DEATH OF A GIRL
Would I be overly dramatic if I said the day my mother died all the color drained from my life, my world? I heard a woman say this the other day about her own experience when her mother passed away from cancer when she was only 10. I was only 8, my 9th birthday was 5 days away when my mother died of kidney failure due to Lupus.
In the days leading up to her transport from home to the hospital & subsequently her death, little did I know the turmoil that would ensue in my life -internally. On the surface it all appeared business as usual; a funeral, the decision of which aunt & uncle would assume responsibility for which child. What wasn't of major concern were the damaging effects of losing a primary caregiver on a child.
Tragic. A word Synonomous (in my mind) with my childhood. A place from which all my issues & shortcomings stem....a place where I was left to my own devices. To form my own outlook, my own ideology. It was an era of cluelessness. A time of unattachment. A time of no experience, but plenty of observation on my part. I think that is what saved me; my ability to observe & utilize.
As I look back on memories of my childhood I can say that all pleasant memories stopped for me the day we moved back to my grandmother's house, because my mom had become too ill. No way could I have known that she'd be gone forever. I remember in all the commotion of moving my cat ran away & my aunt didn't bother to get her so that I could take her with me. I can only imagine the hurt that I felt, because now I can't remember. We loaded up my uncle's truck with all our belongings. I remember my aunt cleaning the floor of our apartment once all the furniture had been moved out. I don't recall saying goodbye to my neighbors. I don't recall pulling up at my grandmothers & I don't recall unloading & packing our stuff away. I can recall not really being allowed in my mom's room as she laid there sick & vomiting. The one time I recall spending any amount of time with her, I stood next to her holding a bucket so she could throw up in it. She recounted a dream she had of the devil & how she saw his picture crushed up in the corner of a wall & I believed she said she told the devil that he would not get her. It could have been days, weeks or months when one day she was taken to the hospital by ambulance. The last time I saw her alive.
A few years later my older brother and I went to live with our Dad & his new wife. He never once spoke a word about her to me. It's almost as my mom never existed. My feelings on losing her were never acknowledged.
Decades later I'd have my first dream of her and she appeared to me the same way I had last seen her; sick & laying down. How disappointed I was to see her again unhappy & ill.
In the dream it was a sunny & beautiful day, I stepped into a row boat only to find her laying at the bottom of the boat, dressed in white. Sensing my disappointment she said: 'Kay what did you expect?' in a tone that was not consoling. I was hurt.
In my day to day life I have never felt a 'connection' with her, never felt her 'presence', as I often hear people speak of their departed loved ones. I had dreamed of her that one time (that I can recall) in 26 years.
I am 37 now, no children....not that I don't want any, but because I fear letting go & trusting anyone in my life long term. I cry uncontrollably at the thought of my mother, I tear up when I see young ones with their moms or even baby animals & how their mothers love & care for them yet here I am without a mother's love & caring. I try hard everyday to change my mindset and I've come a long way, but I know that that part of my life will never be 'normal'.