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14 Days

It has been 14 days, two weeks, since my beloved, lovely mother passed away. In many ways it seems as if months have passed since this harsh event has drained color from my life. In other ways, her passing seems so new and so recent, it is as if I have an open, bleeding wound upon my being.

What I am finding is that it is growing easier to ignore the regrets I have. In many ways that feels shameful for me to do, but in other ways it is a relief to not have the harsh reality of these regrets be at the front of the line of my thoughts and actions. Most all of my regrets have revolved around brief instances where I was not as kind and patient as I could have been during my role as caregiver. Please do not think I was an ogre, for I was not. But there were times when I hurried Mom through her daily routines in order to facilitate my getting to work that I regret deeply. I wish I had had the foresight to have taken more of those opportunities to savor my limited time with her. I did find many ways to do this during these last several years, and I did try to stay focused on helping her and I experience joy and happiness. Yet, inevitably I suspect, I did have occasions where I let external pressures from work, the pressures due to the needs of others, and my own selfish wants, to shortchange her and shortchange myself of the joy we could have shared together. I do not think it was incredibly often that I did this, but I now regret profoundly having let slip away any of those missed opportunities.

When I went yesterday to the restaurant my mother and I had dined at in one form or another during the last dozen plus years following the passing of my father, it was a melancholy experience, but one I am glad I did. It was important for me to let the staff at the restaurant know of my mother's passing. They had known her, and known me and had known my aunt especially well for the last dozen years. And before that, they had known my father as well. They were sad, and consoling of the situation and of my loss.

I almost did not stop in the restaurant. When I arrived there after the 40 minute drive, I first stopped in the parking lot of a nearby store and waited. I was not sure if I really wanted to go in. It felt like another ending. I waited for a fair amount of time before I convinced myself I needed to do this to show respect and love for mom.

When my mother and I went to this restaurant together, our selection(s) were relatively predictable. My mother typically select one of five different entrees: A) a waffle with strawberries, B) pancakes with syrup, C) a BLT sandwich on toasted wheat, D) a grilled cheese sandwich with catsup, or E) potato pancakes with applesauce. The majority of the time she selected the waffle or the pancakes, and only occasionally one of the other three. For me, my selection was even more predictable.... for 95+% of the time, I would order a turkey sandwich on toasted rye bread, and a soup and salad. Only on very rare occasion would I deviate from that order, and when I did, most of the time it was to order a stack of multigrain pancakes with blueberries and strawberries.

During those times at the restaurant, we had fun together simply chatting about daily events, about television programs, about news items or other casual topics. We often laughed and we felt at ease. These were very special times we had together. More often than not, following our dinner together, my mother would like to go to a nearby pharmacy to look at the cards, toys, and other items they had for sale, or to go to an also nearby dollar store to see their various items of interest.

During the last six months of my mother's life (as I stated yesterday) the actual travel was not possible given her weakened health. But the times were still able to be very meaningful and special. During the last six months when I would travel to the restaurant to get the meals "to go", we always ate the exact same menu item... my mother had a waffle with strawberries, and I always had the turkey sandwich and soup and salad. The staff at the restaurant was very kind in being willing to package each item of my mother's dinner separately... the Belgian Waffle in one container, the strawberries in another, and the whipped cream in a third. I was able to put the items back together (after heating the waffle in the microwave oven) in a way that was as beautiful as they would be brought to us when we could eat there. I think this made my mother quite happy.

I so miss her. I hope I expressed to her well enough, my love for her. I regret I did not do so more. I hope she knows and understands that I do cherish our times together and so wish there were more times left.

PipeTobacco