A year ago today my mom died. 14 years after the first inklings of the disease,
almost exactly 10 years after official diagnosis, 9 years after the major decline
began and 4 years after moving into Yaletown House.
People
keep asking me how life is now, without my mom. And honestly? I feel relief.
And at times I feel badly for that. But really, what’s true is that it’s not
relief that Robin Mitchell has died. It’s relief that the illness part of my
mom’s journey is over. That, that exhausting season of my life, is over. That
is all still true a year later. The first Christmas without my mom was so
great because I didn’t have this raging guilt inside me for wanting to be cozy
in my home with loved ones while she was alone in a hospital bed. The first
Mothers Day without my mom was actually about me! I got to sleep in and nap
twice! We wandered down to the river with my sister, our kids, and a picnic. Our
timeline, our plans, no guilt. Lots of toddlers, but no guilt.
Today
to honor my mom, my Dad, Dee (his new wife), and Jenna came over. We talked
about the different ways we were processing or marking the day (mine being that
I would sit and blog later to work through my feelings). Jenna brought purple
flower helium balloons for the toddlers (my mom loved purple and flowers). We
had a beautiful time of talking and reminiscing. We talked about grief, and
relief and moving on. Dee shared about her journey with her husband’s passing. The
sun was shining and it felt like we were healing. I am so thankful that we are
able to heal now – the illness felt like an exposed wound, never able to heal. The
grief that comes with mom’s passing has been hard, but it’s a part of the
process and I can see how much more whole I am a year later. More fragile than
before, but also more myself.
Yesterday
a few of my Mom’s cousins came over (2 from England, 1 from Victoria) and it
was a great excuse to get the house tidy. Seriously, that’s my life hack, and
part of why we have people over, it forces me to stay tidy! I need external
motivation, and as a social person, that’s wonderfully motivation enough. But
this time the cleaning felt a bit more important, a bit manic almost. I
realized suddenly that there was so much emotion for me around this visit
because Mom would have loved to be there seeing her cousins with her grandbabies
and would have been so proud of the home I’ve made and that I felt that it all
needed to be perfect, so I could properly represent us, since she wasn’t there
to represent herself. In a way to say, look how well my Mom did, she made us
and parented us, and we’re doing great. That’s way too much expectation to put
on any visit! Thankfully the cousins were so delightful, and Mom would have
been delighted to be there, even if the laundry hadn’t been flipped or
dishwasher unloaded. It’s funny though, in a moment, we can realize how our
emotions or motivations are never as simple as we think.
I
don’t remember what it was like to hang out with my mom before the sickness stole
so much. I have picture proof that in my late teens and early to mid-twenties
we hung out and hung out often. I can see that we laughed and cooked and
played games. I don’t remember what that was like. I remember so much about our
trip to Europe the summer we began to notice her disease (just small little
things) and yet I don’t remember what it was like to be with her on the trip! I
mean, I remember when she forced us to try to trick Dad into eating a slimy double-fish
sandwich. I remember how we paid her 10 euro each just to leave the boring tour
of Versaille (after hours already being there), and how annoyed she was about us
leaving. I remember how beautifully she planned this trip – with things each of
us would love. I remember how hard we all laughed together at 6am at the start
of our trip when we saw a sign that was supposed to say “step over sill” but
someone had added a y, so it said “step over silly” and it made us giggle for
hours….heck, I still giggle about it. I remember near the end of our trip,
after days and days of castles and museums, more than any 19 & 21 year old
would pick to see, when we saw a sign for a music museum in Venice and Mom
suggested we go in, we all put our collective foot down to which she said in
frustration, “I went to all the museums YOU wanted to go to” as if the many
museums weren’t already for her! There is this picture of us though, eating spätzle
at a tiny walled city, laughing and talking and this picture haunts me because
I don’t remember what it was like to be with her there. I can’t recall her
table habits or her style of conversation. I don’t know what we would have
talked about. I wish I knew.
I
miss Robin. I miss having a Mom. I have so many women in my life who play a
mothering role in my life but that isn’t quite the same as having my own mom. I
wish I had a date to mark when she left us, to mourn her; when my relationship
with her switched from her being my mom to me being the mom/support/adult. I
suppose that is what I can mark this date with each year. To make this the
moment to commemorate all that she was, as well as to grieve what was lost. And
to be glad she is no longer living in sickness but is free. Finally. And in the midst of all the feelings, I'm eternally grateful for these kids who don't give me a chance to dwell on hard things. They bring joy and love and cuddles. They are forgiving and hilarious. Snotty, and yet so sweet. These kids are a gift in the midst of a tough season.
With
this I close for the moment – Paul’s kept my kids happy for the past 2 hours so
I could process all this and write and pray and think, but the kids are getting
restless and nearing bedtime and I should probably go help my awesome husband
out. More to come tomorrow…the floodgates aren’t quite closed back up again and
I can sense that there is more here.
