Damages dumping

I've been a bad bad blogger.  I have neglected you, and for this, I am sorry.  (4 Hail Cthulu's while kneeling on rice in frog-tie)

Okay, now that we have that finished, I'll get on with the blog.

I'm in a very "blah" space right now and have been trying to figure it out.  Sometimes, I just need to vent/unload all of the yuck that builds up within...unfortunately, it's not always easy to find.  Often, it's subconscious, so I have to pick and sort through it until I find the nasty little splinter of truth.  Then, I have to yank it out and spew all the infected spirit/energy/puss (sorry to be so graphic, but that's what it is and what it takes.)  After such a "cleansing," my mood usually starts to improve gradually until I'm back to normal.  Although this time, I thought it was the stress of what I willingly am putting myself through (if you don't know, don't ask - it's not that big of a deal and many people have been through MUCH harder things.)  However, the continued lowered energy level and dour outlook are not normal for me and I knew it was time to go in.

And then I realized...a big anniversary is coming up.  In January, it will be 10 years since I lost my mom.  And next week, it will be 7 years since she died.  For those of you able to do math, you may notice a disparity.  We'll give a little history lesson, in the pursuit of transparency - and for those of you that think you want to know me better. 

My mother and I were very close. I know logically she wasn't perfect, but I couldn't tell you what her flaws were.  She was the perfect mother to/for me.  It's all she ever really wanted in life, coming from a broken home herself...a close, healthy, functional, happy family.  And she pretty much had it.  She and I got closer and closer as the years passed, until college, when we'd talk to each other every day by phone.  I have never even had a female friend with whom I was as close.  She didn't always agree with me or my decisions, but it didn't matter.  She always told me that she loved me and would support me whatever I did.  I remember as a child, once telling her (as children dramatically do) "I hate you."  I vividly remember her talking to me later about it...and telling me that she would NEVER hate me.  She would ALWAYS love me.  I remember trying to test her statement: "What if I killed someone...or several people?"  Her response?  "Then I would visit you in prison and tell you how much I still loved you, even if I didn't love your choices and your actions."  That stuck with me.  Her wisdom resonated through me and still does..."You HAVE to take care of yourself first...you cannot benefit or take care of anyone else unless you are whole and healthy."  "A smile will get you out of more trouble than you can imagine...but only when accompanied by a closed mouth."  and many, many more gems.  I can't put into words what she meant to me and how large a part of my life she was...but she was very special.

My second year of college, I was the victim of a gang rape by 3 college football players.  This blog isn't going into that, except as background for more about Mom.  It was over a year before she drug out of me what had happened.  She immediately got me into counseling, fought to make the university continue giving me my full scholarship, even though my grades had dropped dramatically, and did anything in her power to provide the support I needed to wake up out of my haze and fight to play an active role in my own life again.  With her help, I managed to get through the last two years of college, and planned to study abroad during my last semester in order to celebrate my victory of taking charge of my life again. 

I remember hugging her in the pre-dawn moment together we had while saying our goodbyes before my Dad took me to Europe.  She was crying, almost weeping, and I remember comforting her...telling her it would only be a few months before I'd be home again...and that since Dad was an airline pilot, she could come visit whenever she wanted.  She just seemed really scared, I remember, and I couldn't figure out why.  I had already been living over 4 hours from home for the last 4 1/2 years.

Two weeks into my semester in Maastricht (Netherlands,) she and I were talking on the phone (which we still did everyday, albeit for a shorter length of time,) and she told me she had to go in for "routine" surgery the next day.  Mom had a pacemaker (and had since she was 27 for a very odd, irregular heart rhythm.)  Every so many years, they had to go in and replace the battery.  She had been through it a couple of times before - outpatient surgery, through her armpit, and home the same day. I remember her telling me on the phone that she was scared...I remember reassuring her that it was nothing and would be over before she knew it, just like the other times. This time, however, the surgeon made a mistake.  I don't know all the details, but he was using a new laser and cut a hole in her heart in a place it shouldn't be...blood flow to her brain ceased for several minutes. 

We had just taken a trip out to a castle in the country where they stored our bikes for the University.  We all rode bikes through the tulip fields, just beginning to sprout tulips, laughing and making plans for Carnivale in Venice in a couple of weeks.  I stopped by the University's hub on the way back to the dorm to check my email.  There was a frantic note from my sister to call home...Mom was in a coma and they were trying to get a hold of me.  Time froze.  I can't even start to go into what happened and how I felt...it's still too raw.  The plane ride home the next day was a blur, even though I didn't sleep on the plane and hadn't slept the entire night before.  When I arrived at the airport, a family friend drove me straight to the hospital.  I remember hating how spread out Oklahoma City was.  When I walked into the ICU, I saw my Dad and sisters at the end of the hallway.  The girls were tear-streaked and frozen...my Dad just dropped to his knees, sobbing, and held out his arms to me.  I had to be strong for them.  And I was.  I only cried twice over the next couple of weeks.  Once, that night, when I sent the rest of the family home and stayed at her bedside, holding her hand and begging my Mommy to wake up and come back to me.  Once, in my closet, a few weeks later, after a meeting with the Neurologist that explained how very little brain activity she had, and how, even though miracles happened, the damage was irreversible and we could expect a vegetative state until her body gave out.

That was January of 2002.  I never went back to Maastricht.  I stayed with my family until the girls went back to school and Dad went back to work.  Then I ran away, so to speak...moved back down to Texas and in with my boyfriend, and created a completely new "reality" so that I didn't have to face what had happened.  I stayed in a state of denial for almost 3 years, visiting home very rarely, and not mourning...because how can you mourn someone still technically alive? 

And then her body gave out to a cold.  November of 2004.  I went home and helped with the funeral and arrangements.  Took care of the house and company.  Kept my sisters upbeat...we all felt it would be "wrong" to seem sad at this point, as we had had 3 years to mourn and assimilate what had happened.  After all, Dad had moved through his mourning, and was ready to date again.  And we wanted to support him in moving on. 

So that's where I'm at...still...constantly...stuck in an in-between...ever-mourning and yet, at the same time, can't take the time to really move through the entire grieving process of losing a parent, because of the time lapse.  So it re-surfaces every couple of months.  I embrace it for an hour or two, sob, think, write.  And get back to living. 

I've heard people say that it gets easier with time.  I used to count on that.  But so far, they lie.  It's just as raw...just as painful...and just as enveloping/all-encompassing as the day I lost her.  I have come to accept it as part of me and my life...my story.  I have some amazingly awesome moments and emotions in my life, and this is the flip-side of the coin, the "payment," so to speak.  Life is about balance, and I accept that I have to, no, I GET to endure this completely destructive pain, and as balance, I get a genuinely blissful existence most of the rest of the time. 

I am going to stop now...it's time to study...again. 

her poem: (written for her when she was still alive, but so fitting just over a year later):

The shooting star that streaks across
the diamond-dappled sky,
leaving its mark impressed upon
each star it passes by...
The trail soon fades,
but left behind, gleaming in the dust,
the memory of a life that shines,
and so,
you are
to us...

I love you Mom!