Into Every Life a Little Rain Must Fall

Today makes 4 years since my mom passed.  It’s not a subject I talk about much.  Frankly, there’s not much to tell.  Surprisingly even after 4 years today got to me. 
For those that don’t know, my mom suffered from Clinical Depression and Alcoholism all my life.  We never had a real relationship and I have no idea who my “real mom” ever was.   There was 23 years of very hard times, but it was days like these that I can only seem to remember her large happy glazed eyes first thing in the morning, or her waiting by the kitchen table full of presents every morning of my Birthday.  Those are the brief moments I miss.  It was those fleeting moments that I got a glimpse of what having a “normal mom” was like. 
My mom called a day before her death and left a message begging for me to call her.  She was in the midst of a move from an apartment in which she had lived for 8 years into a different place.  I callously brushed her off promising that I would call her when she was moved in.  I never got that chance. 
My mom knew her fate.  She yelled at her brother and parents for trying to unpack her things.  She wanted them left.  She had other things planned.  She always made a bid deal out of Birthdays.  My Grandma’s Birthday was right around the corner.  She apologized to my Grandma citing previous years when my mom had made a cake and they celebrated together.  She told my Grandma that she wasn’t going to be around for that year’s celebration, and again she apologized.  My Grandma didn’t think much of it thinking that my mom must have an appointment that day and wouldn’t be able to come up.  Mom’s wake was on Grandma’s Birthday. 
The weight of the world topped with a forced move, a mental illness and alcoholism got to be too much for my mom to handle after 23 years.  She decided that night that she would take a bottle of tranquilizers, a bottle of blood pressure lowering meds and wash it down with a bottle of alcohol.  She fixed her hair and laid down on the living room floor to drift off to “sleep.”
It was my Grandparents that found her the next day after they had tried to call and there was no answer.  My mom had meant for a Social Worker to find her as she had an appt. with one at 10:00 the next morning. 
I don’t write this looking for pity.  Even though my mom committed suicide, I know that she was supposed to “go home.”  If God didn’t want her, he wouldn’t have taken her.  Simple as that.  Further more, I know she’s in heaven, because even despite the hell she lived, she never lost focus of God–even when He didn’t “answer” her prayers and cure her.  She never lost her faith…just her way. 
What I’m left with on rare days like these is a sense of longing.  I long a sense of closure in the torrentialy tumultuous relationship she and I had.  I long for a hug from her to know that we’re okay.  None of those things got resolved and maybe that’s what hurts if anything….not having that last minute to at least end things neutrally…even if that means to agree to disagree.  If there’s any wish in my heart.  That would be it.
Finally, am I mad?  No.  I want the best for my mom.  Under these circumstances, her death was probably it.  I don’t mean to sound harsh. I just mean that it’s the relief from the hell she lived for so many years, and regardles of how she died, she earned that.  She deserves that. 
So Mom, wherever you are.  I still love you.  I always will.  And I hope the next time I see you we can spent sometime together and I can get to know the “real” you.


1 Comment

  1. AnnOhio said,

    May 18, 2008 at 9:42 pm

    I ❤ you…

    With my years of wisdom I can share a few things with you. When my father died, I had been estranged from him for a number of years..there were calls from the hospital from a nurse telling me to come. I didn’t…I still to this day don’t regret that–he had died to me a long time ago. What I learned from that is to never ever let money come before my children.

    When my mom died, I was with her, holding her hand as she left this world. I had long since made peace with her, and watched her suffer through medical treatments that she would not have wanted–I had 4 months to say goodbye.

    But it is still hard, and I don’t think a day goes by that there isn’t something that will remind me of her. I’ve had a few small bouts of depression since she died. I have a feeling this will be something that I will always deal with.

    I guess I tell you that the loss of a parent is hard–whether you get a chance to say goodbye or you don’t get a chance to say goodbye.

    You are an amazing young woman, I am so proud to have you for a friend, and I love watching you grow and bloom. I also am very proud of the way that you are raising your daughter. You are a great mom!

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