Dear Mum,
Where to begin? I've had so many questions for you, so many things I want you to know over the last eight years that I hardly know where to start. You died three days after Jalen's first birthday. The year before you had been by my side the entire night of labor with him...you watched him be born and held my hand as I almost bled to death afterwards. You cut the cord connecting him to me. An hour later, you faced my near-death but it was I who held your hand as your life here began drawing to a close.
I will never be the same. None of your children will. I'm fairly certain you know this and I want you to know that we're happy, that we're living life fully, that we're loving every minute...even the hard parts. We're learning to live with the gaping hole you left behind. I didn't even realize how big that hole would be, nor how often it would overlap into my daily life almost a decade later. How there are some wounds that never heal, you just learn to live with them and love them for what they are.
You faced death with a practicality rarely seen. "We're all terminal" you'd say nonchalantly. "I just know the name of my death" and all us girls would argue that no, you could get hit by a bus tomorrow so you didn't necessarily know the name of your death at all. We'd all laugh and share your wig around with the kids. There was humor as we faced cancer together, for that I thank you. It's only life after all. ;)
I remember our conversation the week before you were admitted to the hospital. You had called from vacation time in Hawaii. We planned the summer visit to Alaska...the kids and I, to visit you and the family. June it was going to be. It ended up being February, a week after that phone call from Hawaii. Grandma called and said "book your ticket tonight, you need to come home". I didn't want to believe it. I talked to you again on the phone before heading to the airport, the drugs made you confused but you knew we were coming and it made you happy.
We flew north with dread in our hearts. Straight from the airport to the hospital where I looked you in the eyes and saw recognition before you slipped away. I hope you know how badly I wanted to scream at you "don't leave, please don't die!" but instead gave you permission to end the battle, to go if you needed to. I wanted to be selfish but I hated to see how tired you were, how the pain had worn you down.
I don't know how much you were aware of what was happening in the hospital room those couple of days. Sierra was so tired one night and wanted her "silkie". I can't even remember if our luggage had gotten to the house or if it was out in the cold van still and I was reluctant to go fetch it. In the end, we dug into your suitcase and pulled out a nightgown as a substitute. Mom, she still sleeps with it every night and every night as I tuck-in my big 12 year old I remember that last journey and my little girl taking a piece of you with her.
Roses will always remind me of you. I grow more of them every year. Peonies are next on the list. Sierra loved walking your garden and picking flowers when we visited. The summer we stayed on to take care of you after your hip broke was one of the best two weeks ever, even though I carried a secret with me. A secret that was breaking my heart and I wasn't ready to share with you. I was pregnant with Jalen and knew that my husband was leaving me. I wasn't ready to face any discussions about it yet. I'm pretty sure you knew something was wrong though.
We bonded that summer, you and I. Our roles had reversed and you were now dependent on me for a short time, to help you bathe and fix your hair. To push you around town in the wheelchair. I learned how cruel the world is for anyone with a physical disability. But we shouldered it together and any hint of past grievances fell away completely. Maybe we saved each other in some ways...I like to think so.
I was going through the old recipes this week. Seeing your handwriting makes me feel you so close and yet so far away. I remember that first year or so after you died, I kept expecting a phone call. We talked every week, sometimes more and the ringing phone always made me jump a little and then remember...you weren't calling me ever again. It sucked.
The kids miss your birthday and Christmas packages. They were so personal and special. Holidays have never been the same for me since you've been gone. I'm having a hard time getting excited about celebrations but I try so hard to make them wonderful for the kids. Part of me gets mad at you and Grandma and Auntie, for giving me those Norman Rockwell holidays I just can't live up to anymore. I want them to be the same again, I want to wind up that musical Christmas tree that Grandpa Dunn gave you...but it's gone too, along with those sweet times.
Sierra carries that fierce pride of the women in our family. These stubborn, strong, creative women whose fire goes back and back. She's a truly free spirit. You'd be proud of her, of all the kids. I see now, how much of you I have in me and how it's being passed to my daughter.
I have a whole different life now. A life you haven't known. You never knew me as a makeup artist, not truly. I had just embarked on that career choice when you died and you didn't get to see it blossom or how all those childhood fascinations finally manifested themselves. The parts that you and Dad discouraged when I was a young child. I know you'd be thrilled to see how it's grown and understand all too well that you can't change a person. I know you regretted many things about raising us, but in the apology and encouragement given you helped shape your Grandchildren's lives in ways you can't imagine.
You didn't know me as a public speaker or published writer. You always encouraged me to keep on painting and drawing, to be an artist...I'm still doing that. Thank you for supporting that creative side and honoring that need with materials and supplies that were worthy of a professional. Taking my interest seriously helped me grow in so many ways. I still use those Rembrandt chalks you bought for me in high school Mum. They're awesome. Every stroke with them has a bit of you right there, in the art. You never took yourself seriously enough as a writer and artist, but that's where we were kindred spirits all along. In the color and the words we had a companionship. I wish I could have seen that earlier in life.
I carry many of your words too. "I'm going to live until I die" and "They're like, a million dollars" (because every house in Hawaii was worth a million right?). You laughed in the face of illness and death, if only to convince yourself and us. I'm thankful for that openness, for our family's ability to talk about hard things and be present for those experiences. From the youngest members to the oldest, we faced life together. Present for the death experiences, for the births, for the sadness and joys.
We weren't one's to step lightly around difficult issues were we? I remember the babies being in arms at death beds and Grandparents in the living room at a home birth. I love that through all of the difficulties, the divorce and rifts, we've loved each other. The women in our family are the glue and I'm thankful for the family I was born into. I'm thankful you are my Mum and through the times I hated you I also loved you and needed you. I'm thankful for the entire journey and I wouldn't change a thing now, because I am exactly where I need to be...largely because of that journey.
I love you Mum....I always have and I always will. You've left a terrific hole in my life, a hole that I'm thankful for because it means we were close and had an amazing relationship. There is nothing left now but love and respect and longing. I hope you know how much you are missed and cherished.
Your daughter and forever friend,
Ren
"I wanted to scream at you "don't leave, please don't die!" but instead gave you permission to end the battle, to go if you needed to."
ReplyDeleteAhhh... I know this feeling because of my grandma. <3 <3 <3
~ De