The Fifth Year: Without her here, I've learned even more.
On January 13th, 2017 I received a call that changed my life forever. My Mom’s heart was failing. I think instinctively, I knew this was it. My family rushed to the hospital to say our goodbyes. I was 21 and I still felt like I had just touched the surface of an adult relationship with her.
I remember holding Mom’s hand in the hospital as I told her what I thought to be the most comforting words for her to hear with her last breaths. I didn’t know what was to come. I didn’t know the loneliness I would feel or the pain I would endure without her here. I just wanted my Mom to find peace again, for the cancer to finally leave her, and for my family to get off this painful rollercoaster. And it did end. Five years ago today at 2 AM, all of that happened and it was a great relief that came at a terrible cost.
Since January 14th I have been looking for Mom everywhere, in everything, everyday. Consciously or not, I think I will be looking for her for the rest of my life. There was just no one like Mom. She taught everyone around her so much. How to live, how to laugh, how to love but she never taught me how to go on without her. I’ve spent these past five years trying to figure it out through a self narrative that is of a dialect I can hardly comprehend. A narrative sourced by a feeling I’ve always found hard to trust. My own intuition.
Sometimes, I fuck up but overall, this self curated narrative keeps me on the right path because I’m writing it and this time, I am writing it without her help, I am writing it all on my own. Five whole years of writing it on my own. It’s not been easy but I know that Mom would love woman I am becoming. She would love the people I’ve been meeting, the places I’ve been going and the obstacles I’ve been overcoming as my own guide. She would be happy and mesmerized. Mom would be proud. And that’s enough for five years to hurt a little less.
I will always miss her with every ounce of me, with that big, gaping hole in my heart, with that pit in my stomach every time I realize I won’t get to hear her high-pitched Brooklyn accent yelling at me to clean my room. And I will love her until I can’t, and then another five years after that.
