I thought last year was hard! My mom was sick and in the hospital, dying of cancer. I put my step dad down as an emergency contact instead. “Grandfather” box checked under relation to student.
This year, he’s no longer my step dad.
Right?
My mom is dead. He’s getting remarried. So legally, there’s no relation. Oh, and we don’t talk anymore. So, there’s that. ☹️
My sister-in-law (my step-father’s daughter-in-law) whom I’ve deleted and blocked on all social media, texted me today to see how I was and said she’d hoped I’d found some peace. I still love her very much. She was my friend before she married into the family. I introduced her to my brother (step). It become apparent that my relationship with certain relatives wasn’t what I thought. My heart hurt. All the time. I removed everyone from that side from all of my social media to attempt to create a way for me to try to feel better. I’m still broken.
This year my son’s emergency contact list is composed mostly of people that are not family. I never would have imagined this would become our existence. My family was so big. My support system was impenetrable. The new additions to this list have been family to us – some since childhood, and some that have really stepped up and become such a huge, important, and beautiful addition to my life.
My dad is still listed. But he can’t drive anymore. He can barely see. And it’s hard for him to get around even with his walker. He gets confused easy and he falls asleep mid-sentence. Sometimes the truth is hard to swallow. And I know it’s time for his slot to be filled by someone who could be at the school within minutes in case of actual emergency. But, I keep his name listed with his number that goes to a cell phone he continuously loses – or drops – or turns on silent by accident.
In 4 days, Quentin will have his 8th birthday. It will also be the first anniversary of the last time he saw my mother alive. In a few weeks, she will have been dead 1 whole year. I can’t believe I haven’t heard her voice on the phone, seen her, touched her, smelled her, for coming up on a year. My very last moment with her was watching her go in and out of consciousness, repeating over and over through a large mask covering her face, attempting to help her get air, that she was sorry. I held her hand. I cried like I’ve never cried before.
I miss mother.
In an emergency, she was always the one I would call.
I miss my mother.
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