I always thought we would have time to sit and talk. You could tell me things you had experienced that I was finally ready to hear. I could help you know how very much I had wanted you, loved you and believed in you.
You would care for me in my old age and do things your brothers could not do for me.
We could share our mutual love and pride in your precious children. That we could scrapbook old photos and divide them up for the kids to keep.
That you would finally know how deeply I loved you, no matter what….
…and then you died.
I wasn’t entirely surprised. The expectation that your addictions would conquer you was always under the surface of the hope that you would overcome.
The call that you had collapsed in the shower was the “fall of the other shoe” that I had feared for so long.
Your daughter and I rushing to be by your side in ICU just the first step in our farewell.
Being told not to talk to you or touch you so your brain could rest was nearly impossible while we wanted to scream, “Wake up!”
And when your eyes finally opened, seeing the sheer terror in them was hideous.
Your eyes screamed, “Help me! Stop this! Enough!”
And then you closed them.
The tubes removed, the monitors silenced and you rested at last.
Breathing on your own and sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
Only when we discussed moving you over so your son could lie beside you did you respond with three deep loud breaths.
“I’ll take that as a yes!” he said, and we slid you over for his snuggle and later, mine.
Your younger children blew you kisses over facetime and saw your lips blow kisses back to them.
And then through the power of cyber space, your husband, children and I were all with you and you were gone.
Yet, you seem nearer than before in some ways… butterflies, pennies, heart shaped rocks, inside out shirts…. even javelinas at our memorial for your older children’s Dad.
Many signs we may have missed in our trudging through our grief.
Open our eyes, ears, hearts so we may be aware and notice the love around us, from you and from others still with us.