Okay, this is my second attempt this morning to post. I started at shortly after 5am, spewed out my thoughts and my computer froze...if this one doesn't work, I'll take it as some sort of sign.
I'm not sure if there's a significance to the number five according to numerologists or even from a biblical perspective. What I do know is that the number five has been surfacing in my life a lot lately. It has been five months since my mom died. It has been five months since my sister, with intellectual disability, moved in with us.
Randy, Rebekah, and I had just been in California for a visit with family and my 20th high school reunion. Randy returned home before Rebekah and I headed north. In fact, Rebekah and I left the high desert at 5am on Monday, August 9, 2010. The hot, little, red sports car I was driving was gassed up and I had my Starbucks in hand. The V-6 engine took on those beautiful, mountain roads with ease. As I made it through another stretch of curves, my cell phone started buzzing with a text. Yes, I couldn't resist reading the message. My brother had sent me a text reading, "Call me as soon as possible." Immediately I thought, "Oh Lord, my dear 102 year old grandma didn't wake up this morning. I will miss her terribly but I guess it's your turn to have her now." Amazingly, I was at peace.
Just shy of Reno, Nevada, I pulled into a store parking lot to call my brother. The words, through his tears, were almost unintelligable, "Deb, mom died this morning." What? "Oh dear God!" I started sobbing and didn't really understand what had just hit me. My beautiful little girl stared back at me in the rear view mirror with horror in her eyes. "What Mommy, what?" I hung up the phone and continued to sob. After holding Rebekah's little hand, we drove to a nearby Starbucks. I explained what had just happened. The girls graciously gave us some hot drinks and I proceeded to make some calls. "Randy, come back..." A little while later, Rebekah and I started our pilgrimage back south.
The past months have lived up to my "motto" that I found on a t-shirt in Cancun, "my life is based on a true story." Yes, I have worn that shirt proudly in the past few months. This entry really isn't to explain the many layers of bureaucracy I've faced both sides of the border or to drudge up other past stuff that no matter how hard I try to let go seems to creep back into the crevices of my memory and grip me at the most unsuspecting times. This entry is my attempt to put a few words to where I am now...
Just yesterday, I believe my sister started grappling with grief over mom's death. Kimmie started saying, "Mom's sad" over and over. At first I was confused and then I asked her if she meant that she's sad because mom's not here. "Yes." I can't imagine how she's felt as her life was uprooted at the moment of mom's last heart beat. Her life died too, in many ways. She moved from California to Canada. She left behind almost everything and everyone she knew. Yet, as the days and months have passed, we have seen her blossom in numerous ways. So that very instant mom had her last heart beat, Kim's life also began. "Mom's in heaven with Jesus..." seems to bring some comfort to my precious sister.
Just as Kimmie has been faced with the reality of mom's death, I have felt like I've been grasping for breath. My life, also, changed overnight. I have become a full time social worker, advocate, and care provider for Kimmie along with my responsibilities being wife and mother to a child with a learning disorder. I have gained a permanent shadow everywhere I go. I sobbed that first day I heard mom died. Since then, periodically I have been overcome with emotions, get choked up, and my eyes get watery. Yet, I haven't really cried since the funeral. Yes, Kimmie, "Mom's sad..."
