Cinco de Mayo

I’ve wanted to share this for some time but I have been hesitant. I’m not sure it’s appropriate for here. 

Not sure if it’s too raw and I apologize if I offend anyone.

I have been thinking about writing a 'book' about the not so pretty side of things. But would anyone be interested? 

Is it any good or just rubbish?

(Maybe it's just something I need to vent and then keep to myself.....)

'It is a Tuesday morning. I’m just back from the bagel shop with a deliciously overstuffed everything bagel. As I spread my breakfast out on the desk my beeper goes off.

It’s my mother.

I pick up the phone and dial her number. Aunt Kay answers.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Come home, your mother needs you,” she replies.

“Okay, I’m on my way.” I answer.

I call my boss and tell him I’m leaving. As I gather my belongings I think if she needs an ambulance, like last time, I should call from here and meet them at the hospital. So I call back and suggest this to Aunt Kay.

She repeats, “Come home, your mother needs you.”

It is then I realize it's a rehearsed line and I know what it means.

In all the times I have rushed to my mother’s side, at hospitals or at home, this is the first time I deliberately stay within the speed limit. At each stop light I pray it will turn red. I pray the entire way there, ‘Let it be over before I get there.  Please, let it be over. “

Because I am a coward.

Because I know I don’t have the courage to hold my mother’s hand while she dies.

Could I do it for my husband, absolutely. Could I do it for my children, without a doubt. Why can’t I do it for my mother?

I’m 45 years old and I don’t know what to do. And the person I would normally ask for advice is lying on the couch looking like she’s napping, except she’s not.

The EMT’s come but it’s obvious it’s too late.

A police officer shows up, I don’t know why.

The coroner comes. They tell me the next step is to call a funeral home.

I don’t want to. I don’t want them to take her away.

I want my mother to wake up.

The funeral director comes. I leave the room but not until I see them put her in a maroon body bag.

I don’t want that to be the last memory I have of her, but it is.

I’m in shock. No one else is. Am I the only one who didn’t see it coming?

What was the last thing I said to her?

It’s funny; you don’t realize the last thing you say to someone is going to be the last thing you get to say to them.

I’m not the only one this happened to. It happens every 1.8 seconds (I looked it up.) But I feel like I’m the only one.

Like a kite that has lost its tether.

Rudderless.

I don’t know where to go. I don’t know what to do.

I know I need to be doing ‘things’. But where do I start? Who do I call?

I’m not used to feeling like this. Out of control. I’m a very ‘in control’ person.

But now I am lost.'

Cinco de Mayo is the day she died. It's been eighteen years. 

My Aunt told me 'It gets easier. Not better, but easier.' 

Now I understand.