Jan 03, 2009 20:08
I start teaching again Monday. I will go in with much the same feeling as I had all those years ago when I first started at AAW: apprehension. I had no idea what I was getting in to the weekend before I started as a long-term sub that year; this year I just don't know what I'm doing when I get back this week. After spending the first week of my vacation at my fiance's parents' house, I was unable to really work the whole second week due to some sort of virus that was wreaking havoc on my system.
And watching a lot of the X-Files. I have a love/hate relationship with TV on DVD.
I start this year the same way I've started many years: No New Year's resolution, per se, but the goal to live healthier. Excited to go back to school, but not looking forward to actually having to work again. Having yet to put away the Christmas decorations.
Yet the start of this year is different from the start of any other year. I'll be sending save-the-date magnets to out-of-town guests to my wedding soon--because I'm getting married in May. I'm checking Blackboard to see if my profs have posted the syllabi to my courses, because I'm back in college seeking a masters degree in instructional technology. I'm still buying Christmas presents because my family still hasn't celebrated Christmas. And my mother is gone.
This time last year, we didn't even know she was sick. I have pictures of me, Red, Dad, and Mom all in front of the Christmas tree (which is now the location of the big-screen TV). But she was sick then. She must have been. But we had no way of knowing. Yet.
But 2008 will forever stand out in my mind for a number of reasons. It's the year I met Libba Bray, one of my favorite authors. It's the first time I filed taxes as a homeowner. It's the year my sister kind of dated a kid who shared our last name (hilarious!). It's the year my first set of freshmen graduated. It's the year I got engaged and began planning my wedding to the man I'll spend the rest of my life with.
But it's also the year my mom died. I watched her lose her hair. I watched her lose her energy. I rejoiced as she was told she was in remission. Then I watched as she continued to lose weight and was rehospitalized. And I watched her deteriorate in the hospital. Then, on my sister's 25th birthday, she passed away.
And then, of course, I had to deal with everyone's sympathy. People I barely knew sent me sappy cards with washed out art work and loping cursive letters, cards that really expressed no personal sentiment, but that merely bore signatures.
(A side note here: If you ever lose a loved one, don't expect one of those cards from me. I know people send them thinking that they're showing their love/support/whatever, but really, it just makes a suck-ass time even suck-assier. I don't want to open your ultra-sappy, trite cards and know that you're "thiking of me during this difficult time." It almost makes things worse. Just when you're finally having a better day, one of those stupid cards shows up and everything's downhill from there. So, no, do not expect these cards from me. Instead, expect me to be there if you need me for anything. Because there will be days when you just need someone to distract you. I will be that person. That is how you will know I love and support you. I will be there.)
And now I have to face 2009 without her. She will not be at my wedding. When I do have children, I'll not be able to call her to get her advice on things.
When I make chili (one of my favorites, and now is just the time of year for it), I use her recipe. She sent it to me years ago--the first time I moved away from home. At the bottom of her directions, she says that if anything is unclear as she's explained it, I could bring her over to the house for some "hands on training." She never thought she wouldn't be around.
Neither did I.
And so now as I look forward at not just this upcoming year, but my entire future, it is with a melancholy heart. It is day by day that I live with my loss. Every day I look forward to my wedding day. Daily I hope that my masters program will be relatively quick and easy. I think often about any future children I may have. It saddens me to know that my children will never know my mother. They won't know how funny she was. They'll not hear her stories the way she used to tell them. They'll never know her strength.
I guess I'll have to be strong enough for the both of us.