Today is my
mom’s birthday. She would have turned 68.
As I told
my dad earlier, it feels like I’m stuck in this terrible, never-ending dream,
and I keep waking up, hoping it’s going to end, and it just… doesn’t.
On many
levels, her death still seems surreal. It hasn’t sunk in yet. It hasn’t become
stark reality, it hasn’t been carved in the stone of recent history.
We’re all
still reeling.
And today,
I made my way to work—confident I would be able to make it through the day.
I stepped
into a meeting in the conference room. Six women gathered around the conference
table as we called in to speak to our client.
At one
point, the client asked a question and we needed to unmute the phone line.
Instead of
hitting the mute button, I accidentally hit the button to call our president’s
office. And then, once we realized what I had done, somebody else hit a button
and it ended up dropping us off the call with the client.
I was
immediately embarrassed, and I felt emotions thundering in my belly and
threatening to shoot up through my throat and out through my eyes in the form
of tears and wails. I crawled under the table as everyone guffawed—it was a
hilarious scene, and I saw and felt the hilarity of it, but I could not fight
the emotions welling up from deep within.
I sat back
in my chair, for a split second believing I was ok.
But grief
is a bitch, and before I knew it, my skin was suddenly hot with giant tears
streaming down my face, and I could feel the suffocating gasps of pain coming.
I fled the
room and ran into an office and closed the door, collapsing against the table.
I sort of
composed myself after a little while. The meeting finished. My co-workers
offered condolences and reassurances.
I tried to
come back to some semblance of ok, but I felt like a shell the thickness of a
soap bubble trying to contain the nuclear explosion already going on inside of
me. I walked around, enjoying seeing everyone’s festive, ugly sweaters and cute
Christmas ornament earrings. I tried to talk myself into searching for some
enjoyment with the festivities that we were about to experience—the big reveal
for secret Santas, and then our Christmas lunch, followed by early release from
work.
But I
returned to my desk, where I sat, tears running down my face, wondering how I
was going to get through this day.
Truthfully,
there was only one place I wanted to be: by my dad’s side.
I called
Daddy on the way, asking him to make some coffee. His voice immediately lifted
when he realized I was coming over.
We hugged
and sat, watching a couple of TV shows as he finished breakfast and I sipped
coffee.
And then I
asked him what he was planning to do today. He said he was planning to decorate
for Christmas, but he just couldn’t seem to find the motivation.
So, we did
it together.
We put up the tree, again going over the history of some of the decorations and how much they meant to us, just as we had done for many years before now.
We put out
stockings and a few other odds and ends—marveling at just how much Christmas
décor was left… just how much we weren’t putting out.
What can I
say… my mom loved Christmas and Christmas décor.
We went out
on the town in his new truck to Michael’s, Walgreens, and Target. We took our
time running errands, poking around for some time in both Michael’s and Target.
And then we went back to the house and ate dinner.
It turned
out to be a leisurely day. A better day than what we both started with.
We stood at
my car, hugging, and he thanked me for coming over. I told him there was
nowhere else I wanted to be today, that I didn’t just do it for him—I did it
for me, too. I felt so lost this morning, and the only place I wanted to run to
was to him.
He needed
me today, and I needed him. And we turned a shitty day into a better one, and we managed to inject some color into this rather gray day. I am grateful.
Happy
birthday, Mama. We love you and miss you, more than words can say...
