Distractions

Distractions are amazing.  They are instant gratification.  They come in.  They do their job immediately, no questions asked.  But then, they leave.  They're done.  Kaput.  Nothing.  There's this blackness leftover called Having-To-Deal-With-Life.  But they sure are good while they last.

Sadly, I have no distractions right now.  I'm left to battle for survival on my own.  I'm left to stew with my decisions.  I'm left to cry about what I didn't do.  It's times like these, I want my mommy.  And unlike any other night, literally, I can't have her.  She's gone.  She's passed. Kaput.

Don't get me wrong, the mom I knew as a kid; the entertaining, matter of fact, pissed-off-for-who-knows-why mom got sick and died.  What replaced her was a childlike, version of herself.  One that was meant to re-learn her alphabet.  How to read.  How to write.  She was optimistic.  She laughed.  She was sweet.  She was scary.  She was different.  But, in all physicality, I still had my mom.

I could visit her and spend time with her.  I could hold her soft, cold hand.  She could play with my babies, on their level, in fact.  I still had her.  And now I don't.  And what do I have to say about it?




Just distractions.



My mom had a really hard life and nobody gave her the credit she deserved.  She was a tough lady.  She could fight it out with the best of them.  She could curse.  She could yell.  Man, could she yell.  Heck, she could drink an entire pot of coffee to herself and brew another.

She also dealt with an alcoholic, abusive husband.  She dealt with figuring out how to feed six kids on a mouse's paycheck.  She dealt with some of her kids have substance addictions, and attitudes to match.  She dealt with the passing of her mother and her first born child.  She dealt with cancer.  Three times.  She was pretty amazing.

Now some would say she chose that life.  Like a crackhead on the street.  The drama is all part of the lifestyle she chose.  But, unlike a crackhead, she wasn't choosing to disassociate herself from the world and her problems.  In fact, she threw herself directly into a place where she had to deal with more than just her own drama.  Let's face it; having two kids as a teenager then four more right after that, on the education of the average seventeen year old, leaves far more forky roads with far more repercussions than many of us ever have to deal with.

Not to mention, it was the 70s and she was conservative.  My dad did keep a roof over our heads and food on the table with his pay.  What's a little drunken debacle every now and then.  Surely, it's better for there to be two parents in a house filled with an army of children; despite their downfalls.  Plus, having no job experience, clearly an entry level nobody would never be able to work, raise six kids, and be able to afford all that comes with that on her own.

And then she got sick.  She couldn't care for herself.  Not anymore.  Dad sobered up, for the most part, and took care of her, like a husband should.  Us kids helped out.  She needed the help.  This, in my mind, is why she and dad never split up.  That, and as my dad recalls from way-back-when, they loved each other.

But, our job is done.  She doesn't have to suffer from the effects of the cancer anymore.  She doesn't ever have to listen to drunken yelling and fighting again.  She doesn't have to make another bed.  She doesn't have to watch the damn t.v. anymore.  She doesn't have to ever fall again.  Her misery is over.

But then there's me.  I never get to see her again.  I never get to feel her soft, cold hand again.  I never get to cry on her shoulder when I'm upset again.  I never get to stay up late, and watch t.v. snuggled on the couch with her again.  I never get to go on walks with her again.  I never get to become completely confused in whatever point she is trying to make again.  My kids will never see Grandma Foxy again.

And now, I worry about my dad, and also my brother.  I fear what her passing will do to them.  I fear the guilt my brother will feel will be overwhelming to the point that he will be joining her soon.  I fear my dad will turn to the bottle, which sounds normal, as I sure as heck could use a drink right now.  But, battling his addiction mixed with recently having a quadruple bi-pass, and the stress of just losing your one and only wife, is a scary thought.


I wish I had some distractions right now, but sadly its the middle of the night.  I didn't even know what to say when I got the call.  It was like losing her, again.  Dejavu.  I'd been through it before, but it was different this time.  And what's more, I was literally just there.  I saw my mom for the first time in a month or more, this morning.  We talked briefly and I left.  I didn't say goodbye, mostly because I expected to be back tonight.  At least, that's how I'm rationalizing it.  I didn't say goodbye, because I would today.  I didn't say goodbye.  And I didn't get the chance.

I'm torn, though.  This isn't about me, or my brother, or my dad.  This is about my mom.  Her legacy.  Her soul's wants and needs.  She can be with my sister and my grandma again.  She can dance through the clouds, and eat all the Cheerios her heart desires.  She'll never have anyone lose their temper at her again.  No more pills.  No more seizures.  No more cancer.  No more pain.  She can be free.

Tonight was never supposed to happen.  I miss you momma.  More than words can describe.