A Year Ago Today

 A year ago I was sitting at my desk at work, and my cell phone rang. I saw the display name that it was coming from Beth Sholom, the home where my mother lived. I had not been happy with something that had happened when I had visited her that previous Sunday. I thought they were calling to discuss the situation with me. I got up to take the call in private, and, for someone who usually can remember everything, I can't really recall the words that were said, but the call was to tell me that she had passed away. I knew that she was probably not going to live much longer, in fact I had prayed for God to take her if he couldn't find a way for me to move her out of the home and in with me, but I was still shocked when the call came. I don't think we're ever prepared to hear that we've lost a loved one. I wasn't prepared. In my way, I held it together while the nurse was talking to me. I asked the questions I thought I needed to, and then I went out to tell my supervisor that my mother had died, and I needed to leave. She hugged me, and I fought it, as I usually do, because I always have to hold it together. She didn't let go of me, and I started to sob. I collected myself pretty quickly because I was the resident grown-up now, and I had to start making some plans and taking care of things, make arrangements. A year has come and gone, and so many things have happened. Some days have been worse than others. It took me a while to pull myself out after Mom first died. For a while, I really didn't care about anything. I had never experienced that in my life before, not even when my husband left me and the girls. I did finally come out of it. I'm not really sure when or what caused it, but I started to feel "normal" for lack of a better word. That's not to say that I don't still miss her, I do. I'm sure I always will. Heartland Hospice had a memorial service in May for all of their patients who had passed away in the previous year last May. It was a beautiful day, and the setting was a gorgeous chapel on a hill. It had been 10 months since Mom had left us, but I cried as if it had happened the day before the service. Sometimes I still cry, but now I laugh too when I think about different times we had together. Oh, and that piece of coconut cake..it still sits in the freezer uneaten, and it probably always will. 

Check on Your Strong Friends!

Last weekend I was not in a good place. A little background in case you don't know me. I am a strong person. I "keep it together!" I am great in a crisis for that very reason. I may fall apart afterwards when I am alone, and no one else needs me, but in the middle of the chaos, you can count on me. To be sure, I am an emotional person, but when I let myself be. I often say that the reason I get so overcome and cry at movies and television shows, heck, even commercials, is because that is my release. In my real life I am the rock. Now, I think part of this is due to the fact that I have been a single mom since my girls were 2 and 5. They are now 24 and 27. When you are a single parent, you learn to put yourself on the back burner. This is not a complaint, just a statement of fact. If you are a single parent reading this, you know exactly what I mean. There is no one to "take care" of you emotionally or physically. We are the text book definition of "walk it off." I think the period of raising my children alone certainly honed my "keep it together" skills. However, they did not begin with single parenthood. I can remember when my grandfather died in 1993. I was 19, and I was extremely close to him. His death rocked me. I have a thing about not looking at dead bodies of people. I have an extremely visual memory, and I DO NOT want THAT to be the image I hold of my loved one forever. I was married at the time of my grandfather's funeral, but my husband was singing for the service and not with me in the private family room. The time came when the funeral director comes and asks the family if they want one last look before they close the casket. My mother and father filed out, and I cannot remember who else. I stayed behind, and then I heard my mother yelling for my grandfather to get up and sing with her. No one was making her stop or come away, so I walked out trying my best to not look into the casket, and I pulled my mother away and back into the private room, "keeping it together." When my own father passed away many years later in 2007, my children were young, and him being the only "father" with a constant presence in their lives, they were devastated when he died. I was too, but it is "my job" to "keep it together." I sat in between the two of them trying my best to comfort them. I'm not saying I didn't shed tears, but I kept it together. I am telling these stories to illustrate the fact that I don't usually fall apart, not when it counts, not when I am needed. Last weekend, I sat in my house, alone, and ugly cried for about 30 minutes. I mean wailing! The last time I remember doing that was last July when my sweet kitty of 18 years died. Even then I could not give myself time to grieve because I had to "pull myself together" as it was my first day with my summer teen theatre group. Why am I sharing all of this? Because we are in the middle of the craziest, most depressing time in my 56 almost 57 year old life. Theatre, one of my passions, is cancelled for the foreseeable future. I have not seen my 81 year old mother, who lives in a skilled nursing facility, since March 9 and have no idea when I will see her again, and even when I will be able to visit, how safe it will be. My sister moved to Florida permanently at the beginning of June, and I miss her, and I am concerned about the lack of following rules for the Pandemic, especially in her state, and the absolute disregard for human life in this country, whether it be something so small as refusing to wear a mask to protect others or as huge as the rampant racist police brutality so prevalent in America and the blatant show of hate to anyone different than ourselves. My heart is broken, and I fell apart! So, during this time, take care of yourself. Let yourself grieve and mourn the loss of life the way you knew it, but especially, check on your "strong" friends. They may need it more than you think.