Never Let Her Go

I know that Mother's Day is past, but I had some thoughts on the subject of moms that I couldn't get out of my head.  So, I figured I'd put it down into words here.

It starts with the moment you're born, you're held close, kissed constantly and kept dry and fed without nearly any need to cry.  As you grow up, a scraped knee is cleaned and band-aided, and a kiss on the cheek and a cold pop takes care of everything.

Yeah, there were bad times.  Especially when you became a teenager and you thought the whole world was your oyster.  You thought you knew everything and your mom was holding onto old ideals and rules.  So, you didn't obey her as much as you did when you were small.  Did you?

There were the late nights with the boyfriend when you wanted to stay out past curfew and so you made up excuses of the car getting a flat, or you got lost, or you missed the show due to traffic so you wanted to catch the next viewing time.  Yeah, you thought you were slick but mom knew....she knew.

You get older and you decide that you found the man of your dreams, whether or not your mom thought that you could do better.  After all, she picked your dad and yes, he was the best man in your life and she did choose well, you think that she just doesn't see the greatness that you see in your fiance.  Maybe she's right, maybe not.  Nobody ever could be good enough for her daughter.  That was the key element.

You look back on your life with all the arguments, the fights, the disagreements and the times that you and your mom didn't talk for awhile.  You both too hard-headed to give in first.  But then the future unravels itself and you're bringing your firstborn son to her side, and you wouldn't know that it was her eighth grandchild by the light of pride that shines in her tear-filled eyes.  And somewhere there is this little light that clicks on in your head and a few of the secrets of motherhood start to form within your own mind and you are beginning to see what this whole mother thing is all about.

Five children later and 800 miles apart, your mother gets taken to the hospital.  She has trouble breathing and her heart is weak and her sugar diabetes is all out of control and all you can do is sit at your computer and wait for an eternity to get an email from your sibling telling you of your mom's progress.  You sit in the bathroom of your little house and pray for a miracle, pray with all your might that she recovers because she has yet to see her 13th grandchild.  Sure, she's seen pictures of him that you've emailed to her via your brother, and there were the few that you printed out and mailed to her on Christmas, but you just want...one more time...to be able to see that wonderous joy light up her eyes and see those tears start to flow as she holds him, telling you how absolutely beautiful he is and how proud of you she is that you've become as devoted and outstanding a mother as she herself always was, no matter if you realized it or not.  No matter that it took almost 30 years to figure out.

Yeah, sure...absence may make the heart grow fonder.  I have a better relationship with my mom now than I did when I still lived in Chicago.  But she and I were just two stubborn Italians, that's all.  We still loved each other deep down, but there were far too many disagreements; far too many times that she got so mad at me that she hung up on me, leaving me steaming and beleaguered all the same.

I always questioned whether or not I did the right thing moving this far away from my family.  And now the worst of my fears have become realized.  My mom's health is faltering and I am left to sit and wait by the computer for the next email to update me on her health progress.  I'm not able to jump on the next plane to Chicago, nor can I drive up.  I just don't have the finances.  Plus, the kids needs me here.  Life still goes on here.  Time doesn't wait for things to right themselves. 

I know I did the right thing for my family by coming out here.  The kids are happy and thriving, and they're doing well in school.  But I'm still a daughter that misses her mom.  She and I had just gotten to have a really solid, loving relationship.  We wrote to each other back and forth, just bullshitting about nothing in particular.  And even though my mom's letters tended to be about the same thing, I cherished them nevertheless. 

Now she's home from the hospital, but she's on oxygen constantly and she has to watch what she's eating and that's never been her strong point, no matter how many times my sister and I tried to tell her.  Again, the stubbornness comes into play, even at the risk of her health.  Whattaya gonna do?  Crazy Italians, we....

We're thinking that maybe we have to sell the house and put her in a Catholic care facility as her insurance won't cover a in-house nurse since she needs constant care that neither of us are able to give her.  My sister drives 120 miles daily just to see to her, and with her job and her family and the gas prices the way they are, it's just not feasible for much longer.  My one brother's job calls him to travel out of town a lot, so he can't be there as much as he would like.  We all have our own lives that restrict us to be there for her 24/7.  So when we're not there and her oxygen hose gets caught under her recliner and nobody is there to fix it....well, that's why we need to sell the house.  To afford a health care facility.

Best selling the house isn't so easy, at least I think.  It's the house that we all grew up in and the place where all the fondest memories of my life are still stored.  The place where the ghost of the child I once was still played with her Barbie dolls on the stairwell, pretending they were mountain climbing.  Or where my mom and I did macrame together, hoping to create the one thing that would make us the big profit at the next craft fair.  The place where she and I sat for hours putting up the artificial Christmas tree, and afterwards she would let me decorate underneath the tree with the little houses and the skating rink and the little people.  She'd even let me put my favorite Hot Wheels cars in front of each house.  I would always pretend that the big Victorian was my house and it always had the big Caddy out front.  The house held memories of my father when he was still alive and all the fun that we had as well.  Memories of the night when a big storm knocked out the power and so we all gathered around in the living room, mom holding me tight while my brother played guitar to amuse us by candlelight.  Those memories, and so many, many more.

That little girl I was then sits here now, hoping with all her heart that she can make it to Chicago one more time before her mom leaves this earth, hoping to God that He will give her mom the strength to carry on for a few more years at least, hoping that she will get stronger so that she can remain in her home, and not in a strange place full of strange people.  My mom wouldn't like that.  She, like me, was never really good with strangers. 

My mom was just writing to me last month about looking forward to sitting out on the porch with her dog, enjoying the beautiful Chicago spring time weather.  And how she couldn't wait to watch her beloved baseball, a trait that I carry on in my heart and soul as well.

God, please give my mom some more time.  She may be an angel, but she's my angel and I still haven't learned all the lessons that she has to teach me.  We just got to the good part in our relationship.

To Everyone reading this, do me a favor.  Give your mom a hug, if you haven't this past Mother's Day.  If she's not close to hug, then give her a call.  If you have disagreements, set them aside...please.  Tell her you love her.  Value all that she has to share with you.  Because the theory holds true.  No matter how hard you try, every little girl eventually grows up to be their mother.

And you know what?  I'm damned proud to say that I have done exactly that.  Love and Peace to All....

LoveCraft13