Life With Boys

It’s happened; I’ve finally had a dream about Mom.

I was on travel study, or something and had somehow gotten severely sunburned (to the point where my skin was peeling off in sheets. It was really gross and out of nowhere both my Mom and Dad came in to what I guess was my hotel room, but seemed more like an open air cabana. I was surrounded by friends I’ve not thought about in ages, but who came out in droves to support me through this transition. Anyway, Mom was fussing, looking for vinegar to fix the sunburn (‘cause everyone fixes sunburn with vinegar) and then I heard Pat (my mother-in-law) in the background and she was coming to my rescue by bringing a nurse to start an IV.

Then I woke wide awake, it was exactly two months to the minute that my Mom had passed away.

And I guess it is time to do my homework, to write the letter to Mom I’ve been putting off because I wasn’t ready to have these feelings yet. But your timing sucks Mom, it’s now 4:30 a.m. and I’m supposed to work today. Maybe it’s intentional, so here goes.

Dear Mom,

I’m lost without you. I’ve kept the tears away until now. And now they are tearing at me like I’m going to throw up.

Who am I going to turn to now, when I want to tell you about Tyler’s “finger brain” or to ask how to cook artichokes for the one-zillionth time?

This is supposed to be a letter to say all that was left unsaid, to share my innermost thoughts, thoughts that I haven’t realized are haunting me until now.

I’ve been rotten lately. Sad and crying and testy – too testy. Everything is throwing me off balance. Doesn’t matter if it’s a commercial that comes on too loud or the fact that my living room is in pieces because I saved it decorate with you – and now you’ll never be able to help and God it hurts, hurts so much.

As I drive around town I’m overcome with reminders. I pass the Red Roof Inn and think that is where you last few days of freedom and I feel so guilty to have asked you to stay in a hotel – and why didn’t I at least make sure it was a nice one? I feel like I should have had you here, taking care of you for a change. Instead I wasn’t even in town when the call came in that you were bad enough to go to the ER and I should have been there, I know that.

God, my heart aches and the tears are coming in waves.

It’s two months now and sometimes it’s yesterday and sometimes it is years ago.

I just try to keep busy, keep moving, don’t think, just move from task to task, try to get something, anything done and I don’t and it frustrates me even more. Everything is left undone, half way there. The laundry taunts me, sitting there folded, but not sprouting legs to put itself away, so the piles continue to grow. I can’t find the countertop and my meek attempts to find it have been unsuccessful.

Matt keeps trying to fix it by getting closer – and all I want to do is to push hem away – stop holding me so tight, you’re suffocating me. Please take the kids out on your own and give me a few minutes to escape from “momdom.”

Mom, I know what you think about me having a second, that you saw history repeating itself. And I’ll never understand exactly how bitter and trapped you must have felt until we were old enough to help ourselves. Maybe that’s why I can’t stand it when people can’t find a way to so something themselves, that I get so pissed off when someone asks for help with something I think they should be about to do themselves.

I’m no good at asking for help.

And I guess right now, help is what I need most. If only I knew what to ask for.

I need some space, some time to breathe, to appreciate the sacrifices you made for me, for us because I know it’s not the life you thought you would have. I know how lonely you were sometimes, how desperate to find that which gave your life some meaning – so you dove into science fair without abandon, took on the cases you could have some real influence upon, to make things right.

I knew you not only as a daughter, but as a friend. Although an often strained friendship as I know I’ve made choices of which you disapproved, but they were my choices to make. And I know you were torn between “telling me so” and letting me live a life of my own. And I know I’ve just wanted you to see the wonderful aspects of this or that and you couldn’t get by the flaws.

You couldn’t get by the “flaws” you saw in yourself either; constantly battling with your perceived weight issues. You always said you wanted to start in the middle of a pumpkin pie and eat your way to the edges – am I knew you never would. I don’t want to be right on this one. Why couldn’t you find the positive aspects of yourself, the things that aren’t measured by a size or calories? Why did every single meal, every bite have to be a battle?

I’m having a hard time listening to Buffet, such happy music now brings the tears to my eyes. So this morning I’m listening to James Taylor and the lyrics cut like a knife.

I’m sure there will be a longs list of things I should have told you, but I’ve lost my chance now – with you at least.

So I’ll try to do a better job of making the list of things left unsaid short. To always let people know that I appreciate what they do and that I love them.

And then, as if on cue, Morgan woke up.