Disclaimer: the purpose of this post is not to cause conflict but to start the healing process inside my heart. Nothing that will be written is in any way, shape, or form intended to be negative. Comments have been disabled to prevent backlash.
Forward
Forward
It has been almost two years since I have written in this blog. Two years of ups and downs - more downs than ups quite frankly. There have been moments of pure happiness with moments of pure sadness, and my hope is that this post starts the healing process since writing is therapeutic for me. I do not want to have expectations, however, for fear of disappointing myself. My ask of you, my reader, is to be patient with me...pieces of this will be my narrative while other pieces will be conversations I wish I could have.
2017
The summer of 2017 was full of wonder. My beautiful son had just turned two, and he was growing into such an incredible young boy. It seemed as though he was doing new things day after day, and the love I had for him continued to grow into something I never knew I could feel. What he didn't realize is that I needed him as much, if not more, as he needed me.
I had started a job which I quickly fell in love with. Every aspect of what I was doing was challenging and scary and fun and exactly what I needed to be doing. The limitless possibilities available with my job quickly emerged, and I became hooked. After two years, I am doing more than I thought I would have the opportunity to be doing with a company that continues to prove that doing what you love and loving what you do go hand-in-hand.
A month and a half after starting my new job, my son transitioned into a new daycare after being kicked out of his initial daycare for putting rocks in his mouth. Yes, rocks. During the exit interview, my husband and I were told that our child was "mentally retarded", and the daycare could not accommodate his needs. I remember nothing more than taking Caleb out of the building and never looking back. I do remember crying not out of anger but because I was scared for Caleb. You see, with Caleb's prematurity (he was born at 25 weeks), we were told that there were possibilities of him being behind his peers.
No, not our son.
He is more than capable of what his peers can and are doing.
However, at 18 months, we began noticing that Caleb did not have good eye contact, he wasn't talking/or trying to as much as he was supposed to, or trying to feed himself. All other milestones were met, but at 20 - 24 months, he began regressing. He would not start speaking with coherent words until the latter part of three and would not start forming small sentences until around four. He would not start eating real food (he was still eating Gerber meals) until four (though, he still has difficulties trying anything new). I still have to feed him since grabbing a spoon or fork is difficult for him. At four years old, he will only drink from a sippy cup and has intense meltdowns...Autism has been and continues to be on the radar. Regardless, I know that Caleb has changed and will continue changing the world just by being him, and I know that nothing will stand in his way of greatness (he can now say "I love you, Mommy" which makes the waiting and work worth it for both of us.).
My husband and I decided that our first home we purchased was beginning to cave in on itself with a child and three dogs. What was once very spacious was now being taken over with toys and toddler clothing and dog hair. We began the process of working with a builder to create the home of our dreams. The process was arduous but worth it. After months of creating the floor plan, we broke ground in the fall of 2017.
It was 2017 that pushed me to pursue my doctorate in business. The goals I have for myself seem to be endless. I never tire of learning more and am always yearning to make myself into a better version of who I think I can be. It would take more convincing that I could take on the workload of a new job, a toddler, a household, health, and school, but eventually, I would start in 2018 only to take a break the summer of 2019.
In 2017, I found out that my Uncle was sick. This man had always been someone who seemed invincible to me, and to know that he was fighting such a difficult battle broke my heart. I received a call from my cousin, someone who was like a little sister to me, letting me know what was going on. She and I both cried on the phone with one another, and I told her that I would be there for both of them. Later into the battle that my Uncle continues to face, my cousin called me while I was working to let me know that her dad had to go to the hospital. I told her that I would do what I could to be there, however, I was unable to be at the hospital with my Uncle since my husband was gone, and I was the only one caring for my son. This entire situation escalated into me being told, repeatedly, that I "should have been there" with only one side of the story/situation being heard. What numerous people in this situation fail to realize due to wearing rose colored glasses and hearing one side of the story is that I had no choice. With my son's fragile immune system, I could not and would not take him into an emergency room. I would make the same decision over and over again to keep my son safe because that is what parents do. No one or no thing will come before my child, and that includes other family members. I have continued to be told, whether directly or indirectly, that I should stop what I am doing to help take my Uncle to and from doctors appointments, but the reasoning remains the same - I cannot and will not be around someone who has been in and out of hospitals/doctors offices for fear that I will get sick and potentially bring something home to my child. Unfortunately, this situation continues to be an area of conflict among my father's side of the family, and I've lost a relationship with someone I saw as a little sister. Maybe, one day, she, my Uncle, and the rest of my dad's side of the family will understand, but I am done with the guilt, I am done with the character assassination, I am done with having to choose.
2018
With 2018 beginning, new challenges and opportunities emerged. Caleb continued to improve and create skills that were fundamental to him reaching milestones. He adored his new daycare and would start a Pre-K 3 program at a local elementary school for half the day. This program would lead to an explosion of strengths and improvements creating a solid foundation for him to start school and grow into the amazing boy God created him to be.
At the beginning of summer, my husband and I moved into our house. Unfortunately, what should have been something positive turned into something negative. You see, our builder wasn't finished with the house, and this was not disclosed to us during closing. We did our final walk through earlier in the week and were told that the minor adjustments would be completed prior to closing. However, when we walked into the house after receiving the keys, contractors were in the house, there was wet paint on certain areas, and nothing that we were told would be completed was finished. Additionally, what was left to be completed would take months with my husband and I finally giving up so we could just have our house instead of a house with bits of it that weren't finished.
Word of advice and something my husband and I should have considered: do your research, put your foot down, do not settle.
By this time, my husband and I had been married for almost four years. However, the toll of prior circumstances with family and work and health would ultimately lead us into what seemed to be a downward spiral. The ebb and flow of our marriage seemed to disappear and was replaced with misunderstandings, anger, resentment, and seclusion. I felt alone and invisible to him. I felt like he was taking advantage of what I was doing and expecting certain things from me that a wife should not give. There were times when I felt like his mother. I felt like he wasn't giving his fair share to the marriage, to the responsibilities of the marriage, or to the house. I felt like we were glorified roommates with a child. Our communication dwindled into one or two word responses most of the time which would inevitably cause the foundation we built to start crumbling. You see, three years ago, my husband started a job which he rightfully deserved: he met the qualifications and had the work ethic. What he didn't have, however, was an understanding of work/life balance. This lack of understanding and practice (among other things) interfered with our marriage and family life because I was being replaced with his job. He was literally married to his job. His co-workers knew more about him than I or his child did. It seemed as though everything was working against the marriage I once saw as indestructible, and I had given up the strength or hope for it to improve.
In July, I saw my cousin (maternal side; we hadn't seen each other since 2005). This young woman would never know how important she would become to me. Her bond with my son was indescribable. Her love and compassion and kindness were intoxicating. She is a beautiful soul and remains a prominent figure in our lives.
Around the same time, my Aunt (my Mom's sister) alienated herself from me, my brother, and my Mom. Her reasoning was that my brother and I didn't care for my Mom the way she thought we should. She continually blamed me and my brother for things she was told that we did, but in reality, we didn't do. After my cousin's initial visit, it was discussed that she (my cousin) wanted to go to college in the state I live. This infuriated my Aunt for reasons unbeknownst to me. Her continual assassination of my and my brother's character crushed me since this woman was like a second mother to me. Upon hearing these things, a conversation was had with my Mom about the untruthfulness being spewed about me and my brother. After a conversation between my Mom and my Aunt, neither of them spoke to each other for a few months. I know this broke my Mom's heart, but luckily, to some degree, the relationship between my Mom and Aunt was repaired enough for them to talk to each other.
My Aunt, however, will never realize the importance of her presence for my Mom. My Aunt will never understand the importance of her presence to me. My Aunt will never understand that all I ever needed from her was understanding and for her to just pick up the damn phone...
After moving, we attended a church that our best friends invited us to. I never knew how important this church or Father Tim would become to us until the Spring of 2019...
My husband and I had been trying to have another child for quite sometime, and in October 2018, I found out I was pregnant. I wanted nothing more than to have another beautiful child. I didn't tell my husband I was pregnant because I wanted to surprise him. I had everything planned out to tell him when he returned home from a business trip in November. However, my plans, my happiness, my excitement turned into complete sadness after my miscarriage. I didn't realize the amount of sadness that would be felt or the indescribable pain I would feel knowing that I couldn't keep my baby safe.
I told my husband.
I told my best friend.
I told my Mom.
Seven months later, I told my brother.
I screamed at God. I could not understand how my God would allow this to happen. I could not understand how my God would fill me with such joy only to rip it away. I could not understand how my God would take away a soul that had yet to live. I was angry, and that hasn't gone away.
At all.
We hosted Christmas at our new house. I was still emotionally recovering but was living in the moment of being with my family. More specifically, I was blown away by how big my son seemed to get literally overnight. I felt as though I closed my eyes, and he aged 10 years. I will never forget Christmas and how excited my Mom got at receiving a new crockpot from my brother. I think I will hold on to the memory of that Christmas a little tighter than ones celebrated previously...
2019: Mom
I found solace in celebrating 2019 and praying for a better year. I felt as though the year would be easier than the years before it. I was wrong. I was excited for the new opportunities with my job and was incredibly happy with my son's development and improvement. Winter came and went, but my memory of spring is blurred...
My Mom had her multiple doctors appointments, one of which I attended since she was having a procedure done. She looked great, and I was able to get her to laugh hysterically to take her mind off of what she was having done. Most of the time, I could always make my Mom laugh for one reason or another; it was kind of my jam. I was always so happy knowing that, if only for a moment, I could ease my Mom's uncertainty.
My son and I had been getting sick from one another for quite a few months. When I seemed to be getting better, he would get a cough or fever or ear infection. When he would improve, I would start getting sick. Quite a vicious cycle, really. My Mom called me daily checking on my son and making sure I was okay. Her concern was endearing . Toward the end of March and the end of a months-long battle of getting sick, I decided that I would get a puppy out of selfishness. Honestly, I got the kind of dog that I had been wanting for years. He was absolutely adorable and everything I had wanted. When I told my Mom about him, she immediately begged to see him, so a few days after his arrival into my home, I took him to meet my Mom. Her face lit up as he gave her the sweetest little puppy kisses. Any care that she had seemed to disappear for her when she was holding on to him. I specifically remember her laughing after he started hiccuping while trying to give her kisses. It's a memory that will be locked away in my heart for the rest of my life...
My Mom continued to call me daily to check on Caleb and me but insisted on asking about the puppy multiple times. It was cute. On April 5th, neither my husband nor I could take my Mom on her monthly shopping trip, so I asked my brother to help which he gladly obliged. He told me that she looked really good and seemed in good spirits which made me happy. My Mom continued to call me each day: the 5th, the 6th, the 7th, the 8th... On the 6th, she told me that she wasn't feeling well. After she described her symptoms to me, I was concerned that she had the flu and told her that she needed to get in to see her doctor; she told me she would call, but hindsight being 20/20, I should have checked on her, I should have made the appointment for her, I should have taken her. On the 8th, my Mom went with her friend to a Food Bank. From her friend's recollection, my Mom was happy but seemed disinterested in food (that never happened; her small stature fooled many - she loved to eat). On the 9th, she called her PCA to tell her that she was sick and she didn't need to come over (my mom was disabled and had multiple people coming in and out of her apartment to care for her or her apartment; these individuals had our trust that they would ensure our Mom's well-being) which seemed a bit odd to me.
I had called my Mom that week without her answering the phone. I assumed that she was outside or in the shower.
Never assume.
The 10th, the 11th, the 12th, the 13th, the 14th, the 15th...
On April 15th, I was called by my Mom's PCA. This woman told me that she had not heard from my Mom since the 9th - six days. There were multiple failed attempts at my Mom answering the phone or door per what the PCA said. When she told me this, she proceeded to tell me that she didn't think about calling my Mom's emergency contacts (me and my brother) until her own daughter told her to. Unfortunately, my Mom was one to ghost those who were helping her after a few months due to being uninterested or wanting to be alone, so I let the PCA know that I, my husband, or my brother would do what we called a 'wellness check' on my Mom to ensure that she was okay. I texted my brother:
Monday, April 15, 7:25PM - 7:29PM:
Me: Yo!! Are you home by chance?
Me: With it being Monday, I know that's a long shot
My Brother: I am
Me: Is there any possible way that you can drop by moms place? She isn't answering her phone and her in home nurse has called and come by with no answer (since Tuesday)
My Brother: Yeah, I can head over there
Me. Thank you!
After the text message exchange between me and my brother, I put my son down for the evening. I hadn't heard from him while putting my son to sleep, so I texted him again:
Monday, April 15, 8:12PM:
Me: Let me know when you're able to get over there
Monday, April 15, 8:14PM:
My phone rings.
Seeing my brother's name on the screen immediately shot through me. In that moment, my heart knew. In that moment, my life changed. Hearing his voice solidified my worst fears:
"Hey, Bubba."
"Hey"
"What's wrong?"
"It's not good"
"What do you mean?"
"She's gone"
I don't remember much of our exchange over the phone other than telling my brother that I was on my way to him. I remember running to my closet screaming 'no' over and over again. I remember falling to my knees. I remember shaking uncontrollably. I remember being in disbelief. I remember physically feeling my heart shatter. I remember how hard it was for me to breathe. I remember the emptiness. I remember telling my husband that I just needed to get to my brother. I remember getting in the car after my husband told me that I was not driving on my own.
I called my dad sobbing. I was unable to get the words out of my mouth. I remember trying to tell my dad through my tears, but he couldn't understand me. I remember how frantic he sounded. I remember saying, "Dad, mom is dead." I remember that I dropped my phone after the words escaped my lips.
I remember white knuckling the door handle. I remember being unable to see through my tears. I remember begging my husband to drive faster. I remember screaming for him to just get me there. I remember being unable to catch my breath between sobs. I remember looking out of the window seeing nothing but black. I remember constantly saying 'no' and 'please'. I remember trying to make a deal with God. I remember screaming 'why'?
I remember the stop light before my Mom's apartment. I remember telling my husband to run it. I remember hearing my tires squeal. I remember turning into her area of the apartment and seeing the lights from police cars. I remember getting out of the car before the car had stopped. I remember seeing my brother. I remember running to him and falling into his arms while I buried my head in his chest and cried. I remember saying 'no' to him. I remember looking him in the eyes and telling him that I wanted to see her. I remember his plea with me to rethink my decision. I remember that I didn't listen to him. I remember him being right behind me as I walked into her apartment.
I should have listened.
With tears streaming down my face, I saw my Mom lying on the floor. From afar, she looked like she was sleeping. As I walked closer to her, I saw the unthinkable. The apartment felt cold and empty, and the air felt thick. I felt as though the air was taken from my lungs. I fell to my knees and grabbed her hand. I begged her to wake up. I begged her to come back. I begged her to stay with me. I kept saying 'mom' over and over again. I apologized to her. I cried uncontrollably.
My mom. The woman who gave me life. The woman who pushed me. The woman who watched me overcome and conquer what many believed I couldn't. The woman who spent her life serving and caring for others. The woman who loved her children and grandchildren with every ounce of her being.
Was gone.
We do not know how long she had been gone. We were told multiple things from fire and rescue then conflicting things from the funeral home. I heard her voice for the last time on Monday, April 8th. Incoming calls stopped being answered on Tuesday, April 9th late afternoon. Medication was not taken past Tuesday evening. Very little food had been consumed from her shopping trip with my brother on the 5th. Clothes were found in her washer, but they were dry. Her bed was made.
Six and a half days...
We do not know how she passed away.
I do know, however, that she passed away alone - a promise made to her that I did not keep. My brother wants to think that she passed away quickly and without warning. My heart wants to believe that she passed away while she was sleeping, but I don't know. My brother will only tell me that he found our Mom in her chair - nothing more - and for that, I am incredibly thankful despite my numerous attempts to get it out of him. Forever and always, my brother will be my protector.
I do know that I am full of regret. I regret not seeing her more often. I regret not dropping what I was doing when she wanted me there. I regret that life got in the way. I regret my selfishness. I regret not taking time out of my life to just spend time with her and prove to her that she was loved and wanted. I regret not being the strength for her that she was for me.
I do know that I am full of guilt. She called me to tell me that she wasn't feeling well. I should have gone to her. I should have ensured that she was okay. I should have called her more during that week. I never should have placed trust in those I did not know to ensure her well-being. I should have listened to my instincts. I should have checked on her. I should have done everything I could to ensure that she was taking care of herself. I should have put my foot down. I should have done so many things...
...but I didn't.
The days that followed were a blur. The lack of sleep, constant crying, disbelief, shock, anger... I remember parts of those days as I tried to pick up the pieces of my heart that were continually breaking. I do remember sitting in the funeral home with my brother, my sister-in-law, and my husband trying to make sense of what happened and make the decisions we thought Mom would want, yet internally, questioning every decision that was being made. I continually told my brother that I didn't understand. I continually told him that this was not happening. I continually told him that I never knew a pain like this existed.
On April 16th, my brother, my sister-in-law, my husband, and I worked with the funeral home on the arrangements of the celebration of life services for my Mom. On April 16th, I still didn't believe that she was gone.
On April 17th, my brother, my husband, and I went to the funeral home for the viewing. Selfishly, I told my brother that I wanted this. I needed to see my Mom in a different way than what he found her...than what I saw on the 15th. I needed what I saw during the viewing to wash away the images of Monday night. My selfishness was in vain. Every time I close my eyes, the image of what I saw on the 15th remains. Nothing else.
We walked into the room dedicated for her viewing. She was laying there in the outfit that she wore to my wedding; an outfit she continually told me that she felt beautiful in. I was standing on the other side of the room. I put my purse down and looked up. As soon as my eyes locked on to her, I lost every piece of emotion that I never knew my body could possess. I was lost. I couldn't breathe. I wasn't thinking straight. I thought I saw her breathing. Her skin turned a beautiful shade of pink under my hands. I thought I was having a nightmare, and I was waiting to wake up so I could call my Mom and tell her about it. I did not want this to be our reality. It wasn't fair. My mom...
You see, when I was much younger, I remember crying to my Mom because I was scared at the thought of her dying. Terrified, really. For as long as I can remember, my Mom had always been sick. Regardless of the constant intervention of medical professionals, family, and friends, she never quite seemed to be able to take care of herself. She was incapable of seeing the bigger picture of her actions - or lack thereof. As I had gotten older, I reminded my mom of my fear of losing her. Most of the time, she responded with telling me that she was okay. She wasn't okay. She was never okay. Ever. She continued to go through life unwilling to put forth the effort that was needed to sustain her life...
My mom was an uncontrolled diabetic. She had high cholesterol. She had high blood pressure. In 2007, she had open heart surgery. During the surgery, she had her first stroke. The years after the surgery, she had numerous mini strokes (or TIAs). She was provided the medical care she needed to be healthier. She had resources at her fingertips. She couldn't stick to making the choices necessary to live a longer life.
Throughout the years, she continually got sicker, weaker, sadder. She could not find the strength within herself to accept the help that she was continually given. Multiple opportunities with physical therapy teams ended negatively because the outcome was not coming fast enough for her. Multiple opportunities with nutritionists ended negatively because she didn't like the food or wanted to live her life the way she wanted. Multiple doctors told her that if she continued down the road she was traveling, her life would end too soon. She was only 61.
A woman who pushed me to regain my strength to walk again, to talk again, to be me again did not give herself the same push. I will never understand.
I will never understand how a parent could allow their health to get to the point of no return. I will never understand how a human being could look at life as so...disposable. I will never understand how a grandparent would be willing to make choices which would lead to leaving their grandchildren too soon. I will never, in a million lifetimes, understand how a parent could travel along their journey unwilling to be on this earth as long as possible.
Ever.
My Guardian Angel
Despite the medical issues that my Mom experienced, she was a good woman. She wanted nothing more than to serve those she came into contact with. She created a life for her and her children that consisted of kindness toward others. She instilled in me to never back down - even to her - when I believed something to be wrong. She created strength within me and my brother and showed us that fighting for what we want and believe in is the way in which we should live our lives. She taught us that serving and caring for others is the ultimate way to live a life. She taught us to love...hard. She loved us in the best way she knew how. She adored her grandchildren. She absolutely loved her dog. Her love and obsession with Pepsi is something I find humor in now. She found escape in television shows. She made an amazing potato salad. She adored candles and air freshener. She loved candy (too much) and reminded me of my grandpa (her Dad) on multiple occasions with her sneaking pieces of candies or sweets. She loved coffee. She adored family...being around them, talking to them, laughing with them. It was the little things that gave her happiness: the talks, family time, holiday meals, laughing, apple cinnamon scented candles, going for drives, listening to music from her past, I Love Lucy, Jerry Lewis (oh, she loved him so much), pictures, Cherished Teddies, phone calls, puppy breath...
On April 18th, my Mom's celebration of life ceremony took place. I saw family I hadn't seen in many years. Family who I thought would be there didn't show up. I specifically remember crying uncontrollably during the service. I remember holding on to my nephew as I heard him crying next to me. I remember tears streaming down my niece's face as she had to say goodbye to her Nana. I remember making eye contact with my brother constantly. All I wanted to do was take his pain away while he tried to do the same for me. We were both in shock. We were both consumed with sadness. We were leaning on each other to get through one of the hardest times of our lives. His strength, his words, his love will forever be what saved me during this loss. My Mom instilled in both me and my brother a life of service and caring for others, and my brother is the epitome of this life. At the end of the service, I remember being the last person to say goodbye to my Mom. It's not that I couldn't say goodbye to her, but it's more that I did not want to say goodbye to her. My adult life was spent ensuring that she was okay. I had no idea how I was going to get through my days without her. Walking away from her was one of the hardest things I have ever done. In my mind, I felt as though I was abandoning her. Again. Again, she was alone. Again, I wasn't keeping a promise I had made to her many years prior.
My heart was shattered.
I felt empty.
I was full of regret.
I was full of guilt.
My Mom was gone.
The days and weeks after my Mom's funeral were spent at her apartment packing up her things. The smell of the apartment after Monday night had become unbearable. Windows and doors were kept open with fans on to allow all of us to work despite the memory of that night. Going home each night consisted of sobbing while taking a shower hot enough to remove the smell from the day. I remember multiple evenings being red and bloody after trying to scrub off the smell...the memory...the sight...
I sorted all of my Mom's clothes and blankets. My Mom's scent remained on her clothes even after washing them. Her perfume, hair products, lotions...remained. Clothing and blankets offered a memory of the years past, and with those memories came tears. Too many tears.
Late at night on April 29th, my brother and I walked around my Mom's empty apartment remembering...everything: the Christmas decorations, the grocery trips, the visits, coming over to change her thermostat, updating her clocks during Daylight Savings Time, going through her closet with her to donate clothing, getting her a new washer and dryer, sitting down to meals she spent all day making, hearing her dog bark/scream at me if I was not paying attention to him (he is now living with me), helping her color her hair, coming over to apply makeup if she wanted to feel pretty, helping her paint her toenails and falling over with laughter because her feet were so ticklish, watching TV just because it brought her joy, singing to her because she just wanted to hear me, constantly getting on to her about closing her patio door, telling her that water was a necessary thing for her to drink after a new faucet was installed on her sink, getting her McDonald's because that was her equivalent of a five star meal...
I lost a piece of my heart when my Mom passed away. I'd give anything to talk to her one more time. I'd give anything to get frustrated because she demands that I cut her food for her. I'd give anything to smell her. I'd give anything to listen to her chat with Caleb in the backseat. I'd give anything to see her face and number on my phone while it rings. I'd give anything to just be with her. I'd give anything to be able to say goodbye...
Anything.
My Brother
My brother has continually checked on me. He has listened to me. He has watched me cry and comforted me. He has cried with me because in this, neither of us are alone. He has tried to help me understand that what happened to our Mom allowed her to be free of pain and struggle. He has understood. He has offered his words and advice during all of this. He has told me that my form of grieving is okay - and normal. His strength still amazes me. He is and has always been a protector of me, and I am eternally grateful for everything that he is. I know that he is pushing through the pain and mourning in his own way. However, I wish I could take away his pain. I wish I could take away what he saw on the 15th. I wish I could make this reality different. I hope he knows that he has saved me during the last (almost) four months. Without him, I do not think I would be here right now.
Friends
Since my Mom's passing, I have discovered true friendship. I experienced this when watching my husband go through the exact same thing when his Dad passed away. Some people I believed to be long-time friends turned their backs on me - something I'm sure was not done out of malice but purely because of a lack of empathy. However, the friends that have stayed by my side for years, who have gone through hell and back with me, who would drop anything to ensure that I, and my family, are okay, have been the ones who have given me strength and helped with the healing,
My best friend, a man who lost his father unexpectedly a few years ago, remains to be someone who literally wraps me in his arms just so I know I'm not alone. His words and advice and love have all helped me try to heal. His husband, a man who I adore, listens. He has watched and heard me cry more times in the past four months than I'd like to count. These are the people that I know my Mom wants around me if I cannot be around my brother. These are the people that are my angels on earth. They are my rocks.
Time
Over three months have passed, and I'd like to say that it has gotten easier, but it hasn't. If anything, the waves that come are stronger. I still breakdown daily. I still wonder if I could have saved her if I only knew. Things seem a little harder without her. I've yet to hear my Mom since her passing. I've yet to dream of her. I've yet to feel her presence. I lost a piece of myself when I lost my Mom, and finding myself again has been impossible.
Caleb was kicked out of his second daycare due to being too much to handle. Sigh. He was a four year old child mixed with 18-24 month old children. I will never understand why, but I am done with putting my child through loss. I just want him to be happy. I have been home with him during this transition (summer in this town means no openings with daycares), and since he was kicked out, he has progressed tenfold. A blessing in disguise, I suppose. On the 15th, (ironic, really), I will watch my baby boy walk into his Pre-K classroom, and I will, eventually, have to walk away and trust that his teachers will care for and love him like I do.
I dropped out of school for the remainder of the year. I cannot adequately put focus into my dissertation while enduring the loss of my mom and while trying to put myself back together again. My plan is to go back in 2020. In the meantime, however, I am working on certifications for my career (never stagnant, always learning, and always trying to improve myself in one way, shape, or form).
I've barely spoken to most people - friends, family, colleagues. I've secluded myself, really. I'm with my son and my husband and do what I can to prevent them from seeing my breakdowns. Showers have become my escape since my cries cannot be heard. I lay with my son until he falls asleep - something that helps me more than him. Other than my brother and cousin, family hasn't checked on me. It seems as though that stopped after the first couple of weeks. I guess the world continues on despite the loss. I guess after a couple of weeks, the mourning period should be over. I guess after a couple of weeks, finding strength is my job now.
Thank God for my brother, his wife, and children.
Thank God for my husband and son.
Thank God for Mike and Rick.
Thank God for Bree and Uncle Mike (Meeks).
Thank God for Grace Church and Father Tim for continually checking up on me.
Dad
My dad hasn't checked on me - something I'm sure will be deemed a fault of my own - except for the first couple of weeks after my Mom's passing. I've not seen him since my brother and I buried my mother's remains; words were exchanged prior to the burial that caused tension and resulted in me walking away - again, I'm sure this will be my fault. He lives two hours away with a promise he would move closer after I begged him to. His failure to understand that his child still needs him is shocking and unrelatable. Perhaps, this is his way of mourning the loss of the mother of his children? Perhaps, this is his way of coping? Regardless (and this doesn't just go for my own father but for those who have lost a spouse or ex yet do not adequately check on the child - even if said child is grown), how dare these individuals turn away from their children during a time of incredible loss and pain. How dare these individuals not take the time to ensure that their children are okay. How dare these individuals act like nothing has happened. How dare these individuals not talk to their children about the loss. How dare these individuals look at this loss as one sided. How dare these individuals talk negatively about someone who has passed. How dare these individuals continue living their life without ensuring the life of their children continues to thrive despite the loss.
This is the difference between these individuals and me, I suppose.
Health
The stress of my Mom's passing, work, school, the house, the dogs, my marriage, family...life...has caused the MS to rear its ugly head. Three active lesions: words I hadn't heard in a long time but feelings that can never be forgotten despite time. Infusions were started and have completed. I'm still weak. Confused. Brain fog. Periodic numbness. Spasticity. Pain.
I'm sure this will ease up like it has before, but this time, I can't seem to fight as hard.
Faith
I cannot properly justify my anger with God even though I'd like to think I can. Hit after hit. Loss after loss. "He will never give you more than you can handle." Bullshit. How can my God give me a blessing yet take it away before he or she had the opportunity to live life? How can my God give me a mother only to take her away from me without warning? How can my God continue to make me feel as though my prayers aren't being heard - hell, I don't want them answered; prayers aren't wishes. I just need my prayers to be heard. I need to feel like He is there. I need to feel like my Mom's loss was not in vain. I need to understand why my unborn child was ripped away from me. I just want to know why.
Motivation
My sole purpose for writing this blog was to provide those within the MS community motivation to get through life. I did everything I could to ensure that my readers understood that their lives were not over with a diagnosis like MS. I wanted my readers to understand that they could live long, happy, and fulfilled lives despite MS. I feel as though I have done this regarding MS.
I do not have anything uplifting to say. I have no cliches to pull out of my back pocket to add some flare to my words of grief. I have nothing to say.
Life continues to offer blow after blow. Losses are multiplying, and I can barely keep count. I do not know when, or if, this will get better. I do not know if I will emerge from this a different woman than before. I do know that the only aspect of my life that is saving me is my child...my blessing...the only reason why I believe God exists. If my son is all I have to hold onto to get me through this, I will hold as tight as I can. He may never understand my need for him and the love that continues to build, but I hope that he knows that, as his Mom, I will do everything in my power to be here for him as long as I can. I will check on him always, I will ensure that he is happy and safe, I will protect his heart and encourage him to do the same yet be brave enough to give part of it away one day, I will love him for all that he is and has yet to become, and I will teach him how to live a life of service that my Mom taught me to live.
For as long as I live.
Jenny Rosalie Cook
October 23, 1957 - April 15, 2019
Always in our Hearts
