Grief - Episode 1

Tomorrow marks the one month anniversary of Mom passing. Which means, one month ago today, I was sitting on my little cot next to her bedside and it was nearing midnight. It was my birthday ~ always an emotionally complicated day for me.

It was such. a. long. day. I can still feel the weight of it.

I think it stained me somehow.

Every year since 1992 I spend the previous day bracing myself for whatever maelstrom of disappointment that would, inevitably, be happening on August 17th. This year would be no different, except it was entirely different.

I woke up that morning and gave mom her bed bath and all the little things needed to keep her comfortable (I assumed, as she had become non-verbal at this point. That was so freaking hard and no one warns you about that.) and I was very aware of the fact that I was doing all the things for her that she had done for me p r e c i s e l y 47 years ago. I was feeding her, washing her, cooing at her, telling silly stories she could or couldn't hear. I kept chattering at her about all the plans I had for our day, how her nieces were coming to see her, how I was going to go home and shower and see her grandsons for a bit - but not to worry, I'd be right back! I bought her a fresh bunch of yellow roses (her favorite, only second to red roses from my Dad) mixed with white and green roses (my favorites) and it was our shared Bday/Momiversary bouquet. I got us a fancy german chocolate cupcake that I knew neither one of us was going to eat, but that wasn't the point. Even bought golden hued little candles, but we didn't get to blow those out either.

The day was so deeply gray and it felt like it stretched on forever. Looking back, I think I recognize that I was desperate for the charade to end yet so fearful of the stroke of midnight to finally get here because I knew it would be our very last birth day together.

From about 10pm on I was obsessed with watching the clock in my parents' living room. I can't explain why, but, my eyes were always returning to it. Again, looking back, I think I recognize the fear and absurd tragedy of the moment. The macabre and undeniable reality of physically watching the time run out for both of us.

I got up on my knees. on that little cot, so I could see her better. I looked into her face, with tears streaming down my face, and like a toddler who is tired and confused and scared I 'whisper-cried' to her in my most unflatteringly human and petulant tone, "Don't you just want to stay ONE more day with me? Don't you? Can it be just you and me? Just once?"

Silence - but for the sound of the fan above her bed and the pulse between my ears.

And it's that! That terrible (def.2b) moment!

I think I am still there, pleading with her for one more day - just us.

With all the words I should have said, stuck in a ball in my throat.

Grateful for all the words I could have said, blessedly stuck in a ball in my throat.

It's here I pause, in this first installment of my documented grief ~ because my heart has run out of strength for this today. But at least it's a little less to carry.