|Mom. Joey and Me|
Friday, September 7, 2012
Right before my 1st birthday, I had a lump removed from my left brow line. The scar is still there. From what I have been told, I was in the hospital for 4 days and when I came home guzzled down many bottles of milk. From that point on, and for many years well into my childhood, I was afraid to be w/out my Mom. Fast forward a few decades. Mom died on August 28th, peacefully. I am not sure when it happened exactly. Maybe in my early teens I found some independence. I traveled by myself when I was in 7th-9th grade, taking 2 buses, every Saturday morning to take art lessons on the Upper West Side. Mom always said that it was around High School. We were very affectionate w/ one another. There was cuddling, hugging, walking down the street arm in arm, always. So, it was no different when I went to the hospital, and even though Mom was pretty disoriented, when I leaned in and put my cheek next to hers, she said 'More'. So, she got more. It was no different when she lay dying in the early hours of the morning of Tuesday, the 28th, that I curled up around her feet, and went to sleep. We spoke every day, for years upon years. Sometimes 2 or 3 times a day. Maybe one of us forgot something, or had a quick story or gossip to share. I am just a little over 1 week into her not being here, and I already know that it is just that. The phone calls. How much did I save @ the supermarket that day, the great sale she found @ Lord & Taylor, what she ate for dinner, what she wore that day, how she killed everyone that day when she played bridge, the latest post on Facebook from our camp wall, how I was tending to the garden, our big adventures here in Colorado, calming her fears about our being too close to the wildfires this past June. Even up until she became so sick w/ pneumonia a couple of weeks ago, we were on the phone one day for a half an hour, just talking. In my head, I know that Mom's dying is extra-ordinarily profound, and that I am just putting my little toe into this process of grieving. However, for right now, this moment, I seem to be okay.