The day I lost my mom I slammed a steel garage door down and effectively stopped all flow of feeling in or out of me. I pursed my lips and set about doing everything that needed to be done. My dad, my children and my brothers and sister were so vulnerable and devastated that I could not fall apart – knowing that if I let myself feel, even a little bit, I would be in worse shape than they were and would require someone to take care of ME. I couldn’t let that happen.
I kept waiting for the door to be lifted. My best friend Skyped with me the next day because she wanted to know how I was holding up. She was amazed at how incredibly fine I appeared, but she also said it would hit me eventually so don’t be surprised when I suddenly fall apart. I took comfort in that. I stopped worrying that I’m not crying and hurting uncontrollably, with my mom gone not quite 24 hours yet.
Two weeks of funeral and family and I almost had to manufacture tears to prove to people I was feeling as sad and hurt as they were. It was scary in a way – being blank inside – when I’d always imagined from when I was a child and this day would come, I just knew I wouldn’t be able to bear it. Now, the day was here, and I don’t feel any of those feelings I’d always imagined I’d feel.
After two weeks, everyone went back to their lives. My aunt went back to Florida, I went back to the Cape, my brothers and sister went back to work and my dad, poor dad, was forced to begin building a whole new way of life at 78. Everyone of them was having a hard time on a daily basis, crying and missing mom. Me? I was still without feeling, without tears. I remember driving and asking God, “What is wrong with me?” and I’d remember what my friend said, and feel better, waiting for the day my feeling would return. Surely it’ll be any day now.
Back at the cape, I’d think of mom everyday, that she’s not in her chair watching the Yankees. I was wearing her engagement ring, and would talk to it daily, but, still, one month later, no tears, no heartbreak, no feeling. I hung on to what my friend said – it will hit someday.
Today three months later, the steel garage door seemed to have rusted shut for good. Now the blankness had begun to creep into other aspects of my life. My husband and kids were “missing” me and this I couldn’t figure out. I was as present in their lives as I’d always been, but lately it seemed like they were needing me more. By now, living behind the garage door had become almost second nature, and I didn’t even think about opening it anymore – but the way my family was insisting they needed me, when all the time I didn’t go anywhere, was still bothering my brain, somewhere in the background.
Last night, I was lighting my candles, putting on music, and turned on my mister for the first time since last spring. (too humid in summer to use it) As the first drops of mist began to escape into the air, my insides shifted. Suddenly I was back in mom’s livingroom. She loved my mister so much, last fall I bought her one. She ran that thing 24/7. My father would have to refill the water every time he walked by it. He, too, knew how much she loved that thing and he faithfully cleaned it and kept it filled for her. You see, my mom was immobile and spent her life in a recliner, all day, even all night. She’d wake in the middle of the night and her mister, gently turning colors in the dark, gave her much needed comfort while the rest if us slept, and she was alone in the dark, unable to get up and move without help.
Last night, as soon I saw the colors in mine, I just pictured how very hard it must be for my dad to walk past that mister everyday, and bang, without warning my feeling returned, the garage door opened, and I have been crying on and off for the past 12 hours. I suddenly feel the heartbreak I’d imagined I’d feel when I was a child thinking of the day I’d lose my mom. Those childhood days were defining days. It was where I learned there are things in this life I will have no control over. This being the hardest lesson for a person like me, whose very life sustaining security lies in being able to control all aspects of her life. Thus, the reason the garage door was so heavy – I knew if and when it opened, it was the final surrender to knowing there will always be the inevitable, the things I have no control over.
My mom is still teaching me. Thru her passing she is preparing me for the other “inevitables” my life holds. Such as my own aging, and eventually, my own passing. My mom moved thru those phases of her life with such grace and courage to face the inevitable, that she is still my biggest role model and from the reaches of heaven, still my biggest cheerleader. I’m going to do it, mom, I’m going to walk through this final phase of my life like you did. I’m going to enjoy every minute I have with Dad and the rest of my family. I’m going to stay open and feel, even the hard feelings, and deal with life as bravely as you always did.
Thanks, mom, for still being ever present in my life today, even though you no longer sit in your chair. And, thanks, to my husband, my three girls – Erin, Ashley and Dilana (who lost her own mom, one month to the day after we lost ours) my brothers and sister, their spouses, and my niece and nephews for being here, ever present in my life and listening to me. All of YOU are now the glue that holds my world together. This holiday season won’t be easy, we will cry and remember and hurt, but let’s not forget what Mom stood for in all our lives, and let’s make Thanksgiving a tribute to the life she lived, always, for us.
And by all means, I WILL bring plenty of wine!!!!!
Ma always said when god closes a door a window opens she is so right.