Mama's Moving

Mama's Moving
That is actually the title of a country
song my mom wrote. Yes, she used to write country songs, but more recently crossed over into rap music. Writing AND performing. I know it sounds crazy. And she is a little. But in the best possible way.

Last night I went into my mother's dressing room. Just to feel closer to her. I touched all her jewelry, her creams, her hairbrush. I smelled her clothes and buried my face in them. I went through everything in her nightstand looking for the letter I was sure she had written for me, telling me everything I need to know in life. Or a journal entry or grocery list. Anything showing me signs of her before she got sick. I read through packing lists and to-do lists and then I curled up in a ball on the floor of her closet and cried.

I feel like I am wading through a dream. A nightmare that I'm sure I'll wake up from. I look at this person lying in the hospital bed and think "who is this woman? That's not my mom." But it is her. It's just a her I've never met before. A dying her.

After crawling into bed last night, I read and re-read the 3 birthday cards she gave me last month. It's hard to believe that only a month ago we were out celebrating my birthday with champagne and charcuterie. I then began reading through emails she's sent me. Hearing her voice reading along with me and realizing this is what I have left. I've also been saving the majority of her voicemails for months now, knowing I'll listen to them over and over again. I stood in her shower and smelled her soap. I stole her hand lotion.

She has been unconscious for days, and every day I crawl into her hospital bed and hold her and cry into her neck. Tonight I touched my face with her hand and ran it through my hair and kissed her fingers. I wrapped her arms around me and hoped she knew she was hugging me. I wiped her one "good" eye with a warm washcloth and opened it with my fingers trying to make her look at me.

She was, she is, sensational. I've never met anyone like her. She has so many friends and people who love her because she is just so damn special and makes everyone she meets feel just as wonderfully special. People gravitate to her and her giant personality. She loves people and tries to get the life stories of everyone she meets. She has a calming way about her that soothes people and makes them feel at ease. Sometimes she embarrasses me with her lack of filter and inhibition, and now I feel guilty for ever feeling that way. Now, I'd give anything for an inappropriate comment in front of strangers courtesy of Alynne. I wish I was more like her. I wish I loved people as much as she does and gave more of a shit about their lives. I wish I had that magnetic effect she has on people. I feel like I could be so much better. So much more like her.

How am I going to survive without this woman? How? Who am I going to call for the absolute best advice on the planet? Who is going to buy me random, strange, discount designer clothes and leave them on my bed for when I come home? Who is going to buy me the ugly yet ridiculously comfortable panties, who am I kidding these are not "panties" but "undergarments", meant to replace my old ones that I'm supposed to throw away but don't? Who is going to remind me never to hold on to said old, torn or stained panties (a Capital offense)? Well, I guess she will. I really feel she will always be with me. I hope I will never stop hearing her voice in my head. And there's always the Long Island Medium :)

Now she's actually gone and I'm pretending she's not. I'm constantly having conversations with her and feel as though she's simply on vacation. My fear is that as of today I will no longer be able to sustain this fantasy.

The night my mother died, I asked everyone to leave the room so I could talk to her in private. I sat on her bed and touched her face and told her that even though I didn't want her to leave me, it was ok for her to let go. I had been reading these pamphlets from the hospice saying that it's important to let your loved one know its ok for them to pass on.That you shouldn't guilt them into staying alive, and many hang on because they are worried about the people they are leaving behind. So I decided to let her know it was ok. I told her how much I loved her and would miss her and what a great mom she was and about all the people who were waiting for her on the other side. And then I kissed her, said goodbye and left the room.
Not a minute later my brother came out to tell me she was gone. I will never know if she heard me that night (as I said she hadn't woken up in days) but I like to think I gave her the comfort she needed to pass on. My parting gift to my hero, my angel, my mom.