We went over this eventuality many times while you were living here. We went over the legalities, we went over the emotions, we went over the family but there is no real preparation when you lose such a large part of your life and there’s no way to retrieve it. I still choke right up when I have to walk into your place. I tried to do your clothes, bad plan. Did not work out well at all.
I know you were in pain. I know you had lost your sense of life quality. I know all these things and while in conversation with people regarding your leaving this old mortal coil, I don’t seem to be able to accept my own words; strung together to help others talk about the situation. In current parlance “I just can’t wrap my head around it.”
That you are never coming home again. That I won’t walk into the house after work and smell the Jigg’s Dinner cooking. I go to pick up the phone at work to remind you to take your pills and then put the receiver back down. I can’t call you, you aren’t there and you never will be again.
You were right, by the way, as always. Didn’t that ever get boring for you 😉 I was stressed. Yes, the stress was centered around you and because you did the same during my teen and early adult life – you recognized it but I didn’t.
When you were ill, you kept saying you didn’t know what you would do without me. It always perplexed me. Of course, I was there for you. It wasn’t a choice. It was never a burden. It was something that seemed entirely natural to me. Both Dad and you were always there for me. Nothing was more important to me than ensuring you were okay. That you were as happy as you could be, after Dad died.
There was nothing left unsaid on my part. I learned that lesson years ago, when Papa Jack died. I learned to never forget to say “I love you” because you never know when it will be too late. Never let an opportunity go by to tell those around you, how much they mean to you. One day, they will not be there to hear those words and they mean so much.
I know that we followed your wishes – there were no “widow weeds”, no outpouring of grief that you were gone. We had that celebration you so wanted. And it was good Mom. I like to think that you were watching and you approved. So many people came, so many people together – it was bittersweet but it was good, Mom. It was real good.
I will take your ashes to the ocean. I am thinking Hampton or Cape Cod. We spent some really good times there back in the day. The ocean, the waves, the sand and the boardwalk. I can still almost smell the cotton candy, the fries and popcorn. Those crooked arcade games. Walking the beach and each shell was a new treasure, to be carefully placed in a bag. I remember pulling them out, when we back home, smelling them and seeing the ocean in my mind’s eye.
Eventually, this huge hole in my heart will become easier with which to deal but for now, it is so raw, so big and I hurt so bad. I miss you Mom and I promise, I will try to “get over it” and get on with life. Just give me some time.