Today at 7:00 pm marks the moments my mother took her last breath on this earth and ascended to the Heavens, leaving behind this world filled with pain and peril and unattained perfection. She left behind my father and I swimming in a soupy uncertainty, waiting for reality to reign us back into our bodies.
As I float just above the surface, I long to be anchored and held, smothered between mother and father or enraptured by romantic lover. Neither of these existences seem to be in the realm of possibility; rather, they live far beyond the tips of outstretched fingers in the plane of the imagination of a tortured soul.
So I search, constantly, for that which renders me joyful. And I fail and fail again. From horrific dating moments to lively concerts leaving me dead inside, I’ve yet to connect with that which makes me feel as secure and as safe as she once did.
A few weeks ago, I broke down after scheduling my first mammogram appointment, realizing that you would be emotionally and physically absent from yet another milestone event in my life. This fleeting feeling would be quickly followed by the moment my best friend broke my heart again, but this time, I couldn’t fall apart in her arms as she stroked my braided hair.
Every weekday, I watch Let’s Make a Deal and turn to her chair, ready to ask her again what costume she thinks I should wear whenever I get a chance to compete on the television game show. I bow my head, remembering she is not there. I celebrate my latest public speaking gig, but she does not ask me where I’m going or tell me she’s going to miss me when I take off. She will not watch excitedly as I pack my bags a week early.
She is not here. And it many ways, neither am I. We’ve both been gone for a long time. The versions of us we once knew disappeared at the onset of Frontotemporal dementia. The version of me that was hypervigilant and purpose-driven has began fading little by little, becoming less sure of what my future holds and who will hold me in the future.
Without partner, down one parent, and seeking new friendships for the end of the world, it’s hard to see clearly ahead. How do I learn to love myself when one who loved me most is gone, one cannot love me the way I need to be loved, and others couldn’t love me if they knew the real me?
A year after my mother’s passing leaves me with more questions than answers, to be certain. But this I know for sure: I will not stop trying. I will never cease striving chosen family, for accepting community, for unconditional love.
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