It’s been 8 weeks since you died. I cried myself to sleep last night – around the time that you died – wondering. Two days before you died you couldn’t sit still, your body was shutting down. So I got down onto the mattress on the floor with you, sat behind you, and wrapped my body around yours, hoping it would provide some comfort. I wonder if you realized what was going on.
I wonder if you heard us all in the room the day you died. Heard us whispering to you how much we love you. Heard us laughing about eating Me-N-Eds pizza, your favourite, in front of you and you not being able to eat any. Heard me yelling at grandma, and us later apologising. Heard me singing Patsy Cline songs to you. I wonder if you heard me say “it’s ok, mama, it’s ok to go.”
I wonder what your last conscious thought was. Everyone probably thinks it was about me. Your whole world revolved around me. You made sure to tell everyone how much you loved me, how proud you were of me.
But I hope it was about you. I hope you knew how much of an amazing mother you were, how much you’ve inspired me, and guided me, and made me laugh. I wonder if you knew how much I love you, how proud I am of you.
I wonder if my children will look like you. If they’ll have that same impish sparkle in their eye. I wonder if they’ll have your silliness, your impulse for joy – a joy even more powerful because you survived through years of abuse and misuse. I wonder if they’ll have your laugh, I wonder if one can develop someone’s laugh without hearing it.
I wonder if this phantom pain in my chest will ever go away. Or if I should just learn to live with it.
I wonder – I never stop wondering. Which is both a blessing and a curse. Because everyday I remember you, but everyday I am reminded of just how much I miss you.by