Dear Mom

Dear Mom,

In one hour it will have been an entire year since you left your earthly body. I have wanted to write about you, about the weeks leading up to your death, so many times and have not been able to bring myself to do so. Perhaps it’s because I needed all this time to pass to process things. Perhaps it’s because it has taken me this long to ponder what a child should and should not share about the very personal experience of losing her mother. Whatever the real reason, here I am, looking out at the lake from the house I was so hoping to show you once it was remodeled, and thinking about how strange it still is to believe that you are gone. A few weeks ago I was in such a funk and could not put my finger on exactly why. I told Candice about it and she said, “This is your first Mother’s Day without your Mom, Debbie. That’s why you’re feeling this way.” You would be so proud of how she has stepped up since you left. She and Lori both have been by my side through this loss whenever I need them. We all belong to the club no one wants to belong to, but I am so grateful that they have been able to understand what people who haven’t lost a parent cannot.

I stopped at a local liquor store a few days before Mother’s Day to pick up ingredients for margaritas. The overly cheery woman behind the counter greeted me by saying ‘So...have you gotten your Mother’s Day gift yet?” I replied that I had not and hoped she would leave it at that. But instead, in an even more chipper voice she asked, “Well, is your Mom a drinker?” I was just melancholy enough to simply respond that you were no longer with us. But looking back on it, I wish I’d said something funny in response. I could have told her that you indeed were a drinker, but only two glasses because you didn’t want to get ‘potted.’ I’ll never forget you using that term. Makes me laugh still each time I think about it. 

We’re in the midst of a global pandemic, Mom. Isn’t that the craziest thing you’ve ever heard? I’ve spoken with Dad about this several times since it all started and though we would take you back in a heartbeat, we both know that this would have been really hard on you. Not only would you be in the group that has to be extra cautious because of the fragile state of your immune system, but I don’t think you would have been able to filter out all of the doom and gloom news that a global pandemic sparks. It’s a real shit show in our country at the moment, and I know that would not have served your mental state well. I have also thought countless times about how strangely grateful I am that you got sick a year ago and not during this mess. People aren’t allowed to be with their loved ones if they go into the hospital, and that hurts me so deeply to think about. The three weeks we all had together before you died were so imperative to how we have proceeded from there. If there is a ‘good’ way for a person you love to die, surely it is with all of one’s children present. Thank goodness we were able to do that, even if I knew that you knew that we may have had a squabble or two from all the unfamiliar togetherness. 

And speaking of Dad, we have had this beautiful door opened back up to allow us to have the close relationship we had back when I was little. Feels strange to thank you for that since it took losing you for that to happen, but it did. We have both healed a lot of wounds and processed a lot of feelings with each other’s help. He misses you so badly, but he is okay.

It’s been a hard year, Mom. I’ve had a hundred moments hit me where I wanted to be able to call you. Miles isn’t doing very well and this pandemic has only made things worse for him. He doesn’t understand why there is no school to go to. We can barely get him out of bed most days. He is so, so thin. I used to feel really sad and angry about the relationship you had with Miles. I saw how unnatural it was for you to interact with him. When you would tell me that you wished there was something you could do for him and that you were praying for him, I used to feel resentful. But I have thought a lot about that over the past year, too, and I am not angry about it anymore. I know that you gave what you were able to give. I know that you never ever missed a holiday. I know that you genuinely did pray for my boy every single night and given the weight of your faith, I know the value of those prayers. I know that you loved him. 

Your friend Susie called to check on me today. She checks on me a lot, which is so sweet. I am so glad you had her as a motherly figure in your life. I gave her one of your favorite wraps after I helped Dad clean out your closet last Fall. She reminds me each time she calls that she gives herself a hug from you by wearing it every single evening. Losing you has no doubt taken a big toll on her as well this past year. I hope that you knew that the love you were deprived of from your mother came from people like Susie and the other friendships you were so good at cultivating. It makes me sad that you somehow didn’t seem to see the love other people had for you. I wish you had been more secure in yourself, Mom. You had so many gifts and talents that other people saw and you didn’t. 

I adopted a third puppy recently. I felt like I needed a project during this pandemic, and boy howdy did I get myself one. My friend, Shelley, said ‘you get what you need,’ and I suppose she is right because he does keep me busy and helps take my mind off of other things that might be weighing me down. I mention this because I can completely hear your reaction in my head if you were here for me to tell this to! One thing was for sure about you, Mom, and that was that you could not tell a lie or feign your true feelings about anything! You would have asked me why in the world I would do such a thing when I already have so much on my plate. And when I listed out all the reasons I have fooled myself with as to why this was a good idea, you would have said ‘well, okay’ in a way only you could, with a lilt in your delivery and thinly veiled judgment rolling off your tongue. It makes me chuckle a little to think about it, actually. 

Speaking of things you might have thought I was a little crazy for, here’s another one for you...your daughter is going to be a state delegate for the Texas Democratic Convention this weekend! I can imagine your reaction to this as well and it brings a smile to my face because it would have for sure left you scratching your head! Mom, as horrifying as the last few weeks were watching you in so much pain, I try to do what I do--focus on the light or the positive--and I think about the day where you had been given way too much pain medicine and were barely coherent. Somehow you managed to request that I turn on your beloved Fox News for you. The story that was on was about Bill de Blasio entering the presidential race. Despite those heavy drugs, you managed to clearly voice your disdain for him in that hospital room, and I will never forget it. It made me laugh so hard. You will be very happy to know that he dropped out of the race pretty early on!

I have replayed the time alone that I had with you before we transferred you to the Hot Springs hospice facility the night before you died. First off, I hope that you were not in too much pain during the hour-long drive. That has haunted me a lot to think about, but I hope that you, too, saw that Father Bill’s suggestion to get you out of that noisy ICU and into hospice was the best decision we could have made for you at that point. I wanted so badly to sing to you; to sing you the song ‘On Eagle’s Wings’ because I remember you always singing that one loudly in church. But as you know, I have been a crappy Catholic for the last 27 years and despite looking up the lyrics on my phone, could only recall a few to sing in your ear in that moment in my voice that was worn with the heaviness of my sadness. Did you hear me when I thanked you for being a good mother? I sincerely hope so.

I also have frequently replayed a night I slept next to your bed during the first week of your hospital stay. You were in so much pain, but you being someone who lived with pain for 40 years were so strong through it. I can picture with crystal clear memory the grimace on your face as we waited for a night nurse to come help you. I asked you, ‘Are you scared, Mom?’ And you told me without hesitation, ‘Yes, I am very scared. I don’t think I am going to make it.’ 

I believe that energy never dies, so you are still here with us in a different state for eternity. I hope that this new state of being isn’t scary anymore, Mom. I hope you found Papa, Mimi and Hazel. I hope you and Peggy made up. I hope you feel free and loved and confident. I love you and I miss you.

Love,

Debbie