Signs, Signs, Everywhere A Sign

I love impromptu plans. Just a flight of fancy or interest that takes you on a whole day of exploration. Today was just that type of day. We were at a party last night and someone mentioned the idea of going to an indoor flea market today. It was decided we’d all make the trek, and despite a late night last night, we roused early and headed off for a day of looking for treasures.

We left with three places on our list. One, to get coffee, and two indoor flea markets (perfect for a rainy day). Coffee was a grand success, which fueled us for the drive ahead. The first flea market turned up to be closed, due to open later in the month. We ventured on to the next one, which was further than expected, but quite a great place. I had been perusing my phone while my husband drove and something came up referencing Mother’s Day. Now, Mother’s Day is quite a strange day for me, filled with love, and happiness, but it does strike a bit of a cord since my mom died. It’s always a little bittersweet, but my husband and kids always make the day super special for me, even moreso because they know I miss my mom terribly.

Now, I’m of the opinion that when someone dies, there is a time for grief. And then, I am a believer that the best way to honor your loved one isn’t with tears and misery, but with retelling their story, creating happy memories in their honor, and really celebrating who they are. My mother would have hated if the only stories her grandchildren knew about her were surrounded in sadness and grief. It just wasn’t her way. So instead, I tell them happy, silly, or funny stories about her. I tell them stories where she helped people. I tell them she liked to bust people’s chops in the best of ways, and had a booming laugh. In turn, they see her as someone they would have loved to have known, and I find them often seeing something or in a situation and bringing her up. “Nana would have LOVED that!” my daughter often says, quite accurately, which brings me joy considering she never physically got to meet my mom. It keeps the essence of who my mom was truly alive, and honors her memory.

Today, as we headed into the flea market, my mom was on my mind. I thought to myself “well, I wonder if I will find something that will no doubt remind me of mum” as I stepped in the doorway. Perhaps I was asking for a “sign” but really I just wanted a moment to feel close to her. We wandered the aisles. Everything was very organized and well placed. My daughter held my hand and my husband meandered off to a massive comic book section with our son.

“So, I am going to be looking for something that matches the rose china” I said, “or maybe something that Nana would love”.

The story of the rose china is simple. It was my parents’ wedding china, and was the Royal Albert Old Country Roses pattern. It was used for “best” which means we used it at Christmas, Thanksgiving, and an occasional Easter. It was pretty, dainty, with roses and gold around the trim. It’s a little old fashioned, definitely British, and it reminds me of all of our special holidays together. As a kid, when I saw my mom get the roses china out, I always knew a great meal was ahead, and it would be a special day. It’s funny the traditions we lock into when we are kids, but this was one I clung to. I told my mom that one day, I hoped she would leave me that china. Neither of my parents could ever understand why I loved it so much. For me, it stood for happy memories, family time, and special time together. I also thought it was beautiful and dainty. But then it accidentally got sold during the Estate sale after my mom died and my dad wanted to move. I was devastated. It sounds silly, but it was like a piece of my childhood left, but also, like losing a tiny bit of my mom again.

My husband knew the story, and he knew how sad I was about it, so for Christmas, he got me a 4 place setting of the rose china. I was beside myself, and THRILLED to put it on the table. He also got me a matching coffee mug. Whenever we go to antique shops, flea markets, or anything similar, I always look for pieces of the set, even to have as extra. It’s become a little quest of mine.

Now, as I said, I wandered into the place today with my mom on my mind, and a definite hope that with Mother’s Day around the corner, I could find something that would no doubt remind me of her. As we wandered down to where the dishes were, I saw it. It took me a moment to really figure it out, but there it was: a little tea pot, and the top had a tiny teapot, creamer and sugar bowl on top…..and it was in the rose pattern, part of the set!! It was little, dainty, and perfect in every way! I’ve mentioned it before, but we’re British. My mom always seemed of the belief that no matter what ailed you, a good cup of tea would start fixing it up. This little pot would make me feel closer to her and lift the blues of missing her.

I don’t know if it was a sign, but it sure felt like one. I picked up my tiny teapot, and saw it was only $8. That $8 made my whole day. I immediately paid for it, and walked out with a huge smile on my face. My daughter looked at it and said “Mama, it’s just PERFECT. Nana would LOVE it”.

Yes, she would.

We finished out the day with a delicious meal filled with laughter, more coffee, some shopping, and a quiet evening at home to relax. The little pot has kept me beaming all day.

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Medium Left Me Cold

After losing some of the most important people in my life, for a while, I became pretty interested in death. I suppose everyone has their coping methods, and mine was to learn about death. It felt like if I could get a grasp on it, talk about, and learn about it, perhaps I would and could fear it a little less. The end result was that I learned it’s not death I fear so much, but the loss of hope and losing the loved ones I hold so dear to me. I think a lot of people, when faced with death, follow up with the question…what, if anything happens next? Are our loved ones’ energies still around somehow? Are there ghosts? Why do ghosts always seem to be from the Victorian era, and not Bobby the crack head from around the block? Are ghosts and spirits real? Or are they just a figment of our imagination we use as a coping mechanism? Can we somehow communicate with the deceased, or they with us? Or, when you die, is that just…it? End of story?

Last year, I started looking into self proclaimed psychic mediums. I was curious what they had to say, and whether any appeared to be legit. I saw one who did some readings online, and started paying attention to see whether he was on point, or whether he was cold reading. If you’re not familiar with cold reading, take some time to look it up. It’s a bit of an art form, and once you know what it is, it becomes easier to spot. Cold reading is when a person can sit with someone and effectively throws out statements and questions, common names, letters, and other info to try to “pull in” the person sitting. Usually the person or people sitting WANT to believe, often because they have recently lost someone close to them and want to get some message or closure. For example, someone professing to speak to spirits may do a group reading, and say…”I am seeing an older woman, and I am getting an “M” name. Mary? Maggie? Marie?” Now an audience with older people in it have pretty good odds that their parents, aunts, grandparents or great grandparents may have passed away, and all of those names are common. Usually someone will acknowledge the connection, and say “yes, my grandmother’s name was Mary!” Now the reader has a target. “She is telling me she is very proud of you. You do so much for others!” The reader, hearing flattery, is likely hooked in at this point, agreeing they do much for others. The reader may then make generalized statements about ‘Mary’ that could apply to just about anyone, before saying “I see a male energy, he is pretty quiet though”. At this point, this male energy could be anyone, and is open to interpretation. Any info by the sitter to the reader can lead them on to the next piece of info. Hits are celebrated and focused on, misses are brushed aside and occasional excuses are made “hmm, not sure who that could be, but she is definitely telling me something about a man with the letter G. Think about it.” Often times, the person getting the reading begins to fill in the blanks. This makes it easier on the reader, and they can then use that info to play into. Cold reading is a bit of an art form, but with the help of an audience that is already pre-programmed to believe, it usually isn’t all that hard.

I started watching a medium who does readings online, usually in groups. The messages are often prefaced by implying that those watching should see how the message may be relevant to their lives. He makes general statements, and the viewers dive right in. I watched as people feed him info without meaning to. The saddest are those who are determined any info that may come up is from their loved one, even when the statements are incredibly general. It becomes inherently clear that people want to believe and will do so at all costs. I’ve watching him read for people I know, and while one person raved that he gave them specific, detailed validations, the others I watched were full of sweeping statements that the person determined MUST be a message for them. When a medium says…”I am seeing someone pointing to their chest…as they may have died from a heart issue or a lung issue” it doesn’t escape me that 2 of the number one killers are heart attacks and lung cancer. With statistics as they are, the person is bound to get a hit. I can spot the cold read, but then again, I’m familiar with it and looking for it.

I dove in and scheduled a reading with a psychic medium that came highly recommended a few months ago. I was admittedly curious, as the person who recommended them has a close tie to me, and the meeting they had with him had info that was so specific, it caught my ear. Even information on the spacing of writing on a headstone was mentioned, as well as info that one could certainly link to my mom. I scheduled a video conference with him, and settled in. As someone who is inherently familiar with cold reading, I was cautious to listen intently, but not really provide a ton of information. I felt comfortable that my social media was locked down, so there was no way to garner much info about me online. I didn’t offer up details or much, just confirmed what was applicable, denied what wasn’t. The reading, sadly, didn’t really go anywhere. Without me offering details, I found he really struggled to give me much info at all. Honestly, though, the guy was really pleasant, and I felt a bit bad he was so stumped. He didn’t even charge me for the reading.

Now, before you say “well, maybe nobody came through” let me assure you….anyone who knew my mother knows if there was a tiny sliver of a way she could reach out to me, she WOULD. My mother believed in an afterlife. I think that’s part of the reason I believe some of the things I do. When my mom died on the operating table and had to be resuscitated, she told me a story after of what she had seen, that she had asked for proof of such, and we found the proof existed. After she died, I had a lot of strange electrical things happen, and it followed me from place to place. It became so bizarre that I have no doubt if she was able to communicate in any way, she would.

This leads me to today. I saw a discussion online about psychic mediums and a medium came up as HIGHLY recommended. I admit, my curiosity was peaked. As a birthday gift to myself, I made an appointment. At the very least, I figured, I’d be entertained. Best case scenario, I might get a hell of a birthday gift. Before I went, I spoke out loud my plan to the universe, and felt, if my mom was able to hear me, that I gave a few “keywords” I would be looking for. I walked in, sat down, and met the medium, who was, honestly, extremely sweet and lovely. Again, I had oodles of people who had said how “spot on” she was during their readings with them.

We started off with small chat about the weather, and suddenly, she delved right in about an older female energy. I decided to offer a bit of info, and acknowledged that could be my grandmother. She mentioned strife between my mother and my grandmother. I advised the two were actually very close. She then turned to my mom and said…so how are things with you and your mom? What’s going on there? I paused, unsure how to answer that question, which I think she took to perhaps mean an affirmative. I’m hearing that something is going on with you and your mom now, what would that be? I said “not much, I mean, she passed away”. “of course, I am seeing her now” she responded. Already, I was seeing that this wasn’t going to go very well. She said my mother always tried to look her best and dress nicely (don’t MOST women do that?). She said my mother was proud of me (doesn’t every child hope to hear that?) She kept asking me about a letter name, but it was nothing related to me. I explained I had a friend who passed with the same letter, but not that name. “He is telling me you were such a good friend. You always had things to laugh about”. Well, don’t most friends have things to laugh about? (Aren’t most friends kind to each other?) I didn’t offer up much info about my friend and she quickly left the topic. Back to my family it went, without saying much. “Your mom says you are very independent, very busy, always on the go” “You did things your own way”. These type of general, sweeping statements could apply to anyone. I was feeling defeated. This is just SO bad. I tried to offer a lead her way “I am wondering about a very random object in the dining room, as my mom would be very, very clear about it” I said, to which she paused, trying to clearly figure out what on earth I could be referencing, before switching topics.

She made a lot of statements, all of which were flattering, somewhat vague, or statistically plausible. None sparked me. In fact, while I tried to keep a straight face, inside I was dying. This was going just SO badly. There was a lot of flattery, a lot of generalized info, but I felt without a doubt, that she was not speaking with anyone I knew.

You know, they people we love and cherish are such 3 dimensional characters. They have passions, humor, and nuances about them that make up their spirit of who they are. My mom, at about 5’1, was a tiny force to be reckoned with. She had a somewhat dirty sense of humor that was often surprising considering her posh accent and clothes. She was a HUGE personality in a tiny package. She was talkative, kind, and always extended a hand to the new person or outsider to bring them in. I have no doubt that if she had a chance to truly send me a message, it would be quite specific and there would be something humorous about it. She would want me to have no lingering doubt it was her. The messages I received from the Medium today belied everything about my mom. I paid the woman for her time, but left almost angry with myself for wasting it.

Will I ever go to a medium again? I can tell you I don’t honestly know. I think my experiences and the fact I have seen so much cold reading should lead me to say no. I’m an optimist at heart, albeit a bit of a cynic, which is an odd combination.

I’d give anything to have any sort of conversation with my loved ones who have passed. Sometimes when I am mulling over something I can almost hear their voices telling me what I’m quite sure they would say. Maybe I don’t need a medium. Maybe the ones I love are always in my heart, and I know, deep down, what their thoughts of things would be.

So far all those claiming to be mediums have been clearly cold readers. Maybe they truly believe they have a gift, maybe it’s just a job with a parlor trick. Who knows? What I do know, is that HAD my mom been sitting in that room, she would have laughed and said “This is bloody bullshit, this is!”

One Day

Oneday

One Day.

That’s all it took.  Just one, unimaginable day, and she was gone. I woke up to a call from my father saying I needed to come quickly, as the time had come and she would likely pass away soon.  The problem was, there was no “quickly” about it.  I was a good 5+ hours by car away, and still a good 4 if I tried to take a plane instead.  There was no quick. There was only tears, and fear, and horror as the “should be” 5 hour drive turned into 11 painstakingly slow hours.  I was right near the George Washington Bridge when I got the call.  I was too late. I also had a very long drive ahead.   But I am ahead of myself.

One Day.

That day I got married, and she couldn’t be there because cancer made her so weak she couldn’t travel up.  It was a Justice of the Peace wedding, not at all as I had planned in my youth.  But if my mom couldn’t be there, I didn’t want the big wedding.  I married the love of my life without either of my parents able to be there.  That’s a hard pill to swallow.

One Day.

The day my son was born.  The day I truly believe she fought and battled that cancer to be able to be there for.  She couldn’t get there until well after he was born, but she was there.  I remember her telling the nurses to be extra kind to me, because her mum was dying and there was all just so much STRESS when there should have been only happiness.

One Day,

That day my daughter was brought into this world, without her Grandmother there to wonder out loud if she had a curly haired grandchild, and to marvel how pretty and delicate she was.  I remember telling the nurse that I had held it together all day in front of visitors that I was just so heartbroken that my mom wasn’t there to meet this beautiful baby, but I couldn’t hold it any longer.  That nurse called the station to say she would be a while, sat down and let me cry while she held my hand.

One Day.

The day my father finally remarried, and I wrote a lovely speech that thrilled him, smiled for pictures, and made peace with the idea of him making that next step, all while hurting that the change had to take place because she was gone.

One Day.

The day I had my uterus taken out and knew I’d never have another baby for my mom to meet, but that same nurse was working, so I asked for her and thanked her so profusely for what she had done for me to get me through the happiest day that was still tainted with a touch of sadness.

One Day.

That day every year when mothers, including myself, are celebrated and revered, but the day is so bittersweet.  The card displays I walk past, the gift ideas I scroll past online, and the thought of “oooh, she’d love that!” only to know I won’t be buying it because she’s not there to give it to. The day when my husband and kids take me out, and I feel so special, but also a little tinged with the reminder of the loss.

One Day.

That day that I remember how she trusted me to get on my bike and ride to my friend’s, and my son asks me to do the very same thing.  Only this time, I say yes.

A lot can happen in One Day.

My worst day

I’ve often mentioned how the loss of my mother has changed my life, and I’ve said before that one day, I would write about it in further detail. Perhaps it’s because I know that somewhere, there is a person who is slowly losing someone they love to cancer, and they want to know what to expect. Maybe it’s the fact that parts of that day haunt me, 8 years later, but I think it might be the time to write about it. “It” being the moment that has changed my whole world and how I view it.

In the spring of 2005, we found out my estranged aunt had died from breast cancer, and the news hit me hard. My mom asked me why I was so distraught, when my aunt and I had not really had much of a relationship. “My cousins,” I choked. “They don’t have their mom any more….I mean, what would I do if I didn’t have you?”. Losing my parents had been my greatest fear. I had grown up an only child, with just my parents. My large, extended family was 3,000 miles away, and losing my parents had terrified me. To know my cousins were going through that very situation (as their parents were estranged from nearly all of the family) broke my heart.

My mother had been having health issues for quite some time. She had a degenerative spinal disease that caused her significant pain, and had recently been misdiagnosed with Lyme disease,. The doctors were pumping her full of toxic stuff for the Lyme, and she wasn’t getting better. When the misdiagnosis was realized, the doctors then guessed at MS. It was horrible. Shortly after an X-ray on her neck to check on a prior disc surgery, my mother was suddenly going for tests. They were very vague about was going on, and worry started to take me over. I told my dad I knew they were hiding something from me, and that if they wouldn’t tell me, I would pack my bags and drive the 6 hours to their house. My mother was panicked and told him he needed to fly here immediately, to explain the situation, but my dad said he wouldn’t have time. “you know her,” he said, “she’ll make the drive here in 4 hours she’s in such a panic”. My dad called me, not realizing he had reached my office phone, rather than my cell. “It’s cancer. It’s lung cancer, and it’s already spread”. A sound like that of a wounded animal shot from my throat. I got up, walked into my boss’s office and said “My mom has cancer, and I have to go.”

I made the drive that night. There were tears. Oh, so many tears, my mother told me she didn’t want chemo, she would just let the cancer do it’s thing. This enraged me…..how could she give up? I asked her to do me just one favor. I asked her to discuss her options with her doctor, and what to expect from each one. After we went to the doctor, my mother changed her mind. Chemo it would be.

She did well on the chemo. She didn’t even lose her hair. There were some side effects, but I don’t think it was as bad as she had pictured. Her spirits were up. I was in shock, and I struggled to keep it together sometimes. There were days someone would ask how I was and I would blurt out “my mom is dying” and burst into tears. AWKWARD. (I’m sorry to everyone who casually asked me that and got a response WAY deeper than the usual “Good. You?”). My mother even found ways to joke about cancer, and slowly, so did I. It relieved the dark cloud that seemed to linger above. When we were going through some cabinets and closets and commented on how nice some items were, my mom told me she was “saving them for best” (meaning to save them for a fancy occasion). I gave her a raised eyebrow and a smile and she burst out laughing. “I guess best is now!”. She also had me giggling when she lamented “ugh, these steroids! I can’t even lose weight by getting cancer!”. The jokes were the horrible, inappropriate type that only those in their darkest moments can pretty much get away with. But we laughed, because if you weren’t laughing, you’d want to cry. We’d cried an awful lot.

A few months after her diagnosis, I found out I was pregnant. It was a surprise to everyone (including me!) but looking back, the timing couldn’t have been better. My mom became determined she would live to meet her grandchild. While it must have broken her heart to know she would never see him grow up, never experience all the things that others might take for granted, she kept it all hidden from me. We talked daily, and her excitement was contagious. Her excitement grew when my now husband asked my parents for permission to marry me. I will never forget the day she told me that she felt more at ease because she knew He would always love me and take care of me, My mother loved my husband. She saw right into him and knew him to be a kind, generous, and loving would who would be a wonderful husband to me. It made me glad she got to know him. Sadly, she was too ill to see me actually say my vows, but she knew I had found happiness.

For a long time, I prayed. I had never been an incredibly religious person, but I felt I was a spiritual one. I practiced active hope, even wearing a bracelet that I had engraved with the word “hope” to remind me each day to practice hopefulness. I wished. I begged the powers that be. I kept fingers crossed, and toes crossed. I begged for the wisdom to understand not only what was happening, but why and how it could happen. I believed, with all my might, that my mom would get better because dammit, I NEEDED her. I celebrated when the doctors said that the new drug the had given her was working, and that he tumors were shrinking. I felt the crushing of a thousand buildings falling on me when hey told us they had made a mistake. I rode this horrible roller coaster all while being pregnant with my first child. It left me drained, exhausted, and rather bitter. I believed she was getting better right up until the very end, and then I simply didn’t believe in anything at all.

My mom and dad came up the day I had my son. The pride and joy in my mom’s face was unmistakable. She adored him with all her might. She was tired from the drive, and I know it had worn on her, but she would not be denied the joy of holding her grandson. The next few days, it was wonderful having my mom with me, even though she needed to rest a lot. When she caught the nurse giving me a hard time about something, she snapped into action and told the nurse to leave me alone. My mother told the nurse that not only was I a brand new first time mom, but was losing my own mom as well and that the nurse should BACK OFF. I knew at that moment I was going to be a mess without her. I needed my mom.

I drove down to visit my parents several times, and my mom looked well, considering. Mostly she was tired a lot. There was a lot to deal with. My parents had started doing some renovation on their house before the diagnosis. The plan was to renovate, sell, and retire somewhere. My mom insisted the renovations continue. There was an electrician in the house the day the house was struck by lightening. My dad was at work, and the electrician was in the basement when he heard what sounded like a sonic boom, and a ball of fire shot out of the wall. It turns out a bolt of lightening hit the chimney, blowing about 4 feet of the chimney off. Breaks rained down on the deck, destroying some of it. Half of the electrical system in the house was messed up, and a huge mirror in my parent’s bedroom shattered and smoldered. The electrician ran upstairs, threw open the door to the room my mom was staying in (my parents’ room was under renovation) and told my mom what happened. She put on her robe, padded down the hall and peeked at the destruction of shattered glass and smoldering frame. She then shrugged and went back to bed. Her theory was, what good is it going to do to get upset? She had bigger fish to fry.

Hospice was contacted, but my mom still wanted to do chemo, so they wouldn’t come to the house. I guess the whole active treatment thing meant they didn’t come on board yet. When I went down to visit, she was getting visibly frustrated because she was forgetting things, and because she would struggle with certain words. She would ask me to get her something, but when I brought it to her, she would say she wanted something else. It was as if her brain wasn’t putting the words together the way she wanted it to. We got her to laugh about it eventually, but it bothered me, because i could see a decline in her health. The morphine wasn’t flushing through her system well, which was causing some of the confusion. She stopped talking to me on the phone as much as well, putting my father on whereas before she would happily chat for ages. It felt like she was distancing herself. I found out after doing some research that it is common for those in the dying process to withdraw a bit from the living. I took that pretty hard. My mother lost her hair on the next round of chemo. I think that bothered her because she said my dad looked upset by it. I guess up until that point, she hadn’t looked sick, and it was easier to believe she would get through it. When her hair went, it was a visual reminder of how sick she was.

Once I realized that I was in fact going to lose my mother, I became obsessed with looking up signs of death. I didn’t want to be caught off guard. I wanted to know what to expect. Looking back, this was my way of coping with my biggest fear. I read about signs of death, and how the body reacts. I never knew what day it would come, but I wanted to try to gauge if she was doing ok or getting worse. I was several states away from her, stuck working. I had a newborn baby at home, a new husband, a new house. I became obsessed with getting the nursery ready before she died. I don’t know why. Maybe it was a “you can’t go yet, I’m not finished” type of thing. I was exhausted and mentally drained. I felt a shell of myself. I was working long hours. I was at the end of the rope. The distancing, the confusion she was going through were signs I was dreading, the fact she was barely eating or drinking were another sign that things were going south.

I got a call from my father saying that I should probably come down, it was rather late in the evening, and I was physically and mentally just toast. I had been getting no sleep and had worked late. I was so tired I was getting a migraine, I could hear my mother making a strange sort of moaning noise. He said that she had been making this noise for a while, and wasn’t with it. I was afraid to drive 6 hours in the dark with the baby while being so tired and asked if I could come in the morning, or did he think I should come right then. He told me to come in the morning. I burst into tears, and he told me that he needed me safe and that it would be better to come in the morning.

The next morning, I got a call from my dad saying to come right away. I threw random things into a suitcase and left. My husband told me to just go, and he would follow me down with the baby in an hour or so once he could grab the baby’s stuff. I left and promptly got stuck in traffic about an hour from my house. I sat in traffic for hours, My father called to tell me my mom had died while I sat on the George Washington Bridge. I told him I would let family know. I called my father’s job to let his secretary know what had happened, i called my job, While sitting in stopped traffic on the GWB, I called my Grandmother to tell her that her daughter had died. That’s one of the worst feelings in the world. The other worst feeling in the world is knowing my dad went through the trauma of that morning by himself and I wasn’t there, because I hadn’t left the night before. Those decisions haunt me to this day. I had put work first, and that will never, ever happen again.

I sat in traffic for 10 hours. Just when I was getting on the last highway near my parents’ house, there was a multi car pileup on one side of the highway, and a car fire on the other. I’m surprised it didn’t rain frogs. After I finally arrived, I head the story of what had happened. I won’t go into too much detail, because somehow death seems such a private thing. I also recognize that there may be someone out there who is in this same position and wants to know what will happen. Effectively,my dad went downstairs and opened the back door to et fresh air in, and went to also brush his teeth. When he went back up, my mom was on the floor, not on the bed. He tried to pick her up, but her breathing got very shallow, he started to panic, and decided to call hospice. The phone was on the bed, and he was trying to hold my mother up (her breathing would get more shallow when laid flat) while yanking the blanket to bring his phone closer. Hospice told him to call 911. My dad paused..my mother hadn’t wanted to die in a hospital. The hospice worker told him that at that moment, the most important thing was to make her comfortable. My dad called 911, and they took my mom to the hospital, where they tried to make her comfortable. She had a DNR. He was with her when she died. My parents were each other’s best friends. I don’t know how he handled it. I don’t think I could have. I know my mother wouldn’t have wanted me there. She would have wanted to protect me from that memory. I know she would. But it doesn’t erase the guilt I have lived with for all these years that I wasn’t there,

The world laughs less now that little feisty woman is gone, I know I do.

When a parent dies, it changes your world, regardless of your relationship. For most, a parent is your biggest cheerleader, your biggest supporter. They have molded you into who you are, when that person dies. It’s like losing a piece of yourself. You lose one of your biggest cheerleaders, and it is a lonely feeling. If the relationship with the parent is bad, it can often make the child go into a tailspin of “why wasn’t it better?” and a lot of self doubt. My mother and I had had our difficulties, and things hadn’t always been rosy, but we had gotten to a place where I called her every day to chat and catch up. I loved chatting with her and wanted her opinion on everything. She was my best friend. One of the hardest moments was calling her, and as soon as the phone began to rang I realized she would never answer, There’s a scene in a movie called “Everyone’s Fine” between Robert Deniro and Drew Barrymore about this same scenario. I would put a link to it on YouTube but I have yet to be able to watch it without flooding into tears. I am now a member of the club that nobody wants to belong to. Once you’re in, you have a lot of support though.

Grief is a strange thing. People experience it differently. For me it was a slow process. At first, I was overwhelmed with being a new mom (my son was 4 months old when my mom died), a new wife, a new homeowner, and a full time employee. There was always someone, or something that needed my attention, and I didn’t allow myself to grieve in one chunk. It was, cry for 5 minutes and be sad, but then pull it together because the baby just woke up and I have to switch to mom mode. I grieved in tiny doses, and tried not to feel too much at once in case I would just fall apart. After a couple of years, my dad started dating, and eventually remarried. I took that INSANELY hard. I was pretty much a real asshole about it, and because of that, I am still trying to repair and rebuild a relationship with my stepmother. It’s hard, but we’re getting to a better place. I know it makes my dad happy to see me make an effort, and that is what drives me, it took a long time to realize that his new wife in no way replaced nor overshadowed my mom. If anything, it was probably hard for her to come into the situation. It’s not like my father divorced his bitchy ex. She was beloved and passed away, so some folks, like ahem, me, were not as welcoming as they could have been.

I have more good days than bad, I miss my mom every day. I now find moments to laugh, like when I was mulling over a question in my mind and swear I heard my mother’s voice utter a sarcastic response. I laugh at stories she told, and I love telling funny stories about her. I smile when I think of how much my daughter looks like her when she was a little kid, I was thrilled to pieces when I came across an old card I found from her. Some years, on her birthday, I buy myself a little present that reminds me of her. I tell my kids funny stories about their grandmother and show her pictures to them. Some days, when the husband is home to help with the kids, I take an hour to hop in my mom’s convertible and drive it up the coast with the music pumping and the wind in my hair. I remind myself to live. I try to keep her memory alive. I have my regrets too though. I wish I had her voice or image on video. I wish I had interviewed her about her life. I wish I knew more of her recipes, so that when I was missing her, I could make one of her dishes to mother myself a little. I wish I had asked more questions. I wish I had spent more time. I wish I had told the job to go screw and hung out with my mom instead. (They laid me off anyway). I wish I would have rubbed her feet more, and massaged her hands, because she enjoyed that. It’s the little things.

Some questions I get asked:
Q. How long between diagnosis and her passing?
A.about a year and a couple of months. This was way longer than predicted and i believe her attitude had a lot to do with it.
Q. Was she was a smoker?
A. Yup. I used to get bothered by this question, as if people were trying to find a reason for her getting the cancer. I now think that when we hear of anyone youngish dying, most people want to know the “why? What happened?” to know if the same thing could happen to them. My mother denied for as long as I could remember that anything would happen to her because she smoked, after she got sick, she wished she had quit or never started. Look, smoking causes cancer, my mom smoked, she got cancer. I don’t get phased by this question now. I encourage people not to smoke.
Q. Do I smoke?
A. I did. A LOT. I smoked like it was my job. Then my mom got sick and I got pregnant, and I quit. I never went back. Now if I am around smoke, I feel sick and hung over the next day. I don’t understand why I ever did it in the first place. I felt like a new person after I quit.
Q. How hard was it to quit?
A. Nowhere near as hard as you would think. Break it down small. Don’t smoke for 1 day. If you get through that one day, you can get through two. Tell yourself that if you smoke on the second day, that whole first day then means nothing. Once you get through 3 days, you’re in good shape. You’ll need to change some behaviors that you associate with smoking as well.
Q. Which is harder, to lose someone suddenly, or the way I did?
A. My friends and I have discussed this at length. I guess I feel now that losing someone suddenly would be worse. At least we were able to talk openly and honestly about what was happening, and say what we needed to say. It isn’t easy to watch a love one go through an illness like this, but I can’t imagine someone leaving the house and just never coming back without warning. To me, that would be worse.
Q. How is the whole guilt thing going?
A. Pretty shitty. Everyone tells me I shouldn’t feel guilty, and that driving 6 hours with no sleep and a newborn is a positively awful idea. I would agree, and tell anyone in the same boat the same thing. I just can’t overcome the guilt that I wasn’t there when she died. I should have been, even though a part of me knows she wouldn’t have wanted me to see that.
Q. What would I tell other people going through this?
A. Get your loved one on video. It will be priceless to you, even if it hurts too much to watch it at first. A day will come when you would give anything to hear that voice, and if they are on video, you will be so grateful for it. Interview them, make it funny but ask them some interesting questions. Once they are gone, you keep their memory alive. The more you know, the more you can share. Know what their wishes are, what they want done when they die. Lastly, after they have passed, throw a party to celebrate their life. My mother was specific she didn’t want a wake with people marching past her body in tears. Instead, she wanted a party where people drank and laughed and told stories that celebrated her life. We had such a party and it left such a wonderful lasting impression. I had people fill out a card with their favorite memory of my mom. I love looking through them and seeing her through other people’s eyes.

Thanks for reading. If you made it this far you’re pretty amazing. This was a sad post, but one I wanted to write to help others, as well as to find some peace within. Lastly, lung cancer is one of the top killers of women. It is a far bigger epidemic than people thing. I am one of 6 people in my circle of friends who has lost a parent to lung cancer. Not all of them smoked, and most died within a month of diagnosis. My mother was an exception. We need research on battling this type of cancer so that it doesn’t need to be a death sentence.

Surviving Vegas (How I grew up and put unconditional love as my mantra)

I would like to start this post out by first thanking some of my Twitter followers (you know who you are) for the support you showed me over my last post.  All of you, strangers to me, who showed me such love and compassion…it really does bolster my faith in the human spirit!  This post will actually be dedicated to those who DM’ed me to tell me that you knew my pain on a first hand basis, or through your spouses going through the same situation.  The fact is, once you’ve lost a parent, you are the unwilling member of  the club nobody wants to belong to, but most become grateful for.  There is an understanding between all of us, and a support that you can’t find anywhere else.  To those of you who got it, this one’s for you.

The fact is, the trip went better than I thought.  Let me correct that, I was better than I thought I would be.  I don’t know where I drew the strength to hold it all together, but I did.  Why?  Because I realized that it’s not my dad’s fault my mom died.  It’s not his girlfriend’s fault either.  I can’t penalize my father and demand he remain alone for the rest of his life because none of this was his doing or desire.  I think if he had his choice, my mom would be alive and things would be as they were.  We just can’t always get what we want.  At the end of the day, I want me dad to be happy, because I love him.  I love my dad enough to wish him happiness even if it makes me uncomfortable, sad, or even angry at times.  That’s what love is.  I love him so much, I wanted to make his day happy, even if the situation highlighted to the utmost degree for me that my mom is gone.  The best way to do that, in my mind, was to just hold it together, put on a smile whenever I could, and maybe do something a little extra.

I knew going into this trip that the only way I could keep it together was to differentiate between my sadness of my mom (and how my dad marrying someone else put a big ol’ fat emotional spotlight over the fact she’s no longer here) and my love for my dad.  The two didn’t HAVE to go together on this trip. I also had support from my husband and 2 other family members that knew EXACTLY how hard it was going to be.

The ceremony was really nice.  I made sure not to drink too much, and I wrote and performed a speech for the bride and groom.  I forgot my glasses, and couldn’t read it in the moment, so I just winged it.  About half the guests made a point to come up to me to say how fabulous the speech was, and how impressed they were.  My dad grinned ear to ear.  I think he was proud of me.  The only really tough time where I struggled were on the few occasions when people came to talk to me about my mom.  I feel guilty now for not saying more, but if I had I know I would have cried.  Then came socially awkward woman…..

The day after the wedding, most of the guests got together for drinks.  One woman came up to me as I was preparing to leave and wanted to congratulate me on my speech. Then she went off track and mentioned she had heard much about my mother.  My husband sensed me tensing up.  The next thing I knew, the woman started saying “You know, my mother died too.  My dad got a new girlfriend, and I didn’t like her, no not one bit.  I had good reason, mind you!  She was a BITCH!  You know, if my dad got sick she would have run in the opposite direction!” There was more, but I think my brain turned a bit jellified and much of it after is a blur.  All I knew is that I was suddenly acutely aware that my dad’s new wife was standing right behind Social Awkward One.   I hope she didn’t hear and think *I* had started that conversation or had said anything about her.  I DO wonder what has been said about me to socially awkward one, however.  Has it been said I was slow to warm up to my dad dating in general, or dating the new wife?  Yuck.

I am home now.  There have been some tears as I think of my mom.  I guess I always felt like Marriage was forever, at least I want it to be for me, and also for my parents.  I suppose I forgot about the “until death do us part” section of the vows.  I miss her, and I am angry that she was taken so young.  I am angry that she is not living the life she should be.  I am sad that some of her possessions are now in another woman’s house.  I do take solace, however, that she has me to tell her story to her grandchildren.  I shall not forget her, and I shall bring her alive through pictures, stories, and the love I give to them.  I think she loved my dad enough to want his happiness now, and THAT is why I put my big girl pants on and acted like an adult.  I won’t pretend it was easy…there were times this weekend that were tough!  Like the moment when someone referred to my dad’s wife as my mom by mistake!   That was a dagger.  She is not my mom, she never will be.  Hopefully, she can be my friend, and a grandparent figure to my kids.  Hopefully, things will improve, if I make more effort towards that.

Oh yes, one other benefit of this trip was an amazing boost to my own marriage.  Mr Messy went above and beyond this trip to make anything he could less stressful.  I was so mindful of this, and so grateful for the love I share in my own relationship.  I guess that with work and kids, life’s stresses had taken us over.  I made every effort to let go of that, even under the circumstances of why we went.  It made a huge difference to be just him and I for a couple of days.  I think we will make the effort to get away, even if just for an overnight, once in a while.  My husband is my perfect match…I had just forgotten to tell him and show him that.

Thanks again for your support, loveys.  The kindness of strangers, yet it all means so much.  To all those who were or are in my shoes…know that you have my support and my ear.  If I can get through it, so can you.

Messy xx