april 15, 2013. monday.
the sad day during which boston went from cheering to grieving.
yet i was lost in the midst of my own personal mourning.
that date held a different significance for me.
april 15, 2013. monday.
eleven years since my mom’s death.
she was my best girlfriend.
and beloved confidante.
i realize that sounds a bit cliche.
but those who know me know it’s not.
it was a monday that year too.
april 15, 2002. monday.
i drove my dad back home the night before.
40 minutes from the hospital.
so he could have his snow tires removed the next day (last day of the season).
we waited for the car that april morning, then headed back to mom’s side.
but when we pulled into the parking lot at 11:00, my brother was standing outside.
i stopped the car and waited for him to walk over to us.
knowing already what words would come out of his mouth.
“mom passed away at 10:15.”
and in that moment my world changed.
my mom.
my vital vivacious strength.
dead.
gone.
while we were picking up the damn car.
while my sister and brother stepped out to do a quick errand.
she’d slipped away.
we’d been beside her, day and night, since she’d been readmitted.
but that morning, at that moment, none of her family were THERE.
dad tried to keep me from going in her room.
(always protecting the baby.)
but i said i had to see her.
i had to say goodbye.
i had to make sure someone hadn’t made a very bad mistake.
so i went in.
and . . .
it wasn’t my mom anymore.
it was an emaciated hollow shell.
and her eyes were covered.
those eyes which had always expressed so much LIFE.
that would now never see again.
symbolically concealed.
i didn’t stay long.
i told her i liked her and i loved her (my childhood saying).
and i kissed her forehead.
but she was gone.
forever.
it felt final and surreal and inevitable and wrong and unbelievable all at the same time.
and the most ironic thing is that IT STILL DOES.
after 11 years.
sometimes i have to catch myself (and i’m genuinely surprised).
because i FORGET that she’s not here.
intuitively it just doesn’t seem right, so how can it be true?
STILL.
i went to the cemetery monday with a single red rose.
to visit my mom.
and to cry.
but the gesture seemed so small in comparison to my mom’s vibrant dramatic presence.
and so pointless really.
she’s not there.
she’s not anywhere anymore.
but i still need her.
i still need to talk to her.
to review/discuss/figure out my life with her.
she was the biggest supporter of me, my husband, our boys.
and that was the most incredible feeling in the world.
to know she was 100% – no doubt at all – totally behind us.
it was different than believing in myself (which i do).
it was that absolute confirmation from outside that i was definitely on the right track.
the best path.
the 2 things that have been the hardest since my mom died?
one, the fact that my sons were cheated out of a longer relationship with her.
they were oh-so-close to their grandmama, but they were very young when she left us.
and two, not being able to share my everyday life with her.
we spoke to each other every single day, and our at&t bills proved it.
then one day. . . nothing.
how many times i picked up the telephone that first year!
and how many times i cursed cancer as i slammed it back down.
suddenly there was a part of me that felt so very EMPTY.
and that sad vacant space is still there.
will always be there.
my life has gone on and it’s full and it’s happy.
there is a future beyond grief, no matter how all-encompassing it feels.
but that one piece of me is still hungry.
it will never be filled.
it will never be satisfied by anything else.
the bond between my mom and me was an unusually tight one.
so interlocked that nothing could break through it.
except, of course, death.
There are different wells within your heart.
Some fill with each good rain.
Others are far too deep for that.
-Hafiz
[moja droga jacie kocham means i love you so in polish.
mom used to sing it to us.]
[coincidentally, my mom grew up in a little town 30 miles from boston.
not all of her ashes are buried at the cemetery.
we each still hold a part of her.
and the rest are scattered on her family’s massachusetts homestead.
the explosions and their aftermath would have upset her deeply.
thinking of all those affected by this vicious senselessness.]
[comments are welcome, as always.]
Beautiful. Well said. I pray I leave such an impression on my children’s lives. Hugs
thank you, elise. yes, i had a wonderful mom. it’s been an emotionally challenging journey to process her death. but i believe i have her strength inside of me, guiding me along the way.
This was very touching April, took my breath away, thank you for sharing.
what a lovely comment, deborah – thank you. i felt that this needed to be written.
What a moving post, April. So beautiful to hear of the enormous love you shared with her. That is something so very special.
thank you for your thoughtful comment, christina. i’m touched that you found it moving.
Beautifully stated. You are so blessed to have a mother who loved you so much. The fact that you miss her as much as you do is a testament to your bond.
When my grandmother was brought to my mother’s house for hospice, we sat with and cared for her round the clock. On the third day, I could see the weariness in my mother’s eyes and suggested we go to town for lunch. My dad could watch grandma who had yet to regain consciousness since coming home. I reminded my mom that my grandmother loved nothing better than a nice girly lunch. Finally, Mom agreed to go. As we were driving home, her cell phone rang. It was my dad. Grandma had passed. My mother was devastated that she wasn’t there, but I knew why Grandma had chosen to leave at that time. My grandmother loved her girls and she loved a girly lunch and if she couldn’t go with us in body, then she’d go with us in spirit. I feel my grandmother’s presence with me often in the 13 years since she’s passed. She loved me very much and I know she stays close.
oh, denise – thank you so much for your kind words, and for sharing the heartwarming story about your grandma. i actually got chills reading it because, in the unedited version of my post, i’d said something quite similar. we always thought that our mom chose that exact moment to pass away – while we were busy living our lives, and she could just slip seamlessly into them. her presence is felt all the time.
My dear friend April. I can feel your mom’s presence in every word that you wrote, and my tears are flowing as if she was my own mom. You know, my mom and your mom always said they were “the perfect mothers”. Little did we know how true that really was, they were/are perfect to us. Although your journey was impossible to accurately describe to anyone, I feel like i have a better understanding now of what you went through/are going through. No-one loves you like your mama. I believe your mom is watching carefully every move you make, and how proud is she of your boys artistic talent?? A chip off of her block, and a living testament to her influence. Love to you my dearest friend! Kellee xxoo
kellee – i have no words. you will never know how much it has meant to me that every single year you have remembered the impact of this day and reached out to me with an email, a call, or a text. thank you, sweet friend. and love you back.
Hi, April. Thank you so much for sharing your feelings about Mom. It is a beautiful, beautiful poem.
I love you. Dave
thanks, dave. love you too.
my vital vivacious strength.
those eyes which had always expressed so much LIFE.
my mom’s vibrant dramatic presence.
These are the phrases that brought your mom back to life for me as I read this post. That is how I remembered Vi, vivacious, full of life and vibrant.
But you are the same way. Your mother has passed on many things to you, and a part of her will always be with you, living through you, because when we are loved by someone, we can’t help but have their inprint in our lives.
Thank you so much for sharing this….it is beautiful.
Carol
and now you have me in tears once again, carol. thank you for that lovely tribute to my mom (and to me). yes, she will definitely live on – in everyone she loved who loved her just as fiercely back.