Joy and Sorrow

As of 6 years ago, this day is always going to be a day of joy and sorrow for me.  My son was born on this day, and though it was scary at the time, it was the biggest day of joy for me.  I can still 'feel' in my hands what it felt like to hold him for the first time.  I can remember how easy it was to make him laugh and giggle as he grew up.  He was the one who taught me that learning never stops and how to 're-see' the world every day.  He has grown into a wonderful man. He's a gentle giant (he looks like a Viking). He's funny, and smart.  Kind and an incredible writer. Each day, regardless of the stress involved, is a comfort knowing he's in the world.  He is a blessing.

Six years ago, I was at work.  I never check my messages during the day, but for some reason, I did that day at 11:30.  My heart sank, and I could feel my cheeks begin to tingle when I heard my dad's voice (who rarely calls my cell phone) saying, "Signe, this is the call you hoped you'd never get. Mom's gone."  The rest of that hour at work was a blur.  What'd he mean, 'Mom's gone?' She was coming home today.  That Wednesday, she had gone in for an asthma treatment, she had done that before, and was to come home on Friday.  I had just talked to her the night before and she was fine, a little tired, but fine.  I didn't understand.  The woman I work with took over, and I just remember being kind of 'packed up' and readied to go.  One of the principals had asked me if I wanted him to drive me, and I said said no, that I was fine.  I remember getting into the car.  It was raining (how appropriate) and driving 1/2 hour to the hospital, where my mom was on a ventilator.  My dad looked so lost and confused. It was the first time I had ever seen him cry. The doctors explained that her brain had shifted, a bleed of some sort.  She was on the ventilator until Sunday, when my brother flew in. It was all so surreal.  It all seems like a bad dream.

My mom was amazing.  A little powerhouse.  Quiet, and calm yet so determined to reach her goals. She had polio as a child and fought through that.  Her father died when she was 19, and she quit school (she wanted to be a nurse) to go to work and help her mom and 3 brothers. She was beautiful, and kind and generous. She gave piano lessons to the kids in our neighborhood growing up. She was an artist. She loved to garden, and play cards. She liked Bun candy bars, and shopping at Marshall's.  She read everything she could. She ended up going back to school and for seven years, I fell asleep to the muffled tapping of the type writer (yes, type writer) as she did her homework, downstairs at the dining room table.  She ended up graduating magna cum laude with a degree in Library Science, and three days after graduating she got a job as a school librarian and worked there until she retired.  She loved working with children.  She loved decorating the library. She was so precise in her work.  When she carved a turkey, it was with a surgeon's precision.  She was such a mixture of talent and personality.  I miss her every second. 

She loved her grandchildren.  She loved watching them grow and learn. She would be proud of both of them, today.  Thinking of her makes my daughter cry sometimes.  Not only the missing of her, but her feeling that grandma would be disappointed.  Of all the people in the world, she was not one to judge.  For her, love was a fortress, and once you were behind that fortress with her, nothing could take you away,  and she would fight for you forever, so regardless of your circumstances, you were loved.  Sometimes, I believe that if she were still here, her love would be the final pull that my daughter would need to stay sober.  At any rate, losing her, has been a lesson in so many things.  Most importantly, never, NEVER end a conversation with anything but 'I love you,' because you don't know if it will be your last words.  Along with that, anger, and resentment are pointless.  The only thing that matters is love and forgiveness.  I don't think about money, or house or clothes when I think of my mom.  I think of how much I love her, and how grateful I am that our last words were, 'I love you.'  No regrets.  I want my words to my daughter and son to only carry love.  Life carries enough hurt without me adding to it.  So, my mother's legacy is to be kind, work hard, never give up, enjoy a candy bar now and then, and never forget to say, "I love you."