I can feel it happening. The way that giant void in my heart calls out to be acknowledged; the piece of my heart that died when she did. It's probably the Mothers Day cards and the flowers and the radio commercials reminding us to do something sweet for our moms that does it. My annual pre-Mother's Day break down is approaching, I can feel it.
And as I prepare myself for this season, I have this reoccurring thought: What do I wish I would have asked her before she died? And the answer is always the same: "What do you want me to do?" and "What do you want me to know?"
I watched her take her last breath with a new baby in my arms. I left the room before the hospice nurse could finish her official "time of death" statement. (12:09) I hugged my brother, I cried, I put my baby in his car seat, and we went to Steak and Shake. 12:30am in the hood somewhere, me and my brother and brand new baby ordered milkshakes and dunked our fries in them. And part of me will never forgive myself for that. Who has milkshakes 20ish minutes after their mom dies? And then I give myself grace and forgiveness, because until your mom dies, you have no idea what to do when your mom dies. I wish I would have asked her what she wanted me to do right after. Both short term and long term. What do you do? But as a mom, I know that if it were me, I would be so happy to see my kids going through life changing trauma together. I would feel proud that I raised two kids who love each other dearly and who would be able to support each other through the pain. I would want them to be together, to be somewhere where they could finally breathe after the worst day of their lives. I know her answer would be "go have milkshakes with your brother" but I wish I would have asked, just in case.
And beyond just what to do immediately after she died, I wish I would have asked her what she wanted me to do. In life. In motherhood. In relationships. What do I do when I miss you? What do I do when I'm sad? What do I do when I want to call you? You call your mom when you don't know what to do. And since I can't make that phone call, I wish I would have asked. What do you want me to do when my boys ask about you What do you want me to do on the 40+ Mother's Days without you? What do you want for me? I'm hoping that in the 27 years we spent together that I have a pretty good understanding of who she wants me to be. But I wish I would have asked, just in case.
And then I'd ask her what she wants me to know. What facts, details, secrets about her life or mine are important for me to know? What stories does she want to make sure I remember? What are her favorite memories? What does she want me to know about raising a son? What does she want me to know about love and marriage and people and family? What do you want me to know about you? Is there anything I need to know? One thing I wouldn't need her to tell me is how much she loved me. That's one thing I know to be true down the core of my being. I know that by the way her tiny, frail, cancer-filled body hugged me and said "I love you more than I love myself." I know this. But I wonder if there is more that I should know, that she'd want me to know....?
This Mother's Day I will spend loving on the two handsome guys who made me a mom, and celebrating the life we have. I will spend that day, and every day of my life, making sure they know what I want them to do and what I want them to know. I hope that when it's my time to go, they'll enjoy milkshakes together and make fun of my dance moves. And I will have done my job if they live their life with the unwavering truth that I loved them with every ounce of my being. But in case they forget, I'll continue to tell them "I love you more than I love myself" every night as they go to bed...
just in case.
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