I avoided the topic of Mother’s Day intentionally. Refocusing on being a working mama in that day instead.
My mother, L, died almost 6 years ago. I was 8 months pregnant and Christmas was 2 weeks away. It was the end of a long battle with a brain tumor. I had spent 8 months, day and night, caring for her, fighting her to want to live, making myself almost insane keeping her alive. I had walked away from my dying mother to save myself.
There are family members who refuse to acknowledge me or my son who was born a month after L finally stopped agonizing herself in this lifetime. I don’t care. Or rather, I have no regrets, I have closure on this. In fact on almost all of my mother’s family. I keep in touch with my grandparents & one aunt. Beyond that, well, and my siblings, I am really good with where it sits.
I have done a lot of personal healing about my mother and what hurts she laid on me. When she was on her death bed, in the final days, the last time my sister, brother & I were with her, they said they loved her. They forgave her. They had the chance to close things up with her.
I did not tell her I forgive you nor did I say I love you. I calmly told her she could let go now, that everything was over and there was no more to fight for. I asked if she was waiting for anything or anyone. What did she need before she released herself from the pain and the suffering. She thought about that, but had no answers. It was a Wednesday, late evening when we left.
In the wee hours of that Friday the 13th I heard my sister’s phone ring. I lay still, knowing it was over. I sat on the sofa bed while my sister, her boyfriend and mine moved about, preparing to go. I said we’d be along shortly.Morning sickness for me always lasts until delivery.
I needed more than any other day to throw up. I don’t recall crying that day. I managed through the morning hours with sickness, and I was dealing with allergies to my sister’s cat which I coudl not medicate. I had to argue with relatives. I alone did not go into the house and view her corpse, as per her wishes.
It was only when dealing with my fax that I began to break down a little. He was the 1st person I said out loud to the words “My mother has died,” and he was a typical ass about it. The rest of the day is lost right now. I know we did a lot of things before the afternoon when we drove en masse - my sister, my brother, our partners & I to tell my daughters, the only grandchildren my mother had known.I still didn’t cry.
It was when we drove back to San Diego, children in tow, and dealt with an ass of a roommate an a lost pet snake that I lost it. I yelled and ranted, but I did not cry.
There was much to do, including fighting for my job with a real bitch of a manager who was threatening to fire me for taking bereavement days to which I was entitled. My OB ended up in intensive care and there was no other OB on staff to write my disability paperwork. I did cry when I spoke at the services, with my children surrounding me, reading some poem or other. I did cry when I had to work Christmas Eve and not be with my children or anyone who loved me. I did cry when I wasn’t needed to be strong anymore.
After that, I hadn’t cried on her birthday, or the anniversary of her death or even on Mother’s Day. I did have a period of time when I’d get upset that other children had grandmothers and that my son does not have one. Last summer, on her birthday, I did finally deal with some baggage I thought I’d unpacked. This year, yesterday, I just avoided her. There is a new woman I know who just lost her mother last week and those services were held yesterday. I thought about her. I talked to another friend who lost his mother years ago. We had an interesting conversation. I knew then that I still need to write about my mother. I need to be ok with NOT avoiding her and the anger & sorrows I do carry because of her. He said “Mother’s Day is a good day to honour a mother who has passed.” I still find it difficult to honour L. But I will stop avoiding.
