The time we have, is never enough.
Words are inadequate to convey some feelings, and yet, words are all I'm left with.
No, that's not entirely true. I have so many memories, and they've been overflooding me the past few days. The bond we shared always gets stronger now, and drags me back.
It's odd which ones stand out:
Curling her hair, to give her at least some semblance of a trendiness, and laughing hysterically as she sings "Eat the Daisies" to the Village People's "In the Navy". (won't even get into why that song came on)
Sitting on my bed, reading a comic as she frantically tears through the rooms, looking for the lost hamster my brother brought home for the weekend. Falling off said bed when she found it, in my closet, and started screaming about the 'red beattie eyes' staring at her.
Seeing the sign at Dairy Queen when Banana Splits were on sale, and always turning around to get one. Even being grounded at 17, when I wouldn't go out and get her one before doing my own thing. Damn, she could hold a grudge.
Speaking of grudges, we had to stop her from sending black roses to the funeral of the one she felt took advantage of her sweet innocent daughter. Never quite that innocent, but always so in her eyes.
Pride, not jealousy, prevailing when everyone wanted to be at our house, talking to her. All our friends adopted her as 'Mom' and we just kept bringing her more of them. Never minded sharing, because I knew she was mine.
Being dragged to the Festival of Trees, an annual eulogy for hopsice patients she'd lost. How can anyone give so much love and care, knowing how temporary it was? How could she see them dying, day in and day out, and have her goal be for them to pass in peace? Watching as stranger after stranger greeted her with tears in their eyes, and so much gratitude. Smiling and nodding as they told me how wonderful she was to have seen them through. Yes, it does take a special person to do what she does, and yes, she is special.
Her crying, in so much pain after a hard operation. Me at her feet, wanting desperately to take that pain away, or at least share it with her. And always after, "Handle your mother, she's in a funk again" because I could. How many times I sat at her feet, and how she found comfort in that, I'll never know. Eventually the roles would reverse, and it was my fingers through her hair in an effort to sooth. By then, I'd have done anything to ease that pain, instead of just sharing.
The vibrancy that was restored to her eyes, her heart and her laughter when she found Arizona again finally. Dragged in and out of every store there was, grumbling and shuffling, but secretly so amazed. And then, another hospital gurney, in a hallway no less, after the fall. I don't remember how many I yelled at for the indignity of it, but I doubt I am welcome there again.
Believing there was all the time in the world. Believing I just had to believe a little stronger and all would be well again. I could drag her back to the stores, I wouldn't shuffle, I wouldn't grumble, just... try! Don't give up, don't say your life is over. You've given so much to so many, and you still can. So frustrating, so draining, so regretting now the toll it took. I should have been there more.
The final days. The indecision, the conscience wrestled with. To let go, or fight once more? Finally understanding the utter devotion of my father as all the barriers dropped. The last lucid exchange, even though it took several more days for the body to catch up: "I love you, Mom" "I love you too".
And overpowering, yet summing it all up, the thought of lemons left on my doorstep after the world had taken its toll yet again and I just needed something to believe in.
8/5
No, that's not entirely true. I have so many memories, and they've been overflooding me the past few days. The bond we shared always gets stronger now, and drags me back.
It's odd which ones stand out:
Curling her hair, to give her at least some semblance of a trendiness, and laughing hysterically as she sings "Eat the Daisies" to the Village People's "In the Navy". (won't even get into why that song came on)
Sitting on my bed, reading a comic as she frantically tears through the rooms, looking for the lost hamster my brother brought home for the weekend. Falling off said bed when she found it, in my closet, and started screaming about the 'red beattie eyes' staring at her.
Seeing the sign at Dairy Queen when Banana Splits were on sale, and always turning around to get one. Even being grounded at 17, when I wouldn't go out and get her one before doing my own thing. Damn, she could hold a grudge.
Speaking of grudges, we had to stop her from sending black roses to the funeral of the one she felt took advantage of her sweet innocent daughter. Never quite that innocent, but always so in her eyes.
Pride, not jealousy, prevailing when everyone wanted to be at our house, talking to her. All our friends adopted her as 'Mom' and we just kept bringing her more of them. Never minded sharing, because I knew she was mine.
Being dragged to the Festival of Trees, an annual eulogy for hopsice patients she'd lost. How can anyone give so much love and care, knowing how temporary it was? How could she see them dying, day in and day out, and have her goal be for them to pass in peace? Watching as stranger after stranger greeted her with tears in their eyes, and so much gratitude. Smiling and nodding as they told me how wonderful she was to have seen them through. Yes, it does take a special person to do what she does, and yes, she is special.
Her crying, in so much pain after a hard operation. Me at her feet, wanting desperately to take that pain away, or at least share it with her. And always after, "Handle your mother, she's in a funk again" because I could. How many times I sat at her feet, and how she found comfort in that, I'll never know. Eventually the roles would reverse, and it was my fingers through her hair in an effort to sooth. By then, I'd have done anything to ease that pain, instead of just sharing.
The vibrancy that was restored to her eyes, her heart and her laughter when she found Arizona again finally. Dragged in and out of every store there was, grumbling and shuffling, but secretly so amazed. And then, another hospital gurney, in a hallway no less, after the fall. I don't remember how many I yelled at for the indignity of it, but I doubt I am welcome there again.
Believing there was all the time in the world. Believing I just had to believe a little stronger and all would be well again. I could drag her back to the stores, I wouldn't shuffle, I wouldn't grumble, just... try! Don't give up, don't say your life is over. You've given so much to so many, and you still can. So frustrating, so draining, so regretting now the toll it took. I should have been there more.
The final days. The indecision, the conscience wrestled with. To let go, or fight once more? Finally understanding the utter devotion of my father as all the barriers dropped. The last lucid exchange, even though it took several more days for the body to catch up: "I love you, Mom" "I love you too".
And overpowering, yet summing it all up, the thought of lemons left on my doorstep after the world had taken its toll yet again and I just needed something to believe in.
8/5