November 3rd last year was perhaps the strangest day of my life. Waking up and realizing that the world as I knew it was drastically different, and could never be the same again. I had, naturally (although in some guilt), decided not to go down to the university for three days (figuring in part that if adults get three days' leave, that university students should be granted the same benefit), so I wasn't forced to wake-up early. To be honest, at that point in the year, I'm not even sure I had any classes on wednesdays...as I had dropped 20th century about two, maybe three weeks beforehand. I do know that I was putting on the 'farce' that I was still in the course. Again, in all honesty, I have not mentioned to any of my family that I dropped two courses last year. Somehow, that does feel honest, but I couldn't deal with one, either their possible faint disapproval, two, their sympathy, or three, their questions about 'how I was dealing'. Well, like all strange days, that meant some strange eating. Strange eating that I shouldn't have done. I THINK that I had some cereal at some point in the morning, but the thing I do remember is having about a half a piece of cold pizza from the Boston Pizza trip the night before...spicy chicken something or other. THAT was the mistake part. Apparently, my stomach was not designed to handle spice like that (or perhaps the fat content too) at 11:30 in the morning. The stomachache didn't start for a little while, but when it did, I was not thrilled at all. I curled up on my bedroom floor under my comforter with the heating pad, and then put my laptop on top of some textbooks (easily accessible from the crate by my desk) and put in a MASH dvd (season 3...one of the episodes was "A Smattering of Intelligence"-it is odd the things you remember), hoping that the heat and lying on my left side would cure me quickly. It didn't, and when it was time to leave for the funeral home, I was still in pain, and not really wanting to budge, but I couldn't tell my dad (again, the sympathy etc thing, plus this weird need to keep any physical or emotional status from my family), and I also couldn't NOT go. So, off we went. I did take half of a gravol tablet on the way, thinking that it might help.
The funeral home meeting with my dad, my sister and myself was well, something to say the least. To be honest, seeing my mom before cremation was easier than seeing her in the hospital the last time. They had put her in the clothes that she had requested to be cremated in, so it was more normal, and her eyes and mouth had been shut. I won't forget how she looked in either place, however...those memories are burned into my brain forever. After that meeting, we went over to the church to talk with our minister. Again, honesty here, I think that my mom's funeral was probably one of the hardest ones our minister has ever had to do...our families have been good friends since my minister was ordained and began preaching at our church, nearly 13 years ago now. My parents used to play bridge with them, we have gone out to their cottage, and my mom worked for the minister's husband for 4 years and a bit, until she became too sick from the cancer. In the midst of my turmoil, I definitely felt sorry for my minister! What she asked was for us to just 'talk about her...anything'. I have a feeling that she already knew what she was going to say, but it's probably standard procedure. So we did...all those things about my mom that made her unique, like her love of mysteries, how she had taped every single episode of every single star trek series, the sewing and how my house was thus filled with fabric, how she almost never got the punch line of a joke and definitely didn't understand sarcasm. I'd say as a whole that some of my most special memories are of spending sunday afternoons or time in the summer with her, especially when my dad and sister were not at home, and doing things like sewing, baking, watching history documentaries or old movies together (ones she had taped, of course), sometimes gardening (although that wasn't my favourite...I'm not a huge fan of dirt on my hands, it sometimes feels a bit like nails on the chalkboard sound-to me at least). That sort of thing. If I could go back in time, I would spend fewer sunday afternoons with my textbooks, and more sunday afternoons with her. Hindsight is, of course, a wonderful thing...I mean, I really could have budgeted my time better so that I was spending more with her. But, I didn't know. I was young, and she was the healthy parent until the summer of 2009, when little by little, she began to have problems with eating, etc, etc. We so often talked about how she would be the one at 95 still going to tai chi class. We were off by more than 40 years. I never figured that my children (if I have any) would be in the same position that I was, not having a maternal grandma. It just never crossed my mind.
My biggest fear remains that I am carrying defective genes, that cannot be tested for, that may develop into a cancer that cannot be prevented or scanned for until it is too late...and not that I might one day develop this, but that I might develop this in 10, 15 years, when many women are married and have young children...like I hope to in 10 or 15 years...and that I will follow the same path in unsuccessful treatment, and leave my children without a mother at so young an age. Throughout all of this my mom said that the only blessing was that my sister and I were older, and not in grade school, or toddlers. And of course, I do worry about the possibility of having defective genes to pass along, and have the cycle repeat.
Missing my mom today lots. Grief physically hurts, and it comes on in unexpected waves...to be honest, I was not expecting to feel quite like this at the one year mark.
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