I'm angry. If you don't understand why, I guess that I will explain, but, just know, that it irritates the hell out of me to do so. Today is Groundhog Day. Otherwise known as Mom's birthday.
I went out today, no makeup, hair a messy bun on top of my head, chucks and jeans and plaid button up. So I did manage to crawl out of bed and get dressed today. I didn't get carded for cigarettes or beer today. I can't decide if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I dyed my hair so the greys are mostly camouflaged, at least for now.
I want to yell at everyone that I encounter. I want to scream in their faces that today is my dead Mother's birthday. I don't want to have to explain to anyone why I'm upset today. I feel like everyone in the world should be mourning the death of my mother. Everyone in the whole fucking world should be sad that she is dead.
Someone at work made the comment that she didn't like when people say that God electrocutes them to teach them something, or that "My Mom has cancer because God wants me to learn something." I didn't rip her face off. I'm not even sure she knows that my Mom is dead from cancer. I didn't say anything at all, I'm getting really good at keeping my fucking mouth shut. No one wants to hear how my Mom is dead, no one wants to have that sickly sad feeling in their stomachs when they think of how it would be to lose their own mother. I get it.
And yet, here you are, again, reading my stories.
Since you're here, I'll at least attempt to entertain you. Brace yourself.
I can't call Mom.
I can't see her.
I can't hold out my arms and embrace her.
And I'm still fucking pissed about it. I thought for a while that things were changing, that I was slowly coming to accept that Mom is dead. I read another article about the stages of grief yesterday, and this one said that you will swing back and forth between anger and depression quite a lot. Well, I'm angry and I guess I'm depressed. Oh shit, the Cranberries just came on--where's the damn remote?
The other day I was cleaning out my top dresser drawer, the one with all the loose socks, and I found a neatly folded piece of paper. I unfolded it, wondering what it was and why I had kept it tucked away in my drawer. The handwriting was Mom's. It was a note giving me permission to ride the bus home with one of my friends, Amber P. The small folded slip of paper was in among the notes to the tooth fairy and the little extra button bags holding my kids' teeth.
When I was young I remember going into my parent's room and taking Mom's wooden jewelry box and going through its contents. I was careful not to take anything out or move things around. It had a tray that you could lift out. When I looked underneath I found teeth. Baby teeth. Our baby teeth. They weren't labeled or anything, just there in the bottom of her jewelry box, hidden away. I'm sure that she treasured them dearly. I don't keep my kid's teeth in the bottom of my jewelry box, they've been in this top drawer with my socks and scraps of paper with notes written by Mom. One day my kids will go through my stuff and marvel at their baby teeth in the tiny extra button bags, ziploc bags with instructive notes to the tooth fairy, and the tooth-shaped containers on necklaces that they give you when you lose a tooth at school.
I don't like to think of the terrible mixture of emotions that my girls will go through when I die. But death is inevitable. I cannot keep it from happening. But maybe I can lessen the blow. I want them to be as prepared as possible when I die, if that is even something that can be accomplished. I just have to tell them everything they ever need to know about life, love, and the world before I go.
Don't worry, I'm not going to preface these lessons with, "This is what I need you to know and remember for the time after I die." Having a conversation with someone right before immanent death is hard enough, so I don't want to complicate the lessons by initiating them with the constant reminder that I'm going to die.
I wore my scarf with the pocket on it to work the other day. The aquamarine one that Mom made me. I showed it off to my coworkers who said that she could make a fortune on the scarf-pocket thing. But, as I am apt to do, I opened my big mouth and said, "She's dead. Sooo...." I have told them how my mother passed, and do not mean to be callous, but sometimes I wonder at my subconscious intentions when I say shit like this. Do I want these people to pity me? Not really. I just want everyone in the world to realize that my Mom is dead and to speak accordingly. Like the fucking dentist who told me to take my tooth they wanted to pull and give it to my Mom. No, bitch, I don't feel like digging her up and giving her my last baby tooth. Can't you just make a note in my chart that my Mom is dead and you shouldn't bring it up?
I told my friend at work, who's mother had just passed away, that I didn't know quite what to say to her, "One day I got up and went the whole day without thinking about it." It doesn't matter if you are 25 or 65; when your Mom dies, it hurts. It doesn't matter how old your Mom is, you're still going to miss her and your heart will ache when certain days roll around again and remind you that she's gone.
So, if your Mom is still around, don't take it for granted.
