Two years ago today, my mom left her house in the early morning for a doctor’s appointment, and never came home again.
It is and was as unexpected and sad and shocking as it sounds. All she had was her purse. Hadn’t even had breakfast, because she’d thought she’d be right back. But, she never came back. And because this happened to coincide with the arrival of Covid here in the U.S. and the first big wave, she never got to see my dad, or me, again, despite being in the hospital for almost two full weeks; no visitors were allowed, and by the time we were given special permission to see her, she was unconscious, and truly and unequivocally dying.
I don’t share this to be a bummer, or to rub my sad on anyone else, but because I realized this morning, after I was feeling overall exhausted and heavy and wondering what the cause was, that probably this memory — this date that is seared into my brain as the first page of my mom’s last chapter — forever looms over me. And also, because I still can’t get over the fact that my dad thought she’d be back in an hour or so. That he was waiting for her to come home. That life — our lives — can change in an instant, with no warning.
It’s humbling, to say the least. (Almost as much as the [completely unrelated] recent images of the universe, thanks to Webb.) Puts a lot into perspective, though admittedly it’s easy to forget for the convenience of the moment. To heave off that reminder and incredible weight that is the truth that nothing — no second of this life — is guaranteed, and instead get caught up in the every day minutia, or the assumption that you’ll see whoever you love again soon. If my mom’s life is a reminder of anything for anyone, I hope it’s to tell the people in your life that you care, and to tell them as often as humanely possible.
So, here I sit, and instead of my mom’s voice on the other end of a call, asking me what I’m doing or annoyed that I didn’t respond to her texts, I have… stuff. Momentos. Things I don’t know what to do with, but can’t bear to part with.
Like her pillow and favorite blanket, which are nestled in the same tote bag I’d stuffed them into when I left her house to come back to my own after she’d passed. Almost in the exact same spot of my bedroom, even.
Like the random recipes she’d mailed me, that have notes from her scribbled on them. Sometimes it’s nice to still see her handwriting.
Like her purse, that same one that she took with her to the hospital in 2020.
I don’t know what to do with these items, to be honest. It’s all that remains of her day to day existence. Of the her before cancer left its mark, and before the impact of the pandemic stole her chances.
It’s easy for me to say, in broad strokes, that July is my least favorite month, and that it contains so many of the worst mile markers of my life. And… I mean, it is, and it does. Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile, though, that it’s also a month that contains undeniable GOODNESS related to other areas of my life. Birthdays of people I cherish, an anniversary of adopting my dog (who is practically a human herself, don’t tell me otherwise), etc. I know I’ve talked about this before, but life is so much about that duality — things can be both difficult and wonderful. A month, or a date, can contain multitudes, and they don’t negate or diminish all the different feelings associated. Two things can be true at the same time. Just like I miss my mom, and can also recognize that her passing has helped me (forced me?) to become a stronger/more resilient/self-sufficient person than I frankly ever wanted to be. (Would I trade that to have her back with me? Um, yes, of course — in an instant.)
Long story short (LOL), hug your people. Try your hardest to take nothing — none of it! — for granted.
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Have a great rest of your week, friends! If you relate to any of this, leave a comment, click the heart button, share on social media, and/or shoot me a note. And…. I’ll try for some *lighter* content next week. 🫠 In the meantime, I’m cheering for ya.
On an unrelated note, if you’re looking for a good book, I must — must! — recommend Every Summer After by Carley Fortune. It’s so, so wonderful, and a perfect read for lounging on a summery day.
Thanks for reading,
Joelle
Hug your people!! ❤️ Once again I am amazed at how eloquently you translate these thoughts and feelings into words on the page. Thinking of you during this complicated month and all the feelings that come along with that! Life is so full of highs and lows, and it has seemed especially like that since 2020. Your mom would be so proud that you are keeping your writing projects going!