Mom,
You are here and you are gone. Your body is here and even though it has been ravaged by Parkinson’s or Lewey Body Dementia you remain the stalwart you are. Your brain is fading away though and it has been so hard and unfair to watch. The little d*cks are building big d*cks to go to Mars but medicine can’t figure out what you have or what to do about it. I posit that maybe it’s for two reasons - one, there isn’t money in healing people (there is, it’s just not a quick hit) and two, population control. These thoughts courtesy of my overactive imagination you let me feed with books, and the very fancy education you busted your buns to make sure I received. I know that practical, rational Mimi BP (before Parkinson’s) would be both proud of my brilliance and at the same time rolling your eyes at my lavish imagination. Having a child like me - creative, sensitive, emotional, artistic - must not have been easy in contrast to your no-nonsense, let’s-get-on-with-it worldview.
But I have to tell you yesterday was a sh*t show, literally, and I just wanted my mom to come and fix it. It dawned on me that I feel exactly like my baby, the stage-5-clinger baby koala who is very cute but must be physically touching me at all times. I tried to tell her that she is her own person and I am my own person, can I put you down? No.
The day started with the baby screaming bloody murder upon awakening and fighting the entire morning routine. This was followed by an argument with the oldest about playdates that involved an admission on my part that people suck and ended with my request for her to please stop talking so we could just be quiet. I returned home from the first school drop-off to find my son’s ostomy bag exploded everywhere. I told you, literal s-show. Not even a bath could help calm him down, but we got all cleaned up with a fresh ostomy appliance and took breakfast to go in the car to get to school on time.
I then went to a wonderful coffee meeting. My phone was on vibrate in my purse. School, hubs, nanny called multiple times - I missed them all. My son threw up at school. I felt like a heel for missing it. It was handled, but I still feel like I let them all down. I have a mini-computer in my pocket that makes me accessible at all times and I missed this! If there was an emergency at school when I was little, someone had to call the physical therapy department, speak with the lovely officer manager Joann, and track you down somewhere in the hospital. You still would have been there in ten minutes. The day ended with a hole in your oldest granddaughter’s tooth!
Mimi BP would be the third emergency contact on my list. Shoot, let’s be honest, the first. You would have handled yesterday’s vomiting incident with surgical precision and confident competence. I would have come home to a clean house, stocked refrigerator, dinner on the stove with another in the freezer. You made it all look so easy. You’d fix it. I can’t fix you and I don’t have much bandwidth to help. It is also very hard to watch the GOAT of moms shut down.
I wonder, Mom, did you pay a price for making it look easy and that is why you are now sick? Did we do that to you? Rationally I don’t think so, and you would tell me to shut the f up. But this mothering business is hard. And you did hard work outside of the home on top of being a mother. I now have a better understanding of what it’s like to be in a hospital, let alone work in one. What you must have seen and dealt with in that hospital and those nursing homes. I know you loved it though - never any doubt - and you never brought any of its hardships home.
I feel underprepared, Mom. Did you feel that way? If so, it never came across that way. I exercise everyday, like you did. I do yoga, maybe if you would have done yoga this wouldn’t have happened? The breathing? The calming? You swam. Doesn’t get more calming than that - there is breathing, there is the silence of being underwater, the rhythmic slicing of the strokes. You had a cocktail every night when you came home - just one - if you didn’t do that would you still have gotten sick? I don’t think that’s fair to say but “they” say it and so I wonder. I am not saying it isn’t important to watch and keep in check because for some people it can become problematic, but it didn’t seem that way for you. It was a ritual you grew up with in your household and yes, a stress reliever. It signaled the end of the day and a celebration of that transition from work to home. Yet apparently that’s bad and taboo now. Puritans and prudes you’d probably say. Europe doesn’t seem to have a problem with it, you’d add. They have wine with lunch!
And don’t worry - you know it is my tendency to wallow around with my brooding emotions. I am not underprepared because of anything you did. I just feel that way - it’s how I am wired. According to the enneagram and more weird sh*t I read and study, I came here this way, and some of it is a coping mechanism I developed (I know you are thinking, more of this drivel?). I just need to be reminded that I am in fact a good mother and very prepared. You are just not here to do that for me anymore. I have to tell myself. You were the high school cheerleader, I was not.
Please ease your mind, Mom. I learned from the GOAT. In watching you advocate for us, I picked up the way you spoke with doctors and medical professionals. I am able to do the same for my kids. And they have all had their fair share of hospitals and medical professionals. I am not afraid of hospitals because it was where you worked, and you loved your job.
I watched how you treated people with respect, assumed competence, and would not tolerate much wallowing around (maybe you tolerated more wallowing from me since I am your kid). Your patients loved you for it - after being through a car accident or transitioned to a nursing home - you treated them with dignity and assumed they were still capable and worthy. I need that everyday as I navigate the world on behalf of my son, and he’ll need it too.
I love to cook and our family sits down every night for a meal because of you. Before you got too sick, you doted on my oldest. I swear you had a grocery aisle of snacks and drinks in your car for the 10 minute ride from daycare to your house. You always kept tabs on everyone’s favorites and never failed to deliver.
I’ve often thought of starting a business called “Your Mom” modeled after you that would help new moms just be able to focus on their baby. “Your Mom” would handle the cooking, the cleaning, the carpooling, the endless coordinating. I want everyone to have a Mimi. You have enough going on, you’d say, maybe your oldest can do that when she grows up. There are so many things, Mom.
You are here and you are gone. I cried in my office while contemplating getting underneath my desk and curling up in the dog’s bed: I JUST WANT MY MOM! My friends heard, because you taught me how to take care of people and be a good friend and you took care of them too. They heard and they showed up. They sent dinner as if you were there to cook it for us.
I am the mom now. I am the one that has to answer the call. And because I am your daughter, I know how to show up. Not always in top form, I might add, but as your own mom would say after a day like yesterday, sometimes all you can do is have a drink (one) and forget about it.
Love you.
Friends, I am excited to share that I published my first article on Insider! Please give it a read and share with someone you think would benefit from the message.
https://www.businessinsider.com/down-syndrome-breastfeeding-baby-success-2024-1
shareable social image courtesy of Caleb Woods on Unsplash
Oh, Emily. I understand about a loved one who is here but not here. The longing for our moms doesn’t go away, but I hope you can take some comfort in knowing what a stellar job you are doing as a mom yourself. She’d be so proud of you. ❤️