It's not that I want to be the lone leader.
It's not that I am hell-bent on standing on my own, holding my own, feeling alone, alone holding the weight of everyone. It is the fact that I am who I am. Who my Momma has raised me to be. I am strong I am independent I can feel just as long as it's not with anyone else. I can weep as long as it's in my dark, cold room high atop a mountain of blankets and pillows. I can wail as long as it's at the wall of my heart. Boxed up, banged up, bruised up. A massive sea of dysfunction, a shit show, that's the shape of my heart. I feel like an orphan. For most of my life my Momma has been my Momma and Dad. Now for most of the rest of my life, I will be without. Lacking the one who soothed me goodnight. Lacking the one who encouraged me to be Molly. Lacking the one who inspired me to inspire. Lacking the one who taught me who I am. Lacking the one who provided. Who carried. Who bled, sweat, and wept so we would have everything we could need- and so much more. Alone. Left to carry the weight. Mom is almost gone. And I'm frustrated. Caught in this circle of death. It just keeps circling and circling and circling and I'm caught in the undertow of this current. Attempting to understand why. And understanding that even if I don't understand, He is still good. I'm frustrated because OH MY WORD does no one want to feel with me? I'm frustrated because B told me he knew, he knew what he was digging into. He understood the life I led, the family I led, the person who led me. He told me he chose me, was crazy about me, but in the end, it was still me but me wasn't enough. Maybe me was too much? And here I am, alone. Out on the end of a pirates plank. Toes curled over the rickety board. Splintering. My knees shake as I bend over mom's bed. My fingers tremble as I touch her fragile skin. My lips quiver as I kiss her forehead. My eyes drenched from the memories that flood over me. I am sunk. She has maybe a week now. Signs of the end of time are starting show clear now. Symptoms of "death" grow astronomically every hour. My mom is no longer to focus her eyes on me. Her eyes, instead gloss completely over me. Almost as if she is looking through me. We are no longer the main attraction, there is something beyond we aren't attune to. She cannot hold my hand anymore, momma cannot squeeze my hand three times to tell me, in our own very special and private and silent way, that she loves me. Momma can no longer put together a full sentence. She says a few of the same words on repeat. Sounding remarkably similar to my heavily scratched Backstreet Boys Millennium CD. Her words, while jumbled and repetitive, resemble an almost rhythmic chorus. Today she did not eat a single thing, she hardly drank a drop. And she certainly has not "voided" in over 24 hours. Soon there will be no more soon. It will just be "now." I'm resting in the soon.
1 Comment
Annette
3/31/2017 07:12:14 am
I am so sorry you have to take this journey. I lost my mom May 2, 2014. She was not just my mom, she was a colleague (old nurse 😁), best friend and confidant. She was 72, but still too young to die. The next morning I woke up to a glorious sunny morning. You know the kind where the birds are singing and the sky is so beautiful and bright. It felt obscene. I remember thinking that I would never feel complete again. The loss of a mother is something so deep, so visceral. I won't tell you that the pain goes away. It doesn't. The pain will gradually soften, the tears won't flow on a daily basis and you will make it through this. Our mothers wouldn't have any other way.
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