BABY STEPS

I’m finally regaining my footing after my mother’s death sent me reeling. It was a double whammy for me. I knew I would miss her, but I had no idea I would be paralyzed with sorrow. I then chastised myself for the unexpected depth and duration of my grief, telling myself to buck up - get over it.

For the past 10 years I’d kept reminding myself that my mother was 75, she was 80, she was 85 . . . it could happen any day. But every day, I saw such a vital and vigorous woman – a picture that didn’t fit my words.

In the last five years I saw her through a few periods of ill health, cancer scares that turned out to be flare-ups of her infrequent digestive maladies. Each time, sitting in doctors' exam rooms with her, telling myself “This could be it,” I thought I was preparing myself for the eventuality. I even preached as much to my brother and sister. “You have to be ready for this. You can’t stick your head in the sand.”

And then it happened. No warning, no lengthy period of feeling unwell, building up to feared doctor visits and the diagnosis. One day she was with us, so alive, laughing and loving us all. The next day, she was gone. Undetected heart disease – a massive heart attack, followed by two days in intensive care. Five minutes after my brother made it to the hospital, she left us.

I lost my oldest brother to Lukemia when I was 17. I’ve lost more close friends than seems right at the age of 47. I’m not a stranger to death. My mother would have been 88 on 27th of this May. She had a long, good life marked by a circle of friends both young and old. She would have stuck around until she was well past 100 if she could have, but if she had to go, she wanted it to be quick and painless. I kept telling myself this, and couldn’t understand why it didn’t help to ease my grief.

Then in reading the glut of Mother's Day articles, one made it all so easy to understand. Our mothers are the person we shared a body with, shared a heartbeat with for nine months. She is the one person in the entire world who, barring any dysfunction, loves us unconditionally with no exceptions. She is the one person we can always count on, no matter how many times we may have disappointed her. She is the one we know will be the proudest of our accomplishments - big or small, hands down.

I suddenly realized how much I’d truly lost. No matter how old I was, how established in my own life, no matter that I might be beyond needing a mother and whether or not I knew that some day she would be gone and I should be prepared. I've lost the one person in the world who gave me what no other can. She gave me life and she kept nurturing that life until the moment of her last breath.

Thank you to those who sent your condolences. It was a comfort and helped toward my still progressing recovery. I can get through a day without crying now – sometimes two or three before something reminds me of Mom, before I reach for the phone to tell her . . . what I could never say enough times.

I love you Mom. I miss you. Thank you for loving me.