I can remember lying in that bed, in the room that I spent half of my life, in the same spot that she also spent half of her life thinking: "What am I going to be like when I turn 30? I'm not even going to feel 30. I barely feel my age as it is. I can't even imagine what my life is going to be like at 30. But one thing's for sure, mommy's gonna do something corny and goofy for my 30th. Then the following year, she'll turn 50. How crazy is it gonna be to see my mommy at 50? I can't wait so I can just marvel at how young she looks. She's gonna milk it for everything she can. LOL"
But then, right after that, the other thoughts come in. The doubts. The fear. The "What ifs?" "What if she's not here for my 30th?”; “What if she isn't here for her 50th?”; “What if all those stats I researched were actually true?” Try as I might, I could never get those stats out of my head: 3 percent of women who get cervical cancer get small cell cervical cancer, which is the most aggressive type of cervical cancer there is. Most patients have a 5 year mortality rate from diagnosis to death. “How many years will mommy have?” And then, after the tears and the prayers, the attempts to shake off all of those thoughts and remain positive kick in. “She's going to be here. Don't think about that. She'll be fine.” But she wasn’t. One week before her 47th, 3 years before 50, she was gone.
As this date approached, I started to think about how I would feel about the day. July 10th, 2012. Once she passed, the very thought of her missing so many milestones weighed so heavily on my heart that it caused my grief to be colossal. Time hasn't healed that wound at all, it's just numbed it. In three short years I've gone from complete denial and shock to a sort of state of being. The big days come up and I'm subdued. But, on a random day of the year, the grief can still swallow me up like a tidal wave. I may not shed many tears today, but when I see a grown mother and daughter out together, they'll fall. Whenever I think of what my children will be like, they'll fall.
Although my heart is always going to be broken and I'm always going to miss her, I can take some small solace in knowing that she's up there, celebrating her birthday, and being as happy as I know that she is. I know that she's up there, and she's bragging, and she's telling everyone she's 50, and how good she looks. And she’s talking about her crazy mom, and how she had to keep her here with us. She's talking about her handsome nephew who's going away to college next year and how proud of him she is. She’s going on and on about her adorable niece who is growing up so fast and reminds her so much of herself. And her baby sister, who she is so proud of and misses dearly. And of course, her loving husband, who I’m sure she watches over daily, while she waits patiently for the beautiful day they will be reunited again and this time, for all of eternity.
I don’t know what she’s thinking of me. I can only hope that in spite of my brattiness, my stubborn nature and my silly ways that I still make her proud. That I still make her feel like her sacrifices did not go unwarranted. I just hope that overall she’s proud of getting me to the point that she got me to. And seeing me through my high school, college and grad school graduations. Because I know I will cherish forever the fact that she was a part of every single one of those milestones. I hope that she’s proud of the work that I’ve done.
In our last conversation, she called me the love of her life. And, as I get three years into this loss, I realize that she is the love of mine. And they’ll never be a place in my heart that can replace that love. Not marriage or kids or anything. She’s always gonna be the first love of my life. She’s my best friend, and I’ll always miss her and I’ll always love her. And even though she’s not here with me, I know she’s with people she loves, and they’re all crowding around her telling her she doesn’t look a day over 25. And no amount of cancer, or chemo poison or radiation poison can hurt her now. And she’s beautiful, and she’s got that amazing smile, and her hair is long and healthy, and she feels like her old self, and she looks amazing. Happy Birthday mommy. I love you and I miss you.
