Wednesday, 10 February 2010

I was back in the hospital today for my daughter's infusion, which means it has been seven weeks since I started this blog and nine weeks tomorrow since Mom's passing. In some ways it feels like an eternity since I've talked to her. I still find myself wanting to tell her things. I recently finished papering and painting my daughters' bathroom, and each time I walk into it I think, "I can't wait to show this to Mom." When my oldest brother sees it, he'll rave and ooh and aah like Mom would've, but he's over 175 miles away, recovering from surgery, and this stupid weather isn't conducive to travel.

In other ways it doesn't seem possible that it's been almost nine weeks since I talked to Mom. I can still hear her high, lilting voice announcing, "I'm hooo'ooome," and hear her giddy, childlike calling of our Shi-Tzu, "Kea, Kea, Kea." I called my dad a little bit ago, and since he wasn't answering I expected to hear Mom's voice on the answering machine. I remember now that I advised him to unplug the machine since it gets temperamental about erasing messages. I kinda wish he hadn't so I could hear her voice gently saying, "Please leave a message, we'll call back."

I still regret the last conversation we had in the hospital before the tube prevented her from responding w/ more than a head nod. I was chattering away about stupid, trivial topics such as what color to paint the foundation of my house next summer, and the snow storm we had just driven through. Despite being a communication instructor who teaches about interpersonal communication, when it comes to my personal life I can turn into a "Chatty Cathy" when I'm nervous or scared. And that last time while I sat on her bed, and she insisted I sit there on the bed w/ her rather than get a chair, I was scared as hell. I want to go back. I want a do-over. Yes, I did get to tell her why I loved her and why I was so very thankful for her, but that was me telling, not us talking.

When Mom got email a few years ago, we corresponded more than we ever had before. I still have a file folder in my email account labeled, "Mama Lucy." I re-read a post from 15 February 2007 where she talked about baking some oatmeal bread, making a quilt, doing laundry for my sister-in-law, and rescheduling her MRI b/c of an impending snowstorm. I want to go back, before she was sick; back to a time when we could just talk about normal, daily activities and intersperse our feelings of love and caring. I want her back, but that's not fair b/c then she'd be in pain again.