As the year winds down to the end, I like to reflect on the events and people in my life. Since my elementary days I have always believed when the ball drops at midnight all that happened that year gets tucked away. The year is buried in a proverbial time capsule that can only be dug up in bits and pieces in the future. I like to take a few moments of silence to say good-bye to the year that was.
This New Year’s is going to be an exceptionally momentous farewell. I experienced a right of passage to full adulthood. This passage was completely within the natural order of things but extremely uncomfortable and difficult. this was the year I watched my mother die. This was the year that I celebrated every holiday devoid of one person. This is the year when tears would hit over things as ridiculous as using a dustpan and when I had the complete freedom to explore who I am as a woman without a matriarchal shadow.
My mother died of ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) on the day after my birthday in early February. Her disease was cruel and heartless. A victim of ALS loses his/her ability to move piece by piece. In addition he/she is left unable to talk or swallow. While the body deteriorates to nothing more than an immovable shell, the mind remains crystal clear. Trapped inside a body with no way of communicating one’s desires or pains leaves the victim at the mercy of the external world. Crueler than the end result is the degeneration of the body. On kids’ birthdays we had to puree the pizza and put a bib on my mom so she could join in the celebration. As she lost her ability to speak we had to gently tell her that no matter how many times she repeated herself we were not going to be able to understand. While she still had the ability to move her one good hand to type I had to ask her what her desires were for the end and her funeral.
I was able to tuck away the horrible progressive details of ALS in my last two years’ vaults. Last year before New Years my mom developed a stage IV bed-sore (down to the bone). It was extremely painful and unable to heal. We were told Mom would be dead by Jan 1st. Always contradictory, she held on, refusing hospice until mid-January. When the pain became too much she finally agreed to hospice, which included stopping nutrition and hydration. For eleven long agonizing days we sat vigil at her bedside in the nursing home. For eleven straight days we said good-bye and gazed upon her for what we thought was the last time. On the eleventh day, exhausted and emotionally wrung out, I kissed her and told her she needed to go. She wasn’t doing any of us any good hanging on in this state. She died one hour later while we were back at the house reminiscing while going through old photographs.
This is the year when I watched my father weep with his whole body when I delivered the eulogy at my Mother’s funeral and the year when we placed Mom’s ashes in the ground, leaving me the new female head of the family. I no longer have a female presence to notice when I’ve lost weight or to call when I don’t know what to do with the boys’ illnesses. I am now the woman my brother calls when he’s frustrated with his relationship or when he’s forgotten the date of an important event. I don’t feel qualified for this promotion. I guess this is what they call baptism by fire. I’ll get accustomed to this job with time, when my boys begin to come to me with their own girl troubles and when my meals become traditions on holidays. For now, I am going to tuck this new job in my latest vault. I’ll pull it out as needed, here and there, but I don’t think I’ll fully dust it off for a few more years. Maybe then I’ll be prepared to be a full adult.
