Mom

That’s mom, some years before I even existed, in the early to mid-’60s. The older woman is her mother, my nan, who died in 1989. It’s one of four little photobooth snaps mom carried around in her purse right to the end. I found them last night and shed tears.

I want to remember her a little bit. Paul called me this afternoon and we were on for over two hours. A bit of a life-saver, that. He was interested to see some of the older photos as he met her a couple of times and spoke to her on the phone occasionally.

I was saying to him, though I do remember her, say, ten years ago, or fifteen years ago, and so on, it’s really fuzzy. The 2006 version of mom is dominating my perception. She was always a largish woman until the last few years, weight loss and illness reducing her greatly. I want to see her in the past more clearly. Maybe it’ll come back to me in time.

The tears aren’t gone yet. I’ve had half an hour of sleep so far today, not having slept at all last night. We knew the end was near. I was stalking the flat tensely. Finally I got a cab over to the hospital at 11pm. I stayed until nearly 2am. I held her hand, I talked endlessly between bursts of crying, saying all those things I somehow never said. She was out of it. I’d like to think she heard me on some level, but I’ll never know. I kissed her forehead and left.

I took the dog out for a walk at 2.30 and I was making both of us ‘dinner’ at 3am. Insane routine. I wandered around the flat after that, muttering and crying a bit, half waiting for The Call. It came at 6am. Her sister, my aunt Denise, came for me and we arrived a few minutes too late.

I sometimes think I shouldn’t write this stuff on a Website. At this exact moment I have no one to talk to and I keep playing the last 24 hours over and over in my head, so I guess I’m using this as therapy.

Part of me really has not processed what’s happened.

I have to thank Paul again for talking to me. I’ve had a rollercoaster lately and sometimes used him as a punchbag, but he’s just took it and today he made an important difference for me. He’s the best.

I can’t believe how much I’m going to miss you, mom. I wasn’t ready. Guilt, sadness, disappointment, physically painful grief. My mind is buzzing, my body’s exhausted.