On the 11th of February a year ago, my mom left this world. With cancer riddling nearly every vital organ in her body, she mercifully went from diagnosis to her passing very quickly. If you are one of the very lucky few to have never had this hideous disease affect you or a loved one, that previous statement may seem odd or even callous. Being grateful for a quick passing would seem rather strange at first thought, but for anyone who's endured the suffering of someone over a long period of time, they'll know "quick" is actually a blessing in disguise.
Sure I wanted more time with her. To hear her stories again. To tell her how much I loved her. To just sit and be with her. But all of those things would only have been self serving for me. Any pain she would have known could in no way have compensated for an extension of her life.
You see, my mom was the true definition of love and she was kind beyond words. She was fiercely protective of all of her kids, and that meant the three that she gave birth to as well as countless others that she considered her kids. Basically, if you were a friend of one of my brothers or myself, you were quickly adopted into the family. Didn't matter if you were older or younger. White, black or sky-blue pink with purple polka dots. Tall, short; Gay, straight; Rich, poor. None of those things mattered to her. She had an uncanny way of seeing beyond the labels to the person that was within.
My mom had as keen of a sense of humor as any comedian out there. Beyond the jokes or the snarky comebacks, she taught me that humor reallyiq, in its root form, the ability to laugh at myself first and then the world after. If we can accept the faults, quirks or idiosyncrasies (call them what you will) we each own and find levity in them, then the worlds problems that get placed on our shoulders aren't quite as burdensome to carry.
Even with that outlook, there were times when the weight seemed especially heavy. That's when she showed her sympathetic side. That might have meant a shoulder to cry on or just an ear to bend. Whatever it was, she was there to support and encourage.
She also knew love meant being tough when it was required. She certainly wasn't afraid to call me out when my common sense took a leave of absence. Being a parent myself, I know how incredibly difficult this can be and she was able to manage it beautifully. Kind of the velvet hammer effect. That extraordinary way of being able to say you're being a complete ass while still telling you she would never lose her love for you.
I think it's safe to say there's a hole in my heart without her. It has mended some over this past year and I suppose it will continue to do as the subsequent years march on, but I know it will never fully close. That's okay too. I don't walk around in a mope all day, not by a far stretch, but that little bit of hurt that remains dormant for the most part is actually healthy I think. It keeps me connected to all my memories of her. I suppose there can't be a loss of love without some level of hurt to go with it.
We talked in person or by phone nearly daily. We weren't necessarily solving the worlds problems with every conversation though. More often than not it was just checking in with one another. Admittedly I would roll my eyes every once in a while when I saw the phone ring. Not always, but sometimes. "We just talked yesterday" I would think on those occasions. A year later I would give anything to have another one of those conversations with her. In a way, I recently did. Let me explain.
About two or three days before the anniversary of her passing, I had one of the most vivid dreams I've ever had. She and I talked for a long time. I could see her sitting right in front of me and I could actually hear her voice as clear as day. The weird part is, I couldn't tell you what we talked about; Just that we talked. I found that strange as I reflected on our conversation. Maybe I was just so elated to be "talking" with her again, I lost track of exactly what was said. Hard to say. It was a dream, and those don't always make perfect sense.
I woke up with my head held high and in the best of spirits. The world seemed a whole lot brighter and lighter for the entire day. Even if the conversation we had was only a dream of mine, it meant much more to me than I can adequately explain. I hadn't had a dream of her before that night, nor have I since, but maybe some day I will again. Maybe it was a gift from above. A little, "She's alright up here" for me to hold on to. I don't know. What I do know is I was and am tremendously grateful for experiencing it.
If your parents are still with you, be patient, be kind, reach out to them. Some day the opportunities to do so will no longer exist.
