Sunday, January 22, 2017

A Motherless Adult: My Mom Died Today

My mom died today.

If I write this post in thirty minutes, I will have to say, "My mom died yesterday."

So, I'm writing it today.

We knew this coming.

We didn't know it was coming quite so soon.

Cancer can suck it.

She died while I was driving to see her, just a bit after my husband got home from playing in our church band, after I had read books, sung songs, and *almost* convinced my son to nap.

My son knew his Mimi was sick and that I was going to see her. He said he wanted to go with me. He couldn't. I didn't know what he would see.

He's four.

I have to protect him.

Because I need to protect him, I wasn't there when my mom died.

I'm stuck between being a parent and being a child.

Being a mom took priority as my own mom lay dying.

My dad assures me she went peacefully.

Oh, life, and your circle of joy and pain.  To be a mother. To be a child. How can I mother my children without my mother?

My mom died today.

And I can only say that today.

She was (was? how can that be was and not is?) fire. She was venom. She was vibrant. She was just.  Always just.  Not fair. Just.

She taught, not just me, but a hundred or so incredibly lucky students who, 25 + years after she taught them, still spoke to her, called her, messaged her, loved her.

She loved with such ferocity.  Ferocity that sometimes broke us but always brought us back together.

She loved my children with that same intensity.

She was spark.

She was flame.

She held me when I wept through all of my trivial pain.

She held me through heartache and breakups.

She held me through tough moments with my son.

She held me.

We dressed her body, my dad and I, as gently as I know she tended me, her miracle child.  We sent her off, with the rain on her face. My dad insisted that she feel the rain one last time.

Now, I hold her in my heart.


My mom died today.

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