Things Not Said

I just wanted to put my arms around her, breathe her in one more time and apologize.  Apologize that life or personality or circumstances or our own stupid stubbornness kept us distant from each other.  In those final moments I needed to give comfort to the woman that I'd tried so hard in the past to comfort, but could never quite clear all of the pain away to reach her.
   
When I got to the nursing home, running from the parking lot, hoping that I made it in time, my sister was sitting outside the room, my first hope was that mom was sleeping, but then the news came and it felt like I'd had a ton of bricks dropped on my heart.  I couldn't breathe.

Gone?  But I'd flown for hours to see her!

Did she know that I did my best to get there?  Did she know how much I loved her?  Did she know that I was growing to understand?  Did she know that while I still found it hard to talk to her that I was trying now more than ever to listen, to really listen?

I couldn't go in there.  I couldn't see her lifeless body.  It was too much.  The pain, the years of wanting so much and hoping so much that we could get past the etherial barrier between our hearts.  We always communicated in code, never talking directly about things that weighed heavy in our minds or were dear to our hearts, but both of our cyphers were slightly wrong and we missed the subtlety of our messages to each other.

I wanted to tell her that I knew she wanted to feel loved.  I wanted her to know that I understood that she knew we loved her, but for some reason she could not trust that love.  I wanted her to know that it didn't matter the reason, I loved her and I tried in my own way to show her.

I'd point out the times that I cleaned the house, for her or cooked her dinner.  I'd point out the times that I worked hard for her to be able to say "She's my daughter." with a gleam in her eye.  I'd explain how hard it is to travel with children and live on student loans.

When a water balloon breaks, the water bursts out.  My mother's death was the breaking of the balloon holding my emotions, the balloon I'd cradled and carried carefully for so many years.  The emotions bursting out of me, so many I can't put a name to all of them, kept me from going in that room.  They made me want to run.  They made me wish from the bottom of my soul that my husband had been able to make the trip with me.

Two hours?  I had existed in this world for two hours without my mother?

I'd never realized how much of a compass she had been in my life.  I guess she's always been my magnetic North, a reference for me to find my way.

My breathing slowed as I stood there hugging my sister, mad as I could muster at the twist of fate that found me landing at the airport 2.5 hours from where my mom was taking her last breath while I haggled with the car rental agent.  "No, just give me the car I reserved, I really need to go."  Mad that I hadn't tried harder to get on a plane sooner.  Anger that I thought a few hundred dollars and making sure my responsibilities at work and home were taken care of warranted just one more day before I came.  Sometimes the world shows us that we are and always will be slaves to time.

Eventually the tears, as they are wont to do washed the anger away.  Things happen.  Timing is bad.  You can't change things now, acceptance is your only course.  Embrace what is before you.  These lessons, the ones you learned from a lifetime of loving your mother, they will help, they will get you through.

"Thank you" I whispered to my sister.  "Thank you for being here.  Thank you for being her lifeline."  and what I should have said "I know it was hard to watch the woman you called mom for 36 years take her last painful breath, but know that you were a blessing to her and you being here, was far important than my being here.  She depended on you and loved you so much.  Thank you."

Slowly I let go of my sister and turned to open the door.