smrisme

I have posted this blog every August 21st for the last eight years, only updating the number of years that have passed. It’s my way of paying homage to my best friend.

Eight years ago today, at 9:30 pm, I lost the most amazing and meaningful person to me, my mother. Unless you have lost your mother, you cannot possibly understand what it feels like.

There is an emptiness, a loneliness, a sadness that no laugh, no music, no event and no person in your life can ever replace. You never again have the person to give you advice, to cry on their shoulder to give you the most meaningful and passionate hug you will ever get. No one can do those things for you but your mother. Sure, when I hug my kids it feels good and makes me feel needed and important to someone, but there is no love like the love you feel when your mother throws her arms around you, to tell you she loves you, to comfort you, or to protect you.

My mother and I didn’t start out as best friends. I was an oopsie child that was never supposed to happen, literally. My parents weren’t even married, and my dad was still married, although separated, from his ex. I also came later in my parents’ lives. My dad’s kids were already grown, and my mom’s youngest was 8 years old and lived with her dad. So, growing up I was not close to my parents. My parents and I moved to the bay area when I was six months old. My parents had only $600.00 to their name and a dream. A dream to build a life and future together. That included finding an apartment where the manager would let them live there free for the first three months on a “promise” that they would pay the back-rent. They took what money they had and started their own business. They worked all day, and brought the equipment home and would sit on the living room floor and work all night too. My parents worked their asses off to build their clientele and within a year had paid that back-rent to the landlord and moved into a rental house. Can you imagine asking a landlord that didn’t know you to let you live free for three months on a promise? I wish I knew where that man was today so I could thank him for giving my parents that chance to build what was to be my childhood.

By the time I was five years old, my parents bought my childhood home in San Jose. Not bad for turning your life around in five years. That is inspiration, that is determination, that is hard work, and that was what made my mommy my hero.

With the hard work and determination there was not a lot of time for me as a child, not to mention that because they were older (my dad was 45 when I was born) none of their friends had kids. I was always the only child at functions and therefore was mature for my age. It was hard for me to not have kids to relate to. The kids in my neighborhood were all much younger than me and I never really had anyone to talk to, play with, converse with. That is partly how my love of music came about. My parents were strict on activities and movies, but I could listen to music as an escape.

As I grew into a teenager the divide between my parents and I widened. Mainly because I was rebellious and they were incessantly strict. I was not allowed to go out and do anything after the proverbial “street lights” were on. Needless to say I started sneaking out to do what I wanted. Somehow I never managed to get caught, despite the fact that I was sneaking out almost every night. I thought my parents were out of touch and they thought I was too big for my britches. I was angry that they wouldn’t just let me “have fun” and they were mad that I just didn’t understand the dangers out there. A struggle that is sure to play out for generations to come.

Things started to change with our relationship around the time that I graduated high school. High school was an absolute miserable time for me and I had NO intention of walking across the stage. My mother cried and begged me saying that none of her other kids had graduated and this was important to her. I steadfast refused despite her pleas. I watched the episode of Beverly Hills 90210 where they graduated high school. I watched their smiles, the parents joy, and decided that if I could give my mother that smile, it would make me happy just to see it. I sucked it up and walked across the stage for her. I have the picture of us embracing and my face is beat red and covered in tears. Something changed that day between us, something changed during that embrace.

About six months after I graduated I started dating my husband, and we moved in together seven months later. After I moved out I became very close with my mom, perhaps it was the separation, or perhaps it was me growing into adulthood and my mother and I saw each other with different eyes. I started going to the house every night. We would do jigsaw puzzles, play card games, eat dinner together, and talk. I started enjoying my mother as a friend and confident and not just as a parental unit.

Fast forward six years. My husband had proposed and we were going to get married. We planned on getting married in our backyard, floating candles in the pool, etc. My mother and father went gambling at our local Indian casino on Christmas Eve and my mom hit a jackpot for $6,000.00 on a slot machine. She was immediately persistent on the idea of my husband and I getting married where we wanted with the money she had won. Despite her dreams of going to Alaska, Hawaii, etc., she was willing to sacrifice herself to make my wedding day a little better. That was the kind of person my mother was. So unselfish, so giving, so freakin’ amazing.

That dream vacation would have to wait another year, and again… rather than going to her dream vacation of Alaska, she decided that our first cruise should be to Mexico, since that is where I wanted to go. She said there was always time to go to the other places. So, in 2002 we went to Mexico on a 7-day cruise, followed by Alaska in 2004. We decided that we would take a cruise for mother’s day on all the even numbered years, and would do something simple on the odd numbered years. (In 2003 we went to Hearst Castle.) Unfortunately, time would not permit such dreams and aspirations.

How ironic is it that our last vacation together, just two months before her passing, was her one life’s dream, Alaska? She was sooooo happy the entire trip. So amazed at the surroundings, the animals, the wilderness. I look at the pictures from that trip and there is a spark of magic in her eye. Thank God she got to live out that dream and thank God even more that I was able to share it with her.

Around the time that my mother passed, my husband and I had been going through the adoption process. It was not easy for us. They delayed some paperwork and we slowly watched all of the other families in our group get kids while we sat waiting. I was so frustrated and wanting to give up and my mom would give me little bits of positive energy. She would tell me not to give up, that her grandkids were out there somewhere and she couldn’t wait to meet them. As part of our master plan, my mom was going to retire in April of 2005 and move to Fresno to help with my kids. As such, she came down the weekend of August 14, 2004 and we looked at properties in the mountains and in the city. We spent 7 hours in the car together, talking, laughing, crying, and bonding in a really amazing way. She didn’t find what she was looking for that day, but she made an appointment with a realtor for the following weekend.

The following weekend my parents came down together on Friday night. My mother and I went to play bingo, her passion. We had so much fun that night. We were laughing, and teasing each other. I remember at one point we stopped and were staring at each other in the weirdest way. I said to her, I wonder if I will get wrinkles like you? We both got choked up and looked down at our papers. For some reason, neither of us could say anything at that moment.

The next day, we went looking at properties with the realtor. We looked at a property in the mountains where a pad had been built for a house. My father and I climbed up on the pad to look at the view of the lake, but my mom wasn’t able to make the climb because she had been having problems with her leg. I remember watching her walk back down the hill with her head down and thinking “God I love her so much, and I wish there was something I could do to help her.” That was the last property we looked at. We went lunch and went back to my house.

She had found a house she wanted and she called the builder to let him know. My parents were personal friends of the builders and he agreed to meet her there on the next morning personally to sign the papers, since they weren’t ordinarily open on Sundays. After she hung up she asked me why I was laying down on the couch. I told her that I was thinking of taking a little nap. She said “well, if you are gonna take a nap, then I am gonna take one too.” She went into the room to take a nap.

The next thing was me waking up to the sound of paper rustling. Kinda like someone crinkling up a wrapper of some sort. I looked over at my mom and said, what’s wrong? Something on her face wasn’t right. She said “I’m hot.” I said, what do you mean you’re hot? She said I’m hot. Next thing I know, she keeled over onto the floor. I was yelling at her and she just kept saying she was hot. She asked me for a drink of water, but instead I got a cold wet towel to put on her neck. She yelled at me and said “I asked for some water.” I got her a glass of ice water and handed it to her. She held it up like she was drinking it, but she was literally pouring it over her shoulder onto the carpet. I yelled at her and said “MOM! What the hell are you doing?” I will never forget the look on her face. She looked at me with the most blankest stare I have ever seen and said “Huh?” I KNEW something was wrong and I told my dad that I think we should call 911. He said no, that she was having heat stroke and we just needed to get her cooled off. It was August in Fresno and my mom was very sensitive to heat, so I just took his word for it.

We told her to get up and go into the bathroom and I started the shower. She tried to make it to the bathroom, but she collapsed in my hallway. After a couple of minutes she said, look out, I am gonna be sick! She went into the bathroom and made it to the toilet before collapsing onto my bathroom floor. My dad was telling her to get up and get in the shower, but she was screaming that she couldn’t. He told her to just stand up, and she said “I can’t I don’t have any legs!!!!” My dad said what are you talking about? She said “My legs, they are gone!!!!!” Something about the shrill SCREAM of my mother’s words make me realize that something was very very wrong. I finally called 911 at that point. The ambulance came and took her to the hospital at 4:00 pm.

We waited for some word until 5:30 pm. They then told us that my mother was having a heart attack. The cardiologist said they were going to put a tube from my mom’s leg and clear the blockage. He said it was completely routine and she would be out in 30 to 45 minutes. During the time we were at the hospital, I let everyone crowd around my mom and talk to her, but the doctor said it was stressing her out. So I never really got to say anything during the time we were in there with her, and didn’t get to say anything before she went in for surgery. I just kinda yelled that I would be there when she got out.

Two hours later it was clear that something was wrong. At one point I had grabbed my husband’s thigh and he said, what? I said, something is wrong, she’s dying. He told me that I had to stay positive, I said okay. The cardiologist came out and told us that the damage was far worse then they could have imagined and that my mother had actually flat-lined four times during the procedure. He said that there was a chance the heart could heal itself though, we would have to wait and see. I knew he was full of shit, but what proof did I have? This man is a doctor, he’s been to medical school, he’s a cardiologist! However, none of that mattered. It was MY MOMMY. I knew something was wrong and I knew she wouldn’t make it, I didn’t care what this man with M.D. after his name had to say about it.

Sure enough, she rapidly deteriorated. Blood was coming out of her mouth and squirting on the wall and everywhere else. They did their best to keep her clean. I just kept looking at her and telling her that I needed her to fight. That my kids needed a grandma, that I needed a mother, that my niece needed her grandma too. I begged her to keep fighting, but inside I knew that my pleas could never be met.

At one point the nurse kicked us out and told us that they were going to do a blood transfusion. About five minutes later the nurse came out and said “you know that she is very sick right?” and my dad said “what, did she not make it?” and the nurse said, “no, she didn’t make it.” I will never ever ever in my life forget that millisecond in time. Those five words that forever changed me, changed my dad, changed Amanda, and changed my future.

The first thing I did after she passed was hold my mom’s hand. To feel the warmth, to know that she was still there, touchable. All I remember was saying to my dad “she’s still warm.” It was erie silent in my mind, despite the fact that was nurses and activity happening everywhere. All I could hear was my heart pounding, and wishing I could just hear her take one breath, one audible breath to know that she was still there, still fighting for me, for my dad, for us. Of course that breath never came. Instead I started getting asked about arrangements, and her personal belongings. It was like a movie. I took my mom’s wedding ring and left the hospital. Althought I don’t have a picture, she was laying there, so peaceful, so serene, like my mother, but somehow instantly an angel.

I went home that night and called everyone I could immediately think of. I was tired of telling the story after the third time, but everyone needed to know. However, the hardest part about coming home was that spot. That spot in the carpet where she had collapsed, the spot in the hallway where she got sick, the bathroom where they put her on a stretcher. There is nothing easy about having your mother dying in front of your face in your own home. I still won’t sit on the couch where she was when she collapsed. I HATE that couch to this day.

As most of you know, I got the call about my son TWO DAYS after my mom died. She had been waiting for months for me to get a child, and me never being able to call her and say GUESS WHAT!!!! That is the worst. I wish I could have heard that excitement, that yell, that scream. I wish I could have shopped with her for baby items, I wish she could have given me a baby book, changed a diaper, taken a picture with my kids. All the things that grandmas do. My kids will never experience that and that is a pain that is hard to deal with every day.

My kids know who my mother is in pictures. I have never hammered it home, never programmed them to know her, I simply told them “that is grandma in heaven.” It doesn’t matter if the picture is old or new, if she is alone or with others, my kids know who my mom is in every picture I have of her. When we go to the cemetary my son talks to her and says bye to her when we leave. The first couple of times it tore my soul apart, but it is getting easier. There are days when I will be driving down the street, NO WHERE NEAR THE CEMETARY and my son will say, “mommy, i wanna go see grandma in heaven.” The first time he said it my heart stopped and I asked him to repeat himself, and sure enough, he said it again. I can only assume that my mom visits my kids at night and they know her face, her presence, her love around them. How else would they so easily identify with someone they have never seen?

I guess I should wrap this up since it has taken me two hours to write in between the tears. Let me leave you with this. The symptoms of a woman having a heart attack are nothing like a man. There is usually no chest pain, no arm tingling. Please look up the symptoms at the American Heart Association and know them well. Although the doctor says no, I will forever live with the guilt that I didn’t take her to the hospital sooner, and that I didn’t know the warning signs of a heart attack.

To have that trip to Alaska, to have that seven hour drive with her the weekend before, to look into her eyes and mention the wrinkles, to watch her walking down that hill and have that immense and enthralling feeling of love come over me, all premonitions? Probably, but nothing could have prepared me for the loss of my best friend, my mentor, my inspiration, my mother.

Although my pain is never ending, indescribable, and parylizing on a day like today, I hope that I can inspire you to tell your mommies or daddies that you love them dearly. For when they are gone, you will never have that chance again. It doesn’t matter that “She’s in a better place” as people always say to me. The reality is I want her here. I want her arms around me, I want to hear her voice, her laugh, I want to hold her hand, see her with my kids, tell her my pain, my hopes, my fears, and tell her just one more time how important she was to me. I would give anything for one fleeting moment in my mother’s arms, one glance into her eyes, one moment to hold her hand.

This hole in my heart can never be mended until I see her again.