cat? My choices are my own, but a small part of me always wonders what she would do. It may be pathetic to some people, to still hold so tightly to someone who's been gone for so long, but I've never been good with change, and even worse with loss. The solace my father gets from knowing she is in Heaven doesn't provide the same comfort for me. I want her here, and will probably always feel that emptiness.
While my mother was still alive, she told me all the time how proud she was of me. I can only hope that with each passing day, and with each decision or choice I make, that I still make her proud. But hope is all I can do, because despite what other people may tell me, I'll never know for sure.
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