I spend my days trying to not think about my mother.
Somedays this works. Other days, I'm full of her, in the grocery store, reading the signs that state "Brighten your day! Mixed Bouquets, 9.99!" She worked in a flower shop, despite having an allergy to certain flowers. I see her in the faces in the homemaker magazines, in jars of food, in the lady ahead of me who cannot stand for long, and must sit, despite her youth. I remember her sad silences that grew with each year, and that final look in her eyes that only terminal disease can bestow.
I cannot be rid of her memory, and it hangs like a stink somedays, rendering me blind, and helpless. I have more memories of sickness than of health.
I spend my nights wondering how to defeat her memory, how to move past her, and into myself. I see my daughter already trying to protect me, and I ache with a nameless pain, or rather, an old, forgotten one.
I see in her eyes my own eyes as a child. I see the fear, I see the pain, I see the desperation of wanting to make things better and being terribly unable to. I see what I have lost, and I become angry with the sadness and the unfairness of it all. I want her back, and I want my childhood back.I shouldn't of had to lose my mother, and I shouldn't have had to take care of her-shouldn't couldcouldn't wouldn't-all these things tumble down into one pile of grief I can't ever seem to get to the bottom of, a pool I cannot drain.
I can't help but think of her lately. I can't help but think of me, me who lived so long ago, who I lost forever on a rainy April day. Or maybe not on that one day, but slowly, over days and weeks of, helping my mother with her boots and watching out for puddles, of being her support. I can't help but think of the absolute pain and horror that the thought of dying and leaving your children brings me, and must have brought her. Motherloss may have crippled me, but I can't stop thinking of how much my mother must have cried out in pain knowing she was leaving her babies, her children. And lately, I seethe with this pain, this fear of it.
I woke up one morning and realized, REALLY realized, what her loss really means, what sacrifice really is. And when I see my own daughter trying to protect me in her own little way, I can't handle it. I see the lost little girl I was, and I swear my daughters will not be her too. I want to hold them tight and never let anything hurt them, never let them be lonely or cold, or scared, or crying alone for hours in their bedrooms, watched only by Corey Haim and Christian Slater on the wall.
I spend my days worried that the worst might happen, and during times like lately, when I'm already saddened by life regardless, it sticks like thorns in my hair.
And I still see her everywhere.
Somedays this works. Other days, I'm full of her, in the grocery store, reading the signs that state "Brighten your day! Mixed Bouquets, 9.99!" She worked in a flower shop, despite having an allergy to certain flowers. I see her in the faces in the homemaker magazines, in jars of food, in the lady ahead of me who cannot stand for long, and must sit, despite her youth. I remember her sad silences that grew with each year, and that final look in her eyes that only terminal disease can bestow.
I cannot be rid of her memory, and it hangs like a stink somedays, rendering me blind, and helpless. I have more memories of sickness than of health.
I spend my nights wondering how to defeat her memory, how to move past her, and into myself. I see my daughter already trying to protect me, and I ache with a nameless pain, or rather, an old, forgotten one.
I see in her eyes my own eyes as a child. I see the fear, I see the pain, I see the desperation of wanting to make things better and being terribly unable to. I see what I have lost, and I become angry with the sadness and the unfairness of it all. I want her back, and I want my childhood back.I shouldn't of had to lose my mother, and I shouldn't have had to take care of her-shouldn't couldcouldn't wouldn't-all these things tumble down into one pile of grief I can't ever seem to get to the bottom of, a pool I cannot drain.
I can't help but think of her lately. I can't help but think of me, me who lived so long ago, who I lost forever on a rainy April day. Or maybe not on that one day, but slowly, over days and weeks of, helping my mother with her boots and watching out for puddles, of being her support. I can't help but think of the absolute pain and horror that the thought of dying and leaving your children brings me, and must have brought her. Motherloss may have crippled me, but I can't stop thinking of how much my mother must have cried out in pain knowing she was leaving her babies, her children. And lately, I seethe with this pain, this fear of it.
I woke up one morning and realized, REALLY realized, what her loss really means, what sacrifice really is. And when I see my own daughter trying to protect me in her own little way, I can't handle it. I see the lost little girl I was, and I swear my daughters will not be her too. I want to hold them tight and never let anything hurt them, never let them be lonely or cold, or scared, or crying alone for hours in their bedrooms, watched only by Corey Haim and Christian Slater on the wall.
I spend my days worried that the worst might happen, and during times like lately, when I'm already saddened by life regardless, it sticks like thorns in my hair.
And I still see her everywhere.
I wish I could say something to make you feel better and all the medication or therapy isn't going to make all the pain go away. The one thing I can say is when you feel like you are drowning in the memories of your lost mommy, grab your girls and go make a memory together. Maybe enough happy memories will help you heal a little more each day.
Posted by
Anonymous |
5:53 p.m.
Such complex relationships we have, us mothers and daughters. I cannot imagine having lost mine, despite the stress and strain of our relationship. I am sad for you. I like what sarah said. Make a new, happy memory. That's good. I'll keep that one in my pocket if ever I need it.
PS I was once an extra in a movie with Corey Haim. Met him, ate lunch with him, learned to ride a skateboard from him. I never thought he was cute, though.
Posted by
Anonymous |
8:56 a.m.
*hug*
Posted by
Anonymous |
1:45 p.m.
I MUCH preferred Christian Slater. Ummmmm......PRE butt grabbing of course.
Posted by
thordora |
5:35 p.m.