You Just Do It

Today I wish she was still here, just to be here for the day-to-day stuff.  Rob and I keep talking about buying a house, and I know that no matter where we lived or what type of house it was she would still find something to complain about – the color of the kitchen cabinets, the size of the rooms, the layout of our furniture.  And I think he’s starting to consider getting married one day; I know that no matter what type of ring he bought me, she would find something to complain about – the size of the stone, if it wasn’t a diamond I know that would be a huge issue, how he asked me, the setting.  My sister and I are, largely, going to make Easter dinner. Granted, if she was still here and well enough she would do it so there’d be general complaining about the stove, the oven, the pot that she uses to make potatoes in, and how my father sets the table incorrectly.  But if she wasn’t well enough to cook everything, I  would hope that it would be much like Thanksgiving – she appeared to be grateful for the help, so there wasn’t too much complaining at least not to our faces.  Which was nice.  And I wish she was here for Emily; she learns so much so fast, and is always doing or saying something new, I wish she was here for it.  Emily learned about dinosaurs at school last week and has started to randomly yell one of our names and roar at us, sometimes chasing us around. And it’s awesome and I wish she could see it.  My dad did, which is good.  Just wish I knew that she did.

I think about how I went through the days that followed her passing away – telling people, going to the funeral home, picking out her clothes and jewelry, picking out pictures, my own clothes. And sitting through the funeral and wake, looking at her in the casket and not really being able to comprehend that person that was in there was my  mom. It didn’t feel like it was my  mom until it came time for them to close the lid and never look at her again; to me, that was just a body now, she was gone.  I don’t know how I did it.  How I did it and how I’m still here to tell the tales of it with some semblance of sanity; there were times when I just didn’t know how I was going to get through the next 10 minutes, let alone three months. There were times during the wake that I thought to myself “please, don’t let another person come in that wants to tell me that my daughter was the joy in my mother’s life” because I busted into horrible, ugly tears every time someone said that to me. I often wonder how people did it; my best friend did it when his father died two months earlier, I have other friends who have done it over the years.  And I guess the answer is – you just do.  You pick yourself up, and those around you, and you do what has to get done because what the hell else are you going to do?  You can’t just sit there, staring at a wall, as your parent’s funeral is going on.  You have to be there. You have to see people, call people, dress appropriately, pick out the right flowers and the right music.  You have to do something to make yourself feel like you are doing one last thing for that person because you will never really be able to do another thing for them and that realization, when it hits you, sucks hard and hurts even harder.