December 4

I have never done a blog like this before, so please bare with me here. I have so many thoughts running through my mind, I might as well get them down before I rip off my face...so here it goes. I'm not writing this in any sort of order, please excuse my jumbled thoughts (and any inappropriate language), I am just writing what comes from within.


Tomorrow is a very important day, it's my sister's birthday. Dawn, I love you with all of my heart, you are such an inspiration to me, and my life wouldn't be what it is now without you. You mean the world to me, you are stronger than I ever dream of being, and I am proud to call you my sister.


In addition to my sister's birthday, tomorrow also brings back many sorrows and distant memories. December 4 marks the day my mom died, and tomorrow will be 13 years. I remember the days that led up to that moment, thinking my life as I knew it was over. I wouldn't last one more day, one more hour, even one more minute without my mom there. Even if she was incoherent, laying near comatose in a hospital bed-I didn't even care if she knew who I was, I knew who she was and she was there for me. Here I am, 13 years later, and it still pains me to say she's gone. Obviously, my life has continued on, and each day she fades further and further away from me.


This year, the 13th anniversary of her death, is a milestone I thought I'd never reach. The decisions I've made in my life almost ensured at one point that I wouldn't, but after pulling my head out of the clouds, I realized I have much more to live for than what I've lost. This year, this 13th year, starts the beginning of another time. I was 13 when my mom died, and it's now been 13 years. Half of my life has passed me by without her, and now my time without her will outnumber the time we spent together.

I'm not kidding myself, she was long gone before she actually died. She was sick, tired, and wilting away before my eyes, and I hated every second of it. I have memories, though few, of her laying there without recognition of who I am or why I was there. Do you have any idea how it feels to walk into a room and try to kiss your mother hello, and her not even open her eyes? She was a shell, she didn't open her eyes or talk to me, and there were times I swore I didn't see her breathing. Does anyone out there really know what it's like to be told your mom is going to die, and just be expected to act as though things are normal as can be? I do, and it fucking sucks. It really, really sucks. She lost everything in that hospital, her voice, her sweet smell, her pride and dignity. And honestly, I hate her for it. I hate that she gave up. She made choices that landed her right where she was, and for the life of me, I don't get it. Wasn't I important enough to want to live for? Was not going to the doctor more important than seeing me grow up? It pisses me off how selfish she was, but all the hate I have for her, it doesn't change the fact that she's still dead. Fucking dead. Damn it.

To me, she was never really there to begin with. Her spirit was long gone before her body ever was. I remember every stinking holiday, up at the hospital. My sister and I even made cookies for the staff on Thanksgiving and blew up a hospital glove to look like a turkey. Lame. It was a cute idea, and everyone loved it-the lame part is that we had to do it in the first place. Christmas, Valentine's Day, you name it, she was there. Maybe it was a blessing, it was preparation for the rest of my life without her.

My mom was in the hospital for 1 week at a time, and home for 3. She would spend 2 1/2 of the 3 weeks she was home recovering, and the last few days preparing to go through it all over again. Again with the selfishness, maybe from both of us. I was so mad at her for being in that smelly, repulsive place that I would spend almost all of my time there in the "waiting room" doing puzzles or pretending I didn't care. Maybe then I didn't, but now, I sure as hell wish I did.

I don't have many memories of her, to be honest. I spent so much time blocking her out of my mind, now I want her back and I have nothing to bring back. Not the sound of her voice, the feel of her hair, of the way she held me when I was scared. When I was scared, she couldn't hold me, or console me. She was why I was scared, cancer was why I was scared.

I always thought my mom and I would be best friends, she would take me shopping for my first prom dress, talk to me about love, and be my rock on my wedding day. I always imagined us baking cakes and shopping like good old friends, going out for lunch and gossiping about people's shoes and hairstyles. We would look through old photos together and laugh at the memories we made. None of that has come true, not even close. I have a handful of old photos, and I'm not in most. We never made it out to lunch, and my prom wasn't even in sight when she died. I got married, had children, all without her next to me.

Good thing she's with me instead.

I love you, mom.