I find today that I am missing my mother. She died in October of 2006. The last few years of her life were filled with pain and loneliness. She moved into a nursing home in 2004 because she just couldn't live alone anymore. My family there in Oklahoma did the best that they could to care for her and ease her pain and loneliness, but there was only so much anyone could do. Daddy had died in 1986 and Mama made the decision to move away from the person she was closest to in 1995.
That person was me. After my father's death, I moved back home to stay with Mama temporarily. Her health was never really very good after Daddy died and I just couldn't bring myself to leave her alone. Besides, it wasn't all a one-way street. Mama was my best friend and despite all her health problems, she was a rock for me. When people talk about unconditional love, I think about Mama. She helped me and supported me just as much, if not more than, I helped and supported her. She was a strong woman who carried burdens of sadness and bitterness. But at the same time, she was funny and caring and wise. Mama had a touch, a way of laying her hand on your arm, or cupping your cheek and that warm soft touch could make could make everything all right and enfold you in love. She had a temper too, oh boy! Mama had this look that all my friends called the Mammoo Laser Glare. It's hard to describe that look other than to say if it really had been a weapon, the recipient of that look would have been sliced to a million delicate pieces then collapsed into a smoking heap.
In 1994 I met the man who would become my husband. My mother decided then that it was time for her to move back to Oklahoma and spend her last years among family. I was not really encouraged to go with her, although I did make a few attempts. She had decided that I needed a life of my own and she felt that she was holding me back. We argued bitterly over that, but in the end she won and in the end, she was right, as she usually was. Had she not gone, I think, no, I know, that I would have continued to stay with her and I doubt I would have married.
So she moved to Oklahoma and I moved to my own house in Arizona. As the years went by and her health detoriated even more, our contacts became less frequent. Each visit in person was a trial and a joy. I missed her so much and I hated the pain she was experiencing. When she went to the nursing home (by her choice, by the way) I had moved to Michigan. There was a part of me that wanted desperately to go to Oklahoma, get her and bring her home with me so that I could take care of her. I even planned it out and talked with her about it. But Mama wouldn't have it. No how. No way. I had my own life, you see. She wanted it to stay that way. She could not bear the thought of being a burden to me. No matter how much I tried to convince her otherwise, it just wasn't going to happen.
In the last two years of her life, I only saw her one time. I was having job and financial problems and just could not find a way to get to Oklahoma. Phone conversations were out of the question at this point as she really couldn't hear very well. The last time I saw her was bad. Really bad. She was in a lot of pain, both physically and emotionally. I was able to cheer her up while I was there but when I left, she turned her face to the wall and didn't speak to anyone for a couple of weeks. After that last visit her health continued to slowly decline until she died almost two years later. The ultimate irony is that my life and finances had finally settled down to the point that I could go see her. I had planned on going to visit over Thanksgiving. I still kick myself for being too late; for putting that visit off.
I don't know why all this is welling up inside me today. All I know is that she is dwelling in my thoughts and that I miss her very, very much. I miss the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand that the way she looked when something struck her as funny. I miss her love, acceptance and the way she cared about everything I did and how I felt. I even miss her laser glare.
But if she was sitting with me right now, she'd tell me to wipe my eyes, blow my nose and put this grief away. She'd tell me to live my life and enjoy myself in ways that she couldn't. She'd touch me on the arm, tell me how proud she was of me. Then she'd arch her brow and say that it's time to let go, get going and she'd give me a whack on the behind for emphasis.
I miss Mama. I miss her badly. But yes maam, it's time to let go and get going.
That person was me. After my father's death, I moved back home to stay with Mama temporarily. Her health was never really very good after Daddy died and I just couldn't bring myself to leave her alone. Besides, it wasn't all a one-way street. Mama was my best friend and despite all her health problems, she was a rock for me. When people talk about unconditional love, I think about Mama. She helped me and supported me just as much, if not more than, I helped and supported her. She was a strong woman who carried burdens of sadness and bitterness. But at the same time, she was funny and caring and wise. Mama had a touch, a way of laying her hand on your arm, or cupping your cheek and that warm soft touch could make could make everything all right and enfold you in love. She had a temper too, oh boy! Mama had this look that all my friends called the Mammoo Laser Glare. It's hard to describe that look other than to say if it really had been a weapon, the recipient of that look would have been sliced to a million delicate pieces then collapsed into a smoking heap.
In 1994 I met the man who would become my husband. My mother decided then that it was time for her to move back to Oklahoma and spend her last years among family. I was not really encouraged to go with her, although I did make a few attempts. She had decided that I needed a life of my own and she felt that she was holding me back. We argued bitterly over that, but in the end she won and in the end, she was right, as she usually was. Had she not gone, I think, no, I know, that I would have continued to stay with her and I doubt I would have married.
So she moved to Oklahoma and I moved to my own house in Arizona. As the years went by and her health detoriated even more, our contacts became less frequent. Each visit in person was a trial and a joy. I missed her so much and I hated the pain she was experiencing. When she went to the nursing home (by her choice, by the way) I had moved to Michigan. There was a part of me that wanted desperately to go to Oklahoma, get her and bring her home with me so that I could take care of her. I even planned it out and talked with her about it. But Mama wouldn't have it. No how. No way. I had my own life, you see. She wanted it to stay that way. She could not bear the thought of being a burden to me. No matter how much I tried to convince her otherwise, it just wasn't going to happen.
In the last two years of her life, I only saw her one time. I was having job and financial problems and just could not find a way to get to Oklahoma. Phone conversations were out of the question at this point as she really couldn't hear very well. The last time I saw her was bad. Really bad. She was in a lot of pain, both physically and emotionally. I was able to cheer her up while I was there but when I left, she turned her face to the wall and didn't speak to anyone for a couple of weeks. After that last visit her health continued to slowly decline until she died almost two years later. The ultimate irony is that my life and finances had finally settled down to the point that I could go see her. I had planned on going to visit over Thanksgiving. I still kick myself for being too late; for putting that visit off.
I don't know why all this is welling up inside me today. All I know is that she is dwelling in my thoughts and that I miss her very, very much. I miss the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand that the way she looked when something struck her as funny. I miss her love, acceptance and the way she cared about everything I did and how I felt. I even miss her laser glare.
But if she was sitting with me right now, she'd tell me to wipe my eyes, blow my nose and put this grief away. She'd tell me to live my life and enjoy myself in ways that she couldn't. She'd touch me on the arm, tell me how proud she was of me. Then she'd arch her brow and say that it's time to let go, get going and she'd give me a whack on the behind for emphasis.
I miss Mama. I miss her badly. But yes maam, it's time to let go and get going.
