During a pandemic, one feels selfish whining about her grief. I lost my mother August 22, 2018, unexpectedly, after speaking with her that morning: "I need to tell you where I am," she said. My heart dropped. It was only by happenstance I called her. "I am getting a catheterization because they saw something in the stress test. But last time, it was just a shadow."
The words run together now, like one of those beautiful and esoteric oil paintings Mom created in her later years. David, my brother, would tell me: "I think the clouds in Texas inspired her." The shapes are very similar, indeed.
How she died, why she died, when she died...these all were more important than they are now. What is important now is that I have recognized She Is Not Coming Back. I am in a new chapter. I am in a new novel altogether. If I had to name the first novel of my life, it would be, "This is a Beautiful Life and Your Mother is Your Elegant Protector." This novel? It is, "Your Mom is Gone, but She Emboldened You with Tools to Be Strong and Thrive". Thrive? These days I barely survive. Did you, Mom, need to die so soon before this horrific pandemic? Did you need to die so soon before I lost my cat Wally, who in a stroke of selfish and cheeky humor, passed on the one-year anniversary of my graduation from King's?
I no longer cry myself to sleep. Instead I cry when I mention jacarandas to my brother and he hesitates and tells me that makes him sad, that Mom had loved the jacaranda they found in Hawaii. I cry when "The Way we Were" plays on the Turner Network and I remember that mad crush Mom had on Robert Redford or how she revered Streisand. Mom was also a singer and her favorite song was "Evergreen". When she died I sang it and played it on her piano, recording it in a dimly lit apartment in Waco, Texas. David said: "It reminded me of Mom."
I have to think that the grief arc is far more difficult during a pandemic. Were it not for Covid, where would I be? Where would David be? Where would my mom's brother Uncle John be? Sometimes men don't share their feelings as much. But no doubt they also feel what I feel. Mom's friends, my dad (Mom's ex), Mom's cousins and former coworkers...everyone misses Mom. But do I miss her the most? Why does it feel that way?
Sometimes I think I was too dependent upon my mother. In my fifties I should have been flying solo rather than going to her frequently. Perhaps this is indicative of children of divorce. Mom became my sounding board as well as sparring partner, sidekick and biggest fan. I am still finding notes she wrote urging me to believe in myself or telling me I have "so much talent!"
I find myself mad at anyone who says they are sorry for me but doesn't have a clue how I feel. I take greater comfort in my online support group of people who have lost a parent. I can't say how much this helps me on a daily basis, and how I am comforted from helping others. Maybe this is the point. Maybe this is my new meaning. Maybe all the things I cared so much about before - from winning journalism awards to flying round the world - pale in comparison to lifting up another anguished soul. Today I received a note from someone thanking me for caring and for my kind words. This is pure gold. This gives me fuel to last another day, to try to find that beautiful rainbow over a very grey horizon.
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