In life, I avoid the crazy ups and downs and upside downs that are associated with chaotic events and places, chaotic people, roller coaster rides, etc. I don’t like being upside down; if God intended me to go upside down He/She would have given me the natural ability to do so any time I wanted. But He/She did not, ergo, I do not enjoy going upside down. This applies to my emotional well-being, as well. I mean, really. I was doing pretty well the other day, as you may have read, and I was happy about that – although I knew it wouldn’t last. And voila, it didn’t. Not that I’m a mess today because I’m not. I’m doing pretty well at keeping the messy cry at bay. But I drove past the hospital on my way to Starbucks and it just made me start to think and remember. I saw my dad yesterday; he’s having lunch with his best friend and my mom’s best friend’s husband next week. That thought brought tears to my eyes. I know what it’s like to suddenly lose your best friend; you lose a sister, not just a friend and it is a void that you will always feel in your life. That’s how that woman feels right now, and my heart hurts for her.
I cringe a little bit every time I drive past one of those damned hospital signs. I do my best to ignore them but it’s pretty hard when they’re sitting right next to or below a stop sign or a street sign. WTF. As if someone who is on their way there in an emergency will notice the sign? Please. I don’t think so. People use GPS, not those stupid blue signs.
For some reason, I am holding onto a few physical things from those days at the hospital and I have found it pretty impossible to put them in the trash. Receipts from the hospital cafeteria, the business cards of two of the doctors that saw my mom – including the one that managed her case. I don’t need any of it and it’s just a reminder of what it was like to sit in that glass enclosed cafeteria, eating not very good food, giving my dad time to sit with my mom alone; not good memories. Although there was that guy at the next table that one time, with the jacket that had a HUGE picture of Scar Face on the back and was covered in a pattern of hundred dollar bills – looked like camouflage from afar, but it was not; he made my snack time a little more bearable. I hold onto it because I don’t want to let any of it go. Letting it go is like letting her go and letting go of the last time I was with her and she was alive. Well, I guess I use the word ‘alive’ loosely. She wasn’t really alive those last few days. She was alive when she was responsive and bitching about the tube down her throat and asking when she could leave. That was my mom when she was alive. The body, the shell, that laid in that bed and didn’t look at anyone and didn’t make not so nice gestures when trying to say how she felt about being there, that didn’t feel like my mom anymore. I’ve heard that, when it gets to that point, the spirit leaves the body and remains close to it because they are still tied together; I never felt like she was in the room after there was no sign of life any more. But who knows, maybe she was there. And if she was, I am pretty sure she was rolling her eyes and had her hand on her hip saying things like “you have got to be kidding me” and “sweetheart, why are you still here” and “at least when I wasn’t on this damned machine they let me eat something, this liquid stuff is crap”. I hated her bitching and moaning when she was alive but now, there’s a part of me that misses it.
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