Once, I had a mom. She had red hair and was the most crazy cleaning, laundry doing person I had ever met. To say that my mom and I did not get along would be somewhat of an understatement. I think the best phrase to summarize our relationship is "the opposite of love isn't hate, it's indifference," (I read that in the book Something Borrowed). The indifference meant daily screaming matches, insults and flaring tempers. There was a long time when the very sound of her saying my name when she called would immediately set me on the edge of screaming. I used to wonder what it was like to consider your mom a friend.
Then, my mom was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer. She had a few surgeries, underwent radiation and chemotherapy. She got to keep her red hair. I wish I could say that our relationship was better, that we both realized the seriousness of her diagnosis and we cherished our time together from that moment on but we didn't. It was hard to close the gap that had been many, many years in the making. I couldn't forgive the years of hurt and I didn't want to. I was so angry with her. She fought with her body for 4 years. She bravely and willingly took poison into her body to try and stay around longer for us all. She kept the house clean, the laundry done and all of us fed like nothing was wrong.
Now, she is gone. Reduced to nothing more than memories and whatever lies in the porcelain urn in my bedroom. I forgive her now and can even let myself miss her- something I though I never would feel. It sucks. There are days where it doesn't feel real, days where I slip and say something about her in the present tense. And then there is that moment where the stab of pain comes- swift and sharp to remind me that she only exists in the past. She'll never plan a wedding shower for me, never hold my future children in her arms and spoil them and she will never be there for me to talk to. The only thing I can do now is keep moving and and find my way forward.
