It’s cold. Just damn cold. The last remaining buds from anything left in my garden are giving way to the chilly blast of wind- little seed pods blown somewhere else. I have not the initiative to go out and rake or stay in and fold clothes,or for that matter, grocery shop, clean house or even think about looking for work. I am fine busying myself with stupid little tasks that make me feel like I am getting something done-but really, I am just moving things around-either to be thrown away or moved to another pile of memories. Give me a plastic bin and a Sharpie and I’ll organize stuff-throw out most of it and categorize the rest. Then move it around for years.
I am stuck. It’s the week after the week after…. the exact time when one thing is over and everything else gets back to normal-whatever that is. I am restless and edgy. I have never minded good-byes-or the end of things that were…..I am not a look back over your shoulder for one more glance kind of gal. I savor the time and use it to the fullest. When it is time to go-I go. This is not to say it is always easy and I will confess to crying while not looking back-and certainly in the comfort of my own space-I have shed a tear or ten-or more-at all the goodbyes….but as a rule- I think a goodbye is a sure way to say hello to something else along the way. There is, however an exception:
When I leave my mother now, I never know if it will be the last time I see her-so those goodbyes are hardest of all. She is damn determined to go before her mind does and I am damn determined to make sure all her remaining days- however many there are- are filled with what she defines as quality. Two freight trains with unspeakable amounts of determination……and she can not figure out where I got this from?!…..
My mom. Her abundant sunshine despite the weather. Her abundant sunshine always. I have ever only heard her cry-that soul-deep, sobbing kind of cry twice. I will never forget that sound. Those times she let it all out. Even in the midst of family dysfunction at it’s finest, she remained determined to protect the family and act as if. Even in the midst of her current poor health-she is acting as if. Reformulation at it’s finest. She is fond of saying “I survived damn near everything”- and truth is, she has.
Every family has dysfunction, she would say. Even as she swept more lies under the rug and wiped off those enormous rose colored sun glasses. She knew on some level, for many years-and she chose to not know.
yes, mom, I know. But…………
then I would list all the things that, to me, clearly define blue ribbon winning dsyfunction( as if any family would want to win that prize) and she would say
what is normal Gloria? Dysfunction is the new normal
Tell that to the Murdoch empire.
Actually, really, some of us, turned out ok. We are thriving despite the fall out-though, clearly, there are cracks in our individual sidewalks.
Don't fall in...
Here is the biggest heartache in this particular transition with my mom. It is not seeing her decline-it is not knowing she is terrified, it is not seeing the vacancy that comes and goes-but more often stays longer in her eyes. It is hearing her grieve for the what if’s. It is hearing snippets of stories I probably should not-and realizing the anger she swallowed. Big gulps. It is being frustrated she did not entitle herself to get angry like she should have- It is knowing somewhere in her being she is aware, her family will never be together again in the way she had always hoped. No family barbeque’s, outings or Christmas mornings. Those days are over. In fact, the last time all her children were together was in a courtroom-petitioning for her further protection against a sibling and his own family. Cold hard truths on the table, exploitations noted and any further attempts at stealing from or swindling stopped, once and for all. Mom, having to hear all of this, knowing the bitter truth and yet, smiling, that smile she smiles, because, for the first time in a long time, all her children, all adults now, were in the same room. Never mind the circumstance.