Dear Mom
I often feel like a bad daughter as I do not remember the day of your death or the day you were born from the top of my head. Some are even able to recite the hour of which they left our world, but I can only remember where I was when I received the news.
I honestly don’t think I ever went into detail..
At this point in time, I believe I have been in remission for a few months. I wish I had a better grasp about the events that happened, as my memory is a chaotic mess of disjointed images that could be from two different parts of the same year, or even years apart. As the years progress, I find myself unsure about the order of events but I am at least granted the comfort that I do have people in my life who could tickle my memory enough to correct everything if only enough to get the details right. You can say I created this so these events can never be forgotten, but that feels very self centered and not genuine at all. At least, not to me.
Your cancer had taken hold fast, and hard. It felt like, from one moment to the next, you were in hospice getting ready for your end of life care, and I was just beginning to grasp the fact that you weren’t ever getting better. My last celebration with you was most likely my 15th birthday, as I believe I was still in treatment for my 14th. You were already in the hospital by the time I received the news about my remission. There was, however, no real reason to celebrate. Not without you, because I probably wouldn’t have made it to the end were it not for your support.
And outside of you, my brother and my grandmother, I don’t think anyone else really cared.
I braved visiting you often. Every time Absal came to me about taking me to see you, I jumped at the chance, or at least, that is how I remember it – and that’s how I want to remember it. As a cancer kid, you aren’t allowed many visitors, and even when you were, there wasn’t anyone brave enough to come and see you. I didn’t want you expressing that kind of loneliness. It still hurts to feel to this day, as I have been hospitalized and left to my own devices. You deserved to know you were loved enough to see at your worst.
My last visit with you was confusing to say the least. As far as I was aware, our dynamic hadn’t changed, and I was busy being tired, and drained at home to be doing anything dishonest. I remember being excited to return to school, only for disappointment to sweep over me when it felt as though I was being bullied even worse given my choice to wear a wig. Maybe I had a crush around that time, maybe my friends dragged me out of the house a bit, but I didn’t chase boys, or even know what I would do with a boy if I did. I was in and out of hospitals for a little over a year, and soon had to swallow the idea of my mother going through the same thing – boys were the least of my concerns. Yet my supposed guardian was filling your head up with lies, leading you to feel more inclined to comfort me, and forgive me rather than come to terms that we would no longer be together…
No longer be on the same plane of existence…
That wasn’t fair to you. That wasn’t fair to me. And that is why I will always hate that woman till the end of my life.
I wish I could remember the bit of words you shared with me. The only thing I can recall is your intentions, and I know you didn’t want me to feel wrong or guilty for the way I might have been acting, and you wanted me to feel accepted above all else. While it was love that you shared, I can’t forget what urged you to speak to me, nor is it easy for me to realize that your mind was probably filled with other things rather than your situation. You were dying. mom. She couldn’t even give you the decency of passing away peacefully.
I hated how young I was. Had I understood what was happening, maybe I could have saved us from having such a shitting end.
Three hours later, I was at home – in our room, just reeling and trying to sleep when Absal called me. He had to return because you died in your sleep soon after. Gone, just like that, and your last day on earth was worrying about me. Me. When I was a homebody, safe and healing. I hate how much it still tears me up inside.
What’s worse is that I haven’t even been able to visit your grave. Not once have I seen your final spot. To be honest, I don’t think anyone wanted to hurt me by asking, and I, raw from your loss, just wasn’t brave enough to ask. How could I have let more than 20 years pass without seeing you again?
If only I could change that right this moment, but I can’t… and I hope I can see you sometime soon. And my sister, grandma and uncle. Have a little graveyard reunion. Would that be very goth of me?
Today marks another year that has passed since you left this world. If nothing else, I hope that this blog can bring some honor into your memory, because it always felt like people forgot you far too soon far too fast – leaving me stuck here, reaching for my smallest memories of you to write down so that I can never forget them.
I just wish they were a bit happier.
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