I forget, sometimes, the importance of reaching out to others. Especially these days, when so often I sit in my little corner of the bed in the apartment with my head down and my fingers on the keyboard for hours at a time worrying about the constant battle between my dad and the family, the challenges of finding a new job, on top of chronic matters that seem to revolve in my head on a daily basis.
I forget that connecting with others nurtures my spirit. It feeds my soul. Lately, though, I'm being reminded. In both beautiful and painful ways. In wishing my beautiful mom a Happy Birthday and giving her my I love yous. This year she turns 51. In praying for a second mom. Two Saturday and Sundays ago, we gathered for her 100 days death anniversary, though technically, I remember Friday to be the day. We celebrated her 53rd this year..
Mom and I.
Jeffrey's mom in her yearbook pic.. my second mom.We came together to share our grief, love and memories of her, seemingly like that time, 100 days ago when a myriad of faces huddled together in the pews or in the funeral home, arms around each other and heads bowed low. I realized as I listened to their touching, inspiring and even funny stories about her that I didn't know her very well, despite living with her for years. At least not the fact that she was a chemist and a creative poetic soul in one or that we shared a liking for Barry M, very much like my own mom. I lived with her exactly almost through the duration of my relationship with Jeffrey. I hate to be particularly superstitious, but sometimes I think and half blame myself for appearing in Jeffrey's life. It's as if arriving here meant the first woman in his life should slowly dissapear. We fought so hard for her, day in and day out. crowded and sometimes delayed work commutes from the NJ to NY and back - the hospital - late night talks and massages as unbearable feared cramps would attack and wake her up - watching TV - wheeling her in for Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune at 7 and dinner time just like old times before the wheelchair. and talking about anything under the weather to remove our thoughts from the cancer that was eating away our lives. to prevent the tense balled up feeling. to make sure his dad was okay. The 4 hrs of sleep each night made Jeffrey and I irritable. We fought over contrived, unnecessary things. Yet we thought not even our own problems could amount to the battle she was fighting. On some days, it was easy to forget that she was as ill as she was, until you looked at the tubes attached or heard the machines beeping suddenly.I cannot imagine being in her position, much less the aunts and uncles - her siblings, the cousins, and kids, and dad. On my way home from the hospital each night or to work in the mornings, all I could think was, "What else can I do? What would I want somebody to do for me?" But my mind was blank. It's unfathomable to me. It came to the point that I would use PTO days to remain present for her those days was released after her second surgery. I didn't mind. She reminds me of my grandfather. A cheerful, humourous spirit, who was shrivelled down to look like a holocaust survivor - that struggle - He could barely speak because of throat cancer.
It's not easy. We are not healed. We cry and we still question. to 100 days. hearing my mom's worries on the phone. Despite the what-if scenarios in our heads, I did and am also just glad to know that there are people like our moms and my Lolo in the world, contagious, and motivating. Seeing both moms through the past years has been a challenge, but knowing that they have lived through it and be present for their children is insanely admirable. I trust both with all my heart. They are both one of the few souls at this point that give me that source of comfort that I need to move on and move forward. these experiences have reeled me back tii. I've looked past hurtful words, lost friendships and relationships, ignorance, or the unnecessary fights Jeffrey and I had the night before. conscientious of words spoken or actions done, so they won't feel the anger or hurt that can be inflicted on a person or as I've felt in my own past. It's taught me to simply scoop up the little, precious individuals with their relentlessly good thoughts for Jeffrey and I, all with their rich, rich, hearts. The warmth in the apartment on an early Autumn night. It doesn't come from a fireplace, a cup of coffee or a bowl of soup, but the visit of a little brothers i've missed so much..playing with innocent children and their laughter..simply Jeffrey's presence..a phone call from mommy..and prayers to Jeffrey's mom.
Today and for many days after, I especially seek connection. I like to sit still and observe only these good things. it's been one of those difficult and trying, life-is-fragile weeks, or maybe years as weve been holding our breathes for God knows how long. Are there even more words to follow that? If there are, I can't find the rest right now.
