Never said good-bye

I was en route to L.A. again this afternoon and during my layover in Dallas, I purchased another book. Throughout the weekend I finished "One minute after you die" so I knew I needed an another easy- fun read (I like to read something difficult followed by something fun). But it's interesting to me how these supposed easy reads turn out to be sad in one way or another.

This book is by an Author I truly enjoy, Emily Giffin. I often get her books when I go on vacation simply because they're fun, (Something Borrowed, Something Blue and Baby Proof). Her newest release is, "Love the one you're with". I was sure it would be a fun read about Andy and Ellen, the couple with the perfect marriage, that turned sour when she ran into her first love Leo at a New York City crosswalk. But of course, I was instantly reminded of what it's like living without a Mother and Father. The main character, Ellen lost her Mother when she was 13 to Cancer and brings it up in every chapter. Now, a successful adult she still feels haunted by the way her Mother looked towards the end, and the fact that she will always be categorized as Motherless. So then I found myself comparing her to my situation; I am Motherless, Fatherless and somewhat Brotherless. No matter what I do and accomplish in life, I will be pitied for this fact. Not pitied in a bad way, just the simple fact people will feel bad when they finally get to know me better and find out that I lost almost everything/everyone important to me in a very tragic way. Not cancer, or a car accident, or diabetes. I know it's wrong of me to ever compare my tragedy to what someone else is facing in their own lives. But I find myself almost envious of someone who lost a loved one in way that they were still able to say good-bye. (not that any loss is easy) At least you get to say everything you wanted to say to them, at least you get to say goodbye, at least you get to hold them so tightly and hear words from them that will help you heal faster when they eventually pass. I never got that chance with Mom or Dad. But no matter how anyone looses their parents, especially at the same time, there is NO easy way so please don't think I am being insensitive...it's just... I would have had it any other way.

My very last conversation with my Mother was on Sunday, April 6th the day before she died. We talked briefly about how much fun she had at her slumber party Saturday evening shared with her Sister Kim and her three children (Kim still has not developed the disposable camera that was used that evening, these pictures will be the very last that Mom was pictured alive, looking like herself and smiling). I quickly told her about my Saturday evening; Ted made Mexican for 4 of our friends, our friend Sarah made the best Molten Chocolate cakes topped with Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream and how I had drank too much wine (Jessie, our neighbor brought over a fabulous Spanish white wine). That was it. I am not even certain I told her I loved her. We had our normal daily conversation. Nothing special. The last conversation with my Father was actually the Wednesday prior (although, he was always in the background when I would chat with my Mother, like I said, they were never apart). We talked about yard work and how our front Ivy wasn't growing in like normal. He suggested I build a rock garden and tear the Ivy out (for those who know my Father, he was obsessed with rocks). He laughed and said, "load up your car like Mom and I did and go rock hunting." My Mother and Father would actually do that...they would hunt for rocks. That is another reason why they loved our home in Plymouth, MA. We were a few blocks from the Ocean and Beach which was perfect rock picking conditions. My Dad nearly broke his back as he rolled one up our driveway to have placed by our walkway. That was my Dad. I never got to tell him how much I appreciated things like that.

I cried all the way to the Airport this morning. Actually, the car is my most common and quite frankly, favorite place to cry. It usually starts with a song, but then turns into thoughts. Today was about the Holidays, even though it's only July. I was picturing myself sitting at Thanksgiving Dinner this year at the Close's (my parents were there last Thanksgiving) and I couldn't do it. After grace, I had to excuse myself. I couldn't bare enjoying a Holiday dinner without them alive. It was just a quick thought I had as I drove to the Airport but they're thoughts that scare me. What if this huge amount of strength I currently have all of sudden vanishes? and I turn into a hopeless mess who misses her Mom and Dad, and brother so much that it effects my daily joy? Joy such as Thanksgiving dinner. Oh how our Family loved the Holidays, now I am in fear of them.

I read about the CT doctor today in People Magazine (no-I didn't just buy it to read about Brad and Angelina's twins), who lost his Wife and two beautiful daughters, one year ago this month. They were tragically murdered by intruders. A year later, he has not gone back to work and is living with his Parents. He, like myself, never got to say goodbye to the most important people in his life. Mine were the people who made me who I am today and are fully responsible for my presence here on Earth. (and God, too, of course). I was their little miracle back in 1979 on August 4th. Knowing I brought them so much joy when I was born, even though that turned into some stress and frustration in my teenage years, makes me feel happy. Because now I often feel they brought so much more joy to me then I brought to their life but when I go back to the moment I was born, I am certain when the Doctor announced, "It's a girl", I know this is not true. I did bring a lot to their life and did for almost 28 years.

My lovely Mom and Dad........another flight, another book, another tear, and you being gone is still so painfully on my mind, however I still find a way to function in a very positive way and continue to try and make you proud. Thank you for the continued strength you give me, please give some of it to Christina and Justin. I fear they are not as strong as I am.