The Last Mile

This morning, I had a really hard time getting out of bed. I felt fully awake, and part of me was pushing for a productive morning. That part, sadly, lost the tug-of-war. Gone were aspirations for raking the leaves, putting the garbage cans out, finishing the first draft of my book, getting to a client early. Gone. All gone. Bed and avoidance won the early part of the day.

I always check in with myself when I lose to lethargy, to make sure I’m not slipping into depression. I’m virtually certain that I’m not – my work is getting done, my house is still orderly (setting aside the leaves that will have snow on them in the morning…), and I’m feeling pretty energetic. So it took a while for me to figure out what was going on – what my body was trying to tell me.

Finally, I realized what it was. Three years ago today my mom had a massive stroke, which led to her death less than two weeks later. Hard to believe it’s been three years already. Often, I feel like I should be calling her to make sure she’s doing well, or to see if she needs me to pick something up for her at CVS before I come to visit.

For a few minutes, I began the downward spiral toward deep sorrow. Mid-slide, I stopped myself. It’s not really how I feel these days.

I’m able to think of my mom with much joy most of the time. With a smile on my face, as I remember the puns she made while in the hospital. Shaking my head in wonder as I remember my sister doing the New York Times crossword puzzle with her, sitting at her bedside. Misty-eyed, but incredulous, as she and her best friend of almost 70 years sang together just a few days before she died.

My mom was a tough broad. She was resilient. She was brilliant. She was funny. She could tell a mean joke. I loved her immensely. I always will.

376441_2566489076295_129228500_n 10610782_10204340542488449_7040248519351168073_n

About armsakimbobook

I'm a mother, a lawyer, a feminist, a writer, a potter, and an inveterate and unapologetic New Yorker. My book, Arms Akimbo: A Journey of Healing, tells of my journey of healing over a number of years, learning to live a full life after I was molested by my father at a very young age. I live in Medford, MA, part time with my 11 year-old daughter and full time with our dog, Toast, and our cats, Samson and Hercules.
This entry was posted in Grieving, My Mama and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Last Mile

  1. Deb S says:

    Wonderful piece. I will never forget being there when Beth said the vidui for her.

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s