I’m worried about my mom. I don’t know where we stand right now. Communication has been shut down by my dad. I’m giving grace and space. But I want answers. She’s my mom.
Last I was told was that she’d have the rescheduled MRI yesterday and then get results and a game-plan on Thursday. I don’t know if that’s even true anymore. I don’t know what to expect. Without answers.. without basic information of what is happening, my mind races to all different possibilities. I try to think positively. And I do… but naturally, my mind wanders towards the dark places.
I can’t help it. I’m scared.
What if it’s worse than they thought? What if this is confirmation of our worst fears? What if this is it?
I don’t want to go to my mom’s funeral.. I don’t want to see her that way. I don’t want to lose her.
I don’t want the memory of the moment my kids find out that their grandmother passed away to be stuck in their heads forever, only to be replayed over and over. I have that memory of my own grandmother passing away. We drove all the way to Arkansas, only to find out that we didn’t make it in time.
Right there, outside of the hospital doors. On the sidewalk. My mom’s knees hit the concrete. The sound of her bones hitting the pavement is something that I’ve lived with everyday since that moment. The sounds that came from her, as her heart was torn apart echoes in my head. I don’t want my kids to hear those sounds coming from me. Those sounds… those memories… that’s what takes away the innocence of children.
I don’t want to have to go through what my mom did. I don’t want to see my mom the way I saw my grandmother just laying there. A body no longer filled with the vibrant love that was once there. Just an empty shell.. I don’t want that. She’s my mom. I can’t do this right now.
I don’t want to find myself buying outfits for the kids to wear to their grandmother’s funeral.
I distinctly remember going shopping with my mom after my grandmother passed away. How do you find dresses for 3 little girls to wear… in black… in March? We didn’t… we wore spring dresses instead. Mine was a pastel blue sleeveless dress that came with a short sleeve cardigan. There was a tiny floral pattern all over it. I never wore it again after that day.
We shouldn’t have had to look for black dresses anyway. Little girls should be wearing spring dresses, playing and laughing and picking flowers… not attending their grandmother’s funeral. But there we were, doing just that. I’ll never forget it.
I don’t want that for my kids.
It’s a sad day when children have to deal with the harsh realities of the world. People are taken far sooner than they should. People are sometimes just gone and never come back. People die.
I don’t want my kids to have to deal with that. I don’t want their lives changed forever. I don’t want my life changed forever. I don’t want to have to deal with the harsh realities of the world.
I, too, am just a child. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to say goodbye. I’m not ready. Not yet.
