Well then...
The "firsts"...the firsts are always the hardest. The first "them" day (Mother's Day, Father's Day, etc.). The first of their birthdays, your birthdays, the first Christmas - Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving this year hit me hard at one point...my sister is one of the houses we rotate to on Thanksgiving, usually getting their every 2-3 years. Generally, at the end of the day, Mom and I would be at the table in the kitchen - Toni would be making coffee or finishing cleaning up, and we'd all be having a conversation...often with TJ or Caila in the room as well. I can see that memory as if it were happening right now. This Thanksgiving, it was a wave. It only lasted a second, but I walked into the kitchen, and the chair where Mom usually sat was empty. And it hit me. For the 10,000 time. I don't have my Mom anymore.
Then you come to the first anniversary. The day. If you're me, you wake up at 3:30 in the morning fidgety and nervous, and you don't know why. After surfing the web for a while, it hits you.
I woke up in my hotel room that morning with a dread in my heart. My sister had told me the night before that the end was near, and I was really just waiting. At a convention for my diocese, my plan was to leave Cherry Hill and drive immediately to Allentown to spend what we believed were going to be my mother's last moments with her.
I didn't get that chance. At breakfast that morning, I got a text from my sister - "Call me." - She had been trying to call me and had also called my husband, who was with me in the hotel. I left the breakfast to call her back, and she told me Mom had left us. My insides crashed. The reality of the past 19 days hit me like a brick. I no longer had a mother.
To my benefit, I was surrounded by hundreds of loving people, many of them clergy. As I left the breakfast, I immediately ran into two priests I know very well. As if I had no control over my own voice, I said "I'm sorry, gentlemen, I just found out my mother died." They stopped their conversation immediately, put their arms around me, and prayed. Then I found my parish priest, who also stopped what he was doing to pray with me. I walked around that hotel soaking up as much prayer as I could - I figured I was there, and I was going to take advantage of it. Yes, I do believe things happen for a reason, and I was there when I got this news because I was supposed to be there.
I packed my things, left the convention, and began the process we begin when a loved one dies. And then, eventually, begin the process of grieving. Which has taken on a much different view than I thought it would. Because I never imagined I would miss my mother as much as I have. I could not have begun to think it would be this hard.
My mother was an amazing woman. A fact I did not share with her often enough. She was proud of her daughters. She was proud of her grandchildren. She couldn't talk about them - or her great granddaughter - enough. My mother was not a wealthy woman. Every year, at Christmas or our birthdays, she would give us a check or a gift card for some small but appreciative amount. That gift always came with an apology that it wasn't more. No matter how many times we told her it didn't matter, she apologized. I have a gift card in my wallet that I refuse to spend.
My mother was sober for 37 years. THIRTY-SEVEN YEARS. From July 1 (or 2, I can never remember which), 1979, until March 5, 2016, my mother did not take - one - drink. I am in awe. I am very, very much in awe.
She graduated from college at 60. Believe me, that's no small feat. I may "beat" her by a semester or two, but it's just as likely that I will graduate in the year I turn 60 - that's for you, Mom.
It was very rare that my mother would miss a show one of my kids was in. She pretty much came to every show - driving from Allentown to wherever they performed. She once drove 83 miles - from Allentown to Linden - at night - to see Jared in a show, and then, after the show, at 11 or so, she drove back to Allentown. She was probably in her early to mid 60's at the time. I often share this funny story about mom - Tyler had created a fake bio for a show he did at one point, listing nonexistent or ridiculous roles like "Blanche Hudson in the Musical Whateever Happened to Baby Jane?" - all fake. When the show ended, my mom came out of the theater livid. "Why haven't I seen any of these shows? Why didn't you tell me he did these?" It took me five minutes to convince her that they were fake, and Tyler didn't have a completely incognito theater life we weren't sharing with her. By the way, at one point, Tyler started referring to her as "G$." No idea why, no particular reference, but she thought it was cute.
We did not have the closest of relationships, although toward the end, I was making a small (definitely too small) effort to change that. Her hearing made conversations difficult (thanks oh wonderful health care that doesn't pay for decent hearing aids), but I had begun emailing and texting her just to say hello...again - not often enough. She appreciated and enjoyed these small efforts, I'm sure.
Based on geographic proximity, and the difference in our relationships with Mom, it was my sister that was the "base" for my mother. When she got sick, it was Toni that took over pretty much everything. Researching health options, filing paperwork. Without my sister, I would have been lost, because I didn't even know what needed to be done, much less how to do it. She worked tirelessly, all the time giving my mother the physical attention she needed (as did my niece and nephew), as well as handling all the administrative tasks, and for this, I will be eternally grateful. My mother passed away knowing she was loved and cared for by those she had loved and cared for for years.
During the past year, I have had some accomplishments in my life. I have also made some bad choices. The emotions that have been swirling around in my heart and soul have manifested themselves in some positive and some negative ways. Each time, I am again reminded that this is something I cannot share with my mother - either to feel her pride, or get her advice. Interestingly, I don't think I asked my mother for advice enough.
I will admit it - I could have been a better daughter. I SHOULD have been a better daughter. My mother and I, as a result of my teenage years, had a fracture in our relationship that healed but definitely left a scar. For me. Not for her.And unfortunately, that allowed me to distance myself from a woman that wanted nothing more than to show me how much she loved me. She never loved me less, and she held no grudges or bad feelings.
But this morning, waking up anxious and nervous, and needing to write this down, I realize something. It's okay. It's really okay. Because she is here...in my heart and soul. I can feel her pride when I look at my grades. One of my biggest disappointments will be that my mother won't get to see me graduate from college. But she knew I was going, and she knew I would do it, and she was proud of me, and I will finish on a high note in her honor. A friend told me yesterday that my job was to finish school and honor my mother's legacy - and so I shall.
I don't write this so I can garner sympathy. "Don't worry, she knew you loved her." I know she did. "You were a good daughter." Yes, I was - but I could have been better. "Don't beat yourself up over it." I'm not - at least I'm beginning not to anymore. But I can make better choices NOW - going forward in life in a way that will make my mother proud.
There is no more opportunity for me to be a "better daughter." But I can be a better mother, a better wife, a better sister, a better friend, a better Christian - a better person overall. And I can do it knowing that, somewhere, somehow, she knows - and will be proud.
