Mom,
I need to do laundry, empty the dishwasher, change the sheets on our bed, put the dog food into pre measured bags and make some chocolate chip bread for some sweet neighbors that are helping out with the routine of the kids. I have been up since 7:00am and tonight at 8pm I feel like my legs might fall off. My feet ache and there isn't a pillow in my near future. We've fed, bathed, played with the kids and the night time routine seems to be peaceful and easy. GG was so tired she let me sing Jesus loves me and rested her head on my shoulder. You would have loved it. Now i need to get to the busy work.
As I ironed my shorts for tomorrow- this weird memory came over me- as I watch you cleaning our kitchen, while I watched tv and ate Campbell's tomato and rice soup. I was four I guess. I remembered a much simpler time before you became an alcoholic. I remembered how you did everything for everyone and left yourself for last. What i don't remember is the exact time that all of that changed. I don't remember when something took over. I don't remember the day that you chose the illness over us. I do know how hard being a mom is and how being everything to everyone all of the time takes its toll. But I'll be always stumped on when it came to the "moment" of when it happened.
I guess that's why alcoholism knows no economic background, no ethnicity and is not picky about its victims. It took you away from me. You were my mother. For a really long time I just lived with the facts, as just that, facts. I mean what was I going to do? Argue? Throw myself in the floor? Blame any shortcomings on the fact that my mom wasn't present? Nope. You were an alcoholic and this is where it gets shady.... You were an alcoholic and chose to not be in our family or raise us. Or was it such an illness that the choice wasn't Yours? I've gone back and forth over those for 31 years. Ouch.
So last night as I was putting my shoes in my bag, I thought about the expenses for the weekend and how having someone watch the kids was a lot of money- about the same as my hotel room. I wondered how everyone financially traveled or took time off with kids? Their mom keeps their kids. It occurred to me that while I have stuck with the facts about you, or the lack of you-all of these years- the details have been seeping out in my life since I had kids of my own.
You died in the fall of 2010. You were found in your apartment alone. Liver. Alcohol. Alone. We hadn't spoken in years. You didn't know I was on year four of trying to have a baby. You didn't know that I cried everyday. You didn't know how mad I was. You didn't know that I had been on my knees begging God to bless us with a baby-that I promised him I would take the best care of. When dad called me early to tell me, I remember feeling this awkward feeling of relief. All those years of wondering what you were doing on the other side of town. Wondering if you would one day, kick the addiction and call me up- wanting a relationship. Those were gone. The relief of not worrying anymore. The relief of knowing that as bad as the situation was- it wouldn't get worse. This was it. The very worse. You were gone. More gone than you had been in those 30ish years.
I found out I was pregnant about a month after you died. Not that God trades- but i always feel weird about that timing. I had a surreal moment where I envisioned calling you and telling You, "we are pregnant!!! it worked!!! He answers!" That didn't happen. In fact, the seven months that followed were missing a lot of major surreal moments typically shared with moms while pregnant. We didn't chat about the baby name, I didn't get to tell you it was twins, then triplets. I didn't get to watch you explode with excitement or tears. Sure, I had this amazing support team of friends and family, hold my hand and pray over me. But I didn't have my mother.
When my water broke I didn't call you. You didn't meet me at the hospital and tell everyone what to do. You didn't call everyone. You didn't kiss my face and tell me that 29 weeks was great for triplets. You didn't hold Whit's hand and tell him we would be fine. WHERE the hell were you? When We lived in the NICU for weeks on end- you weren't bringing us food or checking on us. Driving on 35 at crazy hours of the night to visit our sometimes sick babies, celebrating Fourth of July in the NICU, Father's Day- you weren't there for any of it.
When we brought them home, you didn't video us. You weren't at my house baking a pie and you weren't with me to show me how to breast-feed or talking to me while I was crying, totally overwhelmed about what was ahead. You weren't doing my laundry, you weren't watching the babies while I took a nap. Other people were there and they were nothing short of miracles- but again, not my mom.
So last night I was prepping my final plans for this trip and their care--- and while I coasted thru life without your help all these years- I realized I need your help. I need you to love my kids. I need you to be a part of their lives. I need you to be a grandmother because while there are other people willing to do more than their share of your job- they aren't my mother.
I miss you and I am sad that my kids won't ever meet you. Never. I'm sad for them that despite all of the aunts uncles and cousins they have loving on them- I don't have a mother and they don't have a grandmother.
Alcoholism sucks. It left you with no choices and took everything from you. It took you from us. So while I may have never missed you in the day to day growing up. I do now. I miss not sharing this triple joy with you. It's an indescribable love. I wish you could see this. I wish you could feel these six small hands all over your legs saying "up peas!" They truly are miracles. Mom, you should have heard the doctors! They said we had less than a 1% chance of getting pregnant!
Three. Miracles.
I miss you.
