Another night in the hospital for me.
I kind of want a little more sympathy from the staff. Does that make me narcissistic? I’m sure they’ve seen this happening many times over and are jaded to the scene, but I feel like a little boy losing his mom and it should be the most unnatural thing in the world.
I laugh that over the past year my mom made me feel a rollercoaster of ages. When she advised me through my marriage problems, I was a teenager all over again. As I showed her how to use applications on her phone, the role was reversed wherein I was the parent and she the child. When I got the call about her heart attack, I shrank into the body of a 5 year old. I couldn’t even walk right.
I haven’t told anyone except Facebook and my phone keeps pinging with notifications. It brings me warmth as I lay here in this cot. I scroll through the sympathies and well wishes but smile as I watch the endless supply of cooking hack videos. Custard would be nice right about now.
I look over to the bed and see my mom lying there and my smile vanishes. She’s been in a coma for a week and the doctors don’t see her recovering. My family will need to make a decision soon. Her death is imminent. It’s strange. Shouldn’t the dead look like they’re dying? My mom still looks so healthy, like she’s napping. Shouldn’t she be skin and bones or have more grey hair? Her lips chapped or she bound to a wheelchair, but I just saw her walking around last week. Wake up, Mom.
I wonder how my dad will be after she passes. I should visit more often. Will he be okay with the bills by himself? Can he handle the big house all alone? Perhaps he can sell it and live with my brother.
Ugh, the lawyer is calling now. I’ll decline now, return the call later. I’m busy, but really, this is a sacred place. I won’t discuss the legalities of her demise while she’s like this. The lawyer should respect this.
It frightens me to know I won’t have her for much longer. I wish I gave her a grandchild. I wish my children could have seen what an amazing woman she was. How far she’s come since her humble beginning as in Italian immigrant. Mom would’ve cooked for my little darling like she did for me. They would have hugged and cuddled on Christmas day as How the Grinch Saved Christmas played on the television. Fahoo fores dahoo dores, welcome Christmas, Christmas day. They’d sing along, too, and sway like the Whos of Whoville.
It dawns on me that it’s not me I am sad about but the loss of a future with my mom around that I regret. It’s less that the world is deprived of her incredible beauty. She and I and my family are small folk and we live in a small circle, but her life was invaluable to those within.
But the world doesn’t stop and we must keep living life despite her not being here anymore. She won’t weave together a funny story again, but we will continue laughing in her memory. Mom was a giver, our happiness was her priority. It would be a shame if we lulled for too long. The next time we retell one of her stories, she’ll be present. If I have a baby, though they will never meet, I’ll make sure my kid knows the kind of person their grandma was. When I hear nonna speak, I’ll reply in the stilted Italian my mother tried so hard to teach me.
Mama, you were there for me, so for now and forever, I’ll be here for you.
My co-worker’s mother passed away this last week. I can only imagine what must be going through his head at the time. I’m very close to my mother and I have no plans for her demise. I know life is unpredictable and change is inevitable but I just can’t see my life without my mom, so the situation is my creation of events if I were in his shoes.
This post is dedicated to Rose, may she rest in peace.