M3 hasn’t written in a very long time, huh! My knuckles feel creek-like and my thoughts are rambling all around my head, stomach, and catching in my throat. Thanksgiving has come and gone, and the only lingering feelings I have (not food related) are intense thoughts of my mother. My mother was not perfect. God. No mother is perfect. I haven’t opened up about her death because I honestly believe my mother ended her life. I can’t tell you how or why I believe this. But let me set the scenario so you too can help me understand.
The Breast cancer was seemingly cured. They could not, or would not, definitely diagnose her with Infammatory Breast Cancer. My mother had many many co-morbidities. Renal insufficiency, Diabetes Type II, Depression, and she had a vaginal mesh placed (2x) both of which, we believe caused her reason to demise. With the BRCA, mastectomy, chemo, radiation, suppressed immune system and chronic coronary artery disease. She was a walking billboard for DEATH. We couldn’t help her because she wanted to live how she wanted to live. She only wanted health, but not change the environment. For that I feel whole heartedly responsible.
My mother died in her sleep. The paramedics said it was an MI. No electric power on in her apartment, as the money that was sent was taken by my brother to get drugs. MY mother texted me the night before telling me not to come to the funeral, not to bury her, and not to celebrate her life. I guess that was her way of burdening me with clean-up. I’ll never know.
I won’t try to strengthen my soul with statements such as “My strong feelings of doing what was right were very confused. I always sent money. I always paid for groceries and I always paid for prescriptions.” Right now 11 months after her death, my heart hurts like hell and I don’t know what to do….I may just have to get through this to get over this. So in the mud I must wade.
This year my family of four sat around our table gobbling up my mother’s favourite things to make for her family. We ate. We prayed. We cleaned the dishes and then ate more! There were smiles and dancing around the table, making funny faces and of course some tears from my eyes as I remember me doing what my mother wanted us to do on such an occasion. The olives in the garnish try disappeared before the table was set. She and I just chuckled. Mo’ dipped her finger in the potatoes to make sure they were “just right”. Something I would’ve done at her age.
I can’t tell you all what Thanks Giving means to me just yet. But my budding idea is that it means being thankful for what I have. For what I had. And excited of being grateful for what is to come in all its greatness.
Mom. I miss you now more so than I ever thought I would. Especially on this holiday. I’ve learned so much about what it means to be a mom to cook that right dish for each plate at my table. I love you, forever and ever. You make me who I am today and I will never loose sight of you. You left us way too early…..and for that I am heart broken.
You are my mother. Mo love. And I would’ve done anything for you! I miss you everyday and forgive you for leaving me and my family so quickly.