With Sympathy ... Happy Birthday

Last night I was putting away sympathy cards and commented to a friend how direly odd it was as mixed with them were birthday cards to me; my mom died the day before my birthday. The cards all stacked several rows deep covered my entire table with an array of colorful happy – sad scribblings. The odd mixture of birthday wishes clashing with sympathy expressions disturbed my heart so much that I gathered them all up blindly and promised myself to properly segregate them in the future. Honestly, I’ve not been able to read any of them. I’ve barely been able to not see my mom laying in the hospital bed in my front room when I pass it. The furniture has been moved around to block the straight shot of this illusionary view, yet, draped across my heart last night was the tender cloth of realization; this was my first birthday without my mom. It was odd to say that out loud to my friend and even odder to watch how long it hung like smoke in my mind. Mom’s cards to me were always thoughtful except for the times my birthday fell during one of our disagreements, and, then, the word daughter was oddly omitted and replaced with a generic wish—it was funnier to me than she wished it were but that was just the nature of our relationship and I never took her slights serious, or, perhaps, decided not to.

It’s been just over a month since mom died and I’m not sure how thick this sheet of ice is that I’m trying to walk across most days. What I know is that it’s hard to adjust from going to those nights from work to her house for our nightly routine. All of that is put away along with the boxes of leftover supplies. It was a surprise to know that the humane society is appreciative of having the adult diapers and chucks (absorbent pads) for their babies and sick animals. Wayne was gracious enough to take what we had leftover to them leaving me with one less thing to do right now. I’ve still not changed the contact name in my phone to read –dad calling, instead, of mom. When my dad calls me there is a false moment that takes me back to those random calls of hers when I would roll my eyes knowing that I had to answer or call back later (we all know what I mean); I need to change the name in my phone but not just yet.  

I’m not as relieved as I thought I would be that mom made her transition; the, wise, Monday Night quarterback in me is still replying the end of the game. Twice within a week’s period I’ve met complete strangers who are going through the same nightmares that I have. This morphine thing?! If you know what I’m talking about, please, private message me with your story.

The cards are put away and mom now resides in a beautiful urn on a table next to dad’s bed. When I asked him if he were still okay to be in the house alone he said, “Yes, I talk to mom every day and find things to do outside.” I’ve left the invitation open for my dad to move in (Cindy has too) if he does not want to live alone but for now I think he is managing well. We’ve not reached a new normal---but coming from an abnormal family, well; I think dad, Cindy and I will continue to do the best we can.

Mona McPherson