Connection

 So where do I start? Elder opted to drop a class that he was actually doing okay in, and I feel like when he decided to quit the movie theater, just devastated, and I don’t know why. My own distraction since mom’s departure for the underworld leaves the rest of my house wondering how to deal with me. Indeed, I don’t even know how to deal with myself. I am living in the immediate moment because I literally don’t know what else to do with myself. 

My sadness is sometimes compact, and other times it spills out into the room around me. Will a shower help?  Purging some of the clutter? Everything happens in fits and starts; ADHD is a thing. 

Today is Fr M’s birthday. I called him, which is something unprecedented, but the whole ‘mom dying before I thought that was going to happen’ thing is causing me to do a lot of unprecedented things. He asked me how my family was: I shared Elder’s new collegiate adventures (leaving out the dropped class) and Younger’s impending joining him, and about the housing situation we hope pans out for them both. He rejoiced along with me, had kind words, but our time was short since he needed to be elsewhere, celebrating a funeral mass for a fellow priest an hour away (on his birthday).

I got off the phone, feeling chuffed that I did a thing, happy to hear my good friend sounding hale and hearty at 84, hoping we can have more celebrations and I get one more chance to drive him around in the little red car.

I gotta make this happen.

Pause

 I’m hitting pause.

The last month and change has been a bit bats. 

And the business trip in the midst of it didn’t help.

So today, by fits and starts, I am trying to get this place in order. I started with the birds (because also my office and the disorder became offensive, to me, which is saying something). I also found out something new about me; if I don’t know where to start, or if there are too many steps to get started, I won’t start at all. The workaround got me through the first part, and an assist from hubby the rest.

I found some bags, so I am starting to go through clothes. If I can get the upstairs under some control, it will be a good start.

Still feeling things hard. I’ll feel them and work through the best I can.

One Month Ago….

 Things went sideways.

It started two days earlier with a group text my mom sent: My iPad is dying.

It was 5:30 am Thursday February 1. Part of me was rolling my eyes, thinking “so dramatic “ while another part of me wondered what my mom was really saying. She had a habit and history with saying something and meaning something else entirely.  She went on to say she was having trouble breathing and going to the doctor later. I was getting ready to drive to the office and wondered if I needed to stay back. 

Nothing was asked, so I went in as scheduled.

Later, she pinged us all again letting us know she went to the doctor, she has pneumonia, and she’s on medication and an inhaler.

Good, I think.

Then she goes on to say the nurse helped her walk to her car, she was so out of breath and so grateful for the help.

TF mom? 

This is the inflection point of the story; this is the part we all came back to, after. Why didn’t she get admitted to the hospital? Why was she driving herself around? Why?

She had been telling us for months she was ready. She had COVD a year ago around her birthday and hadn’t really felt good since. She had been struggling since October with back pain. She was going to need to move out of her beloved apartment while her building was being renovated—something she dreaded. Finally, she’s been missing my dad a very long time. The last time I saw her, around Christmas, she said, “I tell God every day, take me, Lord, I am ready when you are.”

So there was no stinking way she was going to admit herself to the hospital. She was doing a Paulie with her doctor, presenting as healthier than she actually was. She was done, she was telling us she was done, but I don’t think we were listening.

I was listening, but I thought we—she—had more time.

So when my phone blew up while I was attending a training on mental health support, I knew it was time.

They found her that morning, sitting in her favorite chair, snuggled under her favorite blanket, tea cooled on the table next to her chair. Her glasses were on, and she looked as though she were thinking and about to say something.

Except it was dark. The pilot light was out.

And just like that, we’re orphans.

I woke up the next morning with an incredible feeling of peace. Mom and I did not have the best relationship here on earth, but I had a strong sense that wherever she is, she gets me now, and there’s no regrets or hard feelings, on either side.

And for me, knowing she’s finally with my dad again makes my heart happy.

But I keep wanting to text her. Or see if she liked a post or picture I put on social media.

On the other hand, my last times with her are etched in my memory in a way my last times with my dad were not. We had a great time together at my sister’s house before Christmas; we spent time together on Christmas Day, and I dropped some Stock’s pound cake off with her a couple days after Christmas. She shared a Halupki recipe with me over text a couple days later.

Her departure for me is a little like a phone left off the hook. If I didn’t see her with my own two eyes, I’d not believe it happened.

But it did. She’s a memory now.

A good one.

Game on

 No one can break me like my older kid.

Week two of University brings us to the conclusion that he is exactly where he needs to be right now—and he’s pissed off about it. He likes his classes, being surrounded once again by peers, teachers, taking the train…but he jams his heels in, stopping just short of admitting it, because that would make him wrong about not wanting to return to school—and by extension make us right.

Hence his anger. In his head, he’s wrong, and he hates being wrong.

Up until now I’ve been his best friend, and now I’ve become his worst enemy by pushing him forward. I yield the baton to hubby, who is a hell of a lot more clear-headed than I am. We will work together to help elder get back some of the skills he lost in COVD, but my role, by necessity, will be silent partner.

My younger guy is just doing him, taking classes, playing his music, planning and executing his radio show, and in so doing seems to have connected with my own head and heart; I can’t get through his playlists without tears at least once a show.

This is how he reckons with his own stuff.

It’s hard sometimes to see progress when emotions run high. Sometimes you just need a minute.