I wish I felt more even keeled. I am happy, really happy. I feel really really sad, and I think it’s about Mom’s first anniversary of her death on Friday, but I don’t feel sad about it. But I think I am. I feel like an M&M. A hard candy shell on the outside, but soft chocolate on the inside. If you just bite quick, you might get rewarded with the shell of crunchy candy that you can bite into smaller pieces and let slide down your throat, then you’re free to suck on the chocolate and just let it melt in your mouth. But my outside candy shell is not a bad thing - it’s powerful, it means I’m really strong. I have good protection, but it’s summer, and the sun is hot, and my only option is to put myself in the freezer, and I don’t want to freeze up or freeze out. I want to stay here, in the thick of it, in the messy fluctuating, uneven keeled reality of my life.
I love the sharp, crisp edges of my days, I even love the times that I just can’t pull myself out of this chair to even cook dinner. It is an immense effort to brush my teeth. I look out the window at the beautiful day and yet can’t open the door and step outside. I feel sad, I think, but isn’t it funny that I can’t really tell? Or that I’m like an actress that is now getting the direction that she’s happy, but she’s feeling something else, like the two instructions aren’t matching up somehow. Strange. Very strange.
A year ago Mom couldn’t speak anymore. She lay in bed with her eyes closed. A year ago today I told her I loved her and she kiss kissed with her mouth into the air. A year ago today we met with the nursing staff who told us Mom might last another week, so we all ate lunch at Famous Dave’s and made plans for who was going to the lake for the 4th of July. A year ago today my oldest sister was in Paris. A year ago today I was wearing gloves and gown because Mom had a super bug and we didn’t want to catch it. I stroked my mother’s soft cheek through a rubber glove. I wish I could’ve felt her skin against my own, but I was scared. I was so scared I might get sick and die. Like my mom was dying, a year ago today.
A year ago today Mom’s heart was still beating. A year ago today we knew Mom was going to die soon, but we had no idea it would be at 12:40PM on July 3. That news is coming, Susie-from-a-year-ago, so hang on, sweetie - it’s going to be a bumpy ride. But your boat is sturdy and you have a strong hand on the steering wheel, your keel is even, we made sure of that - you won’t capsize, although in a few more days you will find yourself howling on the bed like a bleeding, hurt dog. But that is not for today, today you will just sit with your mom and hold her hand, you will check that her feet are comfortable in their shammy footies, you will make sure the washcloth on her forehead is fresh, and you will keep telling her how much you love her. At least you still have this, Susie. At least for two more days. Stay the course, Susie, rough waters ahead.