It’s hard to believe that on Saturday, my mom has been gone two years. I have been consciously trying to not talk about her as much. The next two weeks will be difficult for me. In the span of the upcoming two weeks, it was her birthday (April 26th), anniversary of her death (May 6th), and Mothers’ Day (May 14th).
I was at Target today picking up things and there is a whole section of Mothers Day cards, spanning the whole row. I don’t necessarily think of cards or gifts for me, I think naturally of them for my mom. And the books I would buy her. I honestly hope the weeks go by fast.
In memory of her birthday this year, we again celebrated the day by giving away 100 free Blizzards and cones in our home town of Starbuck. She loved her Dairy Queen and in her confusion, she still remembered that it was a special place to her. The DQ is smaller, family owned and was voted WCCO viewers Best of Minnesota. They did discontinue the Snicker’s Blizzard, her favorite, but you can’t beat this special place. Thank you to all of you who came and to Carrie and staff who helped run everything. All tips went to respite care for families that could use a break in caregiving. Both of my parents would have loved this idea and its our second year putting it on.
On my off days and weekends, I have started to formulate my writings and timeline of the events that led up, starting with my dad’s death, the assisted living and finally her move to memory care. In this blog, I write a little about the past but mainly of the days she spent in memory care. It has been very difficult to put it all down and to include all the factors that led up to it. I have boxes and boxes of papers, files, doctor orders, bank statements, cards and receipts that my husband would love for me to get rid of. It just sits there waiting for me to go through it all again, like I don’t remember how hard it was before. Its like ripping the scab off a wound and reliving the pain again. It brings up such sadness, anger, occasional hope, frustration, joy, grief and pain. I get frustrated with my writing and feel it is hardly good enough to be put out there. I am not a writer. My boss gave me a CD to listen to on writing and I know I make a lot of errors just listening to the CD. But I still keep going. I have about 65 pages completed, pre-memory care with much of it surrounding her beautiful home town and the help she received. Hence, the free Dairy Queens.
I have come to believe that some sort of grief lives in everyone’s heart. Sometimes the space it occupies is just a tiny speck that you can hardly see or feel. It’s there but you don’t notice it. Other times, I feel the weight of grief taking up all the residence in my heart. Just sitting there. Heavy. I know it’s there and there are days I can’t shake it. It can occur at a stoplight, at a game, when I see a Client who may look like my parents, at the grocery store or especially writing. It’s hard to have both of your parents forever gone. I can’t bounce anything off of them or call them for advice. There are days that I need my dad and days that I need my mom. I feel like I need my mom more, just to answer my parenting questions or show me one last thing.
How did she always get merengue to turn out so well?
How did she turn out to be such a good parent when I constantly feel I miss the mark?
How did she know what was best for me and what would she do differently?
Did she worry all the time like I do? Did she care what other people thought about her or worried that a group of moms that maybe didn’t like her?
How did she keep so many balls in the air and how did she keep them from falling?
What was the key to her being so organized?
How did she know how I was feeling before I even knew it?
How did she deal with mean or unkind people?
Daughter questions I can’t ask her now. I wish I knew the answer to some of these.
I think that we will always be linked by love. A strong link.
It was love that started us off by both of them choosing to adopt me. Saving me.
It was love that kept us going through my elementary and high school years. We both survived and came out of it somewhat unscathed.
It was love watching me become a nurse, marry Steve, have her favorite girls and watch her grow old.
It was love watching me from her chair or bed but not quite knowing who I was most days. The Girl.
It was love saying goodbye to me and her family on that Wednesday morning at 4 am.
I miss her but it’s not like the The First Year.
“When you are sorrowful, look in your heart and you shall see that in truth, you are weeping for that which has been your delight.”