Dusky edwards

“Be who you needed when you were younger.”

I found this quote while grieving the loss of my mother, pregnant with my first girl.  That in itself, not fucking fair.

My son, just starting 2nd grade, had to be told that he’d never see his best friend again.  My husband had tried to explain to my boys that my mother had died.  They didn’t have much of a reaction, I was told.  I could not be there for the delivery of that news.  I was sobbing into my arm as quietly as I could in the next room.  “She died.  You can’t ever see her again.”

During that time, I tried to be who I needed when I was younger.  I remember overhearing a call or conversation that my grandfather was in the hospital.  I remember feeling so far away.  My mom had moved us to San Juan Capistrano, as far away from our dad as she could get it seemed, while still remaining in the same county.  Everything was wrong.  My new home.  My school.  My clothes.  My life.  I just wanted to go be with my grandpa.  I thought I could make him laugh.  I thought I could make him better.  My wishes, unheard.  Everyone thought it was best I didn’t see him.  He was too far gone and not the same grandpa that I remembered.  And nobody tried to check in with me after his death.  After the divorce.  After everything changed.  I was only 5.

Stability.  Never had it ever since I could remember.  Always wanted it.  I always felt alone.  Besides my brother Chad, no one knows what life was like in that house fresh after the divorce.  Chad’s gone.  My mom is gone.  My head and heart hold those memories.  They’re stuffed in a filing cabinet in the back of my head in a dark cold corner that no one ever really visits.  I prefer that space for them.

Tonight, I took my kids to see my dad.  He hasn’t been well.  He’s been in and out of the hospital and rehabilitation facility for over a month.  I’d already been warned by my brother Jay of some of the things he’d been saying.  I thought I was prepared.  I wasn’t. He knew us.  And much of what he always says to us was the same.  But scattered.  Meshed with him repeatedly telling me I needed to hide behind the curtain because I need to wear a robe (he does have MRSA).  Then going back and forth between “They took a picture….. they took….. a….. it’s a….. a…. picture…. they took a…. No…… No…… They took a picture of my….. heart.  No!  NO! Not my heart…. they took….”  All the while, he’s got this shake in his arm that he never had before.  His white hair, no longer in a comb over the way he wears it.  But, worn down, like an the old man he truly is.  My dad.  But old now.

I wish I hadn’t taken my kids tonight.  But, then again, I’m glad I did.  One thing I felt I never received enough of in my childhood was honesty.  I was kept from the real shit sometimes.  But, this was to my advantage I was repeatedly told.  “We want you to remember them how they were.” My dad was definitely off.  It even scared me a little.  We didn’t stay long.  I knew this visit was a memory that would remain with my oldest 2 kids.  I was conflicted.

When we got into the car to leave, one of them asked, “Will he be ok.” I could only answer, “I don’t know.”  I feel like my mom would’ve left it at that and then would’ve become lost in her own thoughts the whole way home, the car painfully silent.  So, I followed that up with, “I really want him to be ok.”

What ensued after that was something I craved as a child.  I could hear both of my boys trying to contain their tears.  I kept the dialogue going, using my own experience as a kid with this similar situation to guide the conversation.  I told them how i’d felt scared.  I told them how i’d felt alone; like no one ever checked in with me to see how I was.  I told them how I wished my parents had stepped away from their own heads to see if mine was even still intact.  In their own defense, life was certainly a lot for both of them during that time.  I told them that it was ok to cry and that I cry all the time.  I told them that they could always come to me and ask me anything.  They cried.  I cried.  I cried right along with them, something I rarely saw my parents do and never with me.

Tonight was tough.  I don’t know what to think.  I know how I feel.  And, now I know how they feel.  My mom came up a lot tonight with my oldest.  This tells me that he hasn’t fully dealt with her loss fully.  It tells me I need to step it up.  It assured me that I’m doing a decent job.

My parents weren’t perfect.  Neither am I.  But, I am seeing so much for the first time.

“I have traveled through madness to find me.” -Danny Alexander

“Your gonna be happy,” said life.  “but first I’ll make you strong.”

I told my dad i’d see him in 2 days.

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