“I’m not afraid of dying. I know that you can take care of yourself and that Freyja has good memories of her Mimi. That’s what matters.”
Less than twenty-four hours after my mother said those words to me she was gone and I was living with the reality that I was going to have to do what she said. I was going to have to take care of myself. I was going to have to survive for the first time in 42 years without her. Without the one person that has always been there for me, no matter how much attitude I threw her way or resisted her counsel.
I was in the room when my mom died. I was the one who told the doctor that it was okay to stop the compressions they were performing since her heart had stopped a second time in less than an hour. The choice was mine, to save her from more pain and illness, even at the cost of my own comfort. I didn’t want to lose my mom, my best friend, my one constant companion, but I had to make that decision for both of us because she couldn’t. I knew she wasn’t afraid of what would come after.
When my stepdad got sick and my mom was spending all of her time either at work or taking care of him, I started calling her every day just to give her a few minutes to talk about something other than his treatments and to remind her that I love her and that she is important to me.
With few exceptions, I spoke with my mom every single day for fifteen years. When I would run errands, deliver food, and drive rideshare, the line was already ringing before my car was even out of the driveway. Driving rideshare would often keep me out until 2 am and she would stay up so that I could call if I needed someone to talk to on my drive.
Now I have gone a full 365 days without dialing her number.
I have not, however, gone 365 days without wanting to call her. Each time on a solo drive when I pull out of my parking spot my fingers instinctively start to click the call button on my steering wheel. I deleted her number from my car speed dial two weeks after she died.
My mom was my everything even when I didn’t know it. I’m still going through the stages of grief, sorting her belongings, and trying to find my footing in a world that doesn’t have her in it.
thekatwrites 