MY MOM AND DAD
Who was this woman walking down the aisle? She was wearing a tea length,
pale pink, satin dress with shoes dyed to match her dress exactly. Her dark hair
rested freely on her shoulders, in her hands she carried a bouquet of Pale pink roses mixed with baby’s breath.
The church was beautiful, lit only by the twinkle
lights that were attached on the end of each of the 25 pews. White silk flowers
and white satin ribbon shared a space on the pews with the lights. The lights cast a glow that made the sanctuary look soft
and dream-like. This warm fall day was the perfect day for a wedding.
I was in a complete daze, was this wedding really
taking place? Who are all these people?
This should not be happening! I never imagined in my wildest dreams that
I would be walking down the aisle at my dad’s wedding, to a woman that was not my mom.
I was standing there trying to fight back the tears, pretending to be happy for my dad, doing the right thing. I felt like a heel, like I was betraying my mom.
What would she say if she were standing next to me? She was more gracious
than I. No doubt, She would have said something like, “Missie, your dad deserves to be happy” Or “He was
a great husband” My mom died fourteen years ago and my dad was getting
re-married to a woman we had only just met. In order to not show my true feelings,
I decided to let my mind wonder to a happier time, December 18th 1988, just 16 years ago.
Moments after the birth of my first son, Daniel
I looked on as the doctor handed my mom her first grandchild. She was captivated
by the little person in her arms. Although her diabetes was taking a toll on
her health, nothing would keep her from being in the delivery room, not even a chronic illness. She had to sit down as her balance wasn’t as sure as before.
The illness she dealt with everyday had taken a toll on her body: she had lost a lot of her eyesight and the 24 laser
surgeries had done little to help. She had had portions of both her feet amputated
due to gangrene. Her heart was that of an 85 year old (according to her doctor). Her kidneys had shut down and she was forced to have kidney dialysis three times a
week to keep the fluid from causing respiratory complications. She also dealt
with many blood transfusions. This was her life, and she lived it with such dignity
and grace. I know she was in great pain but she was constantly trying to help
others be ok with HER illness. I
was always impressed with the strength that my mom showed in the face of all the crap she dealt with. But here she was, at the hospital with me, for 18 hours of labor and delivery. I wasn’t about to take that baby from her arms, she deserved her moment, the one she told us all
about for years. Sometimes life is so perfect.
My husband went out to tell the rest of the family
all the baby’s statistics, my mom never stopped talking to the baby, telling him all about just how perfect he was and
how much he was loved and prayed for. From the time my husband and I got married my mom asked us when we were thinking of
having a baby. If you knew my mom you knew that one of her biggest dreams was
to be a grandma. The idea of little ones tugging at her and asking endless questions
caused her to have such joyful anticipation of the future. My mom told me on
a few occasions that she was well aware of the fact that she would die young, and she feared that she would miss the joy of
ever seeing her grandchildren in her lifetime.
I looked around at the activity in that hospital room and was overwhelmed
by the love that filled it.
My mom only left to go home when the doctor said that I needed to get rest after such a long labor. My mom said she would return bright and early the next day. She
kept her word, and she and my grandma returned early the next morning. I found
out years later that my mom had really overdone it all that time standing in the hospital.
Her feet began to bleed and she had to go to the doctor to get them checked and wrapped again.
It was that night, the night of December 18th, after everyone was gone; I held my son and as I looked down
at that precious face, I realized, for the first time, what it meant to be a mom. That feeling of walking through fire, giving
your life for your child’s life was so real. The feelings of love, fear, pride, and amazement all flooded my heart at
once, I got it; I understood just how much my own mom had loved me.
There were many times as I was a teenager, I
could not understand why she said and did the things she did. We obviously had
our share of mother daughter moments and when I was especially frustrated with all the rules she laid out I would say in anger,
“are you trying to ruin my life”
or “Everyone else’s mom thinks
it’s ok” she would respond “maybe
One day you will understand my decisions” or “I am not here to be your best friend, I am here to be your mom”
I have thought about those words over the years, especially
when I have used those very words to my own kids. She truly loved me, and truly
sought my best interests. This seems like such a simple concept, but as a teenager,
it might as well be in Latin!
On May 4th 1990, the night I got the call from
my dad to come to the hospital because my mom had been taken there, I remember thinking my dad sounded so scared. The words I kept repeating to myself were, “she will pull
out of this one just like all of the other times.” The doctor came
into the waiting room and knelt in front of us and said those awful words that screamed in my mind and heart, “we did everything we could do…I pronounced her dead
at 7:45” STOP! EVERYBODY JUST STOP, THIS IS NOT RIGHT, PLEASE GOD MAKE
THIS A NIGHTMARE, LET ME WAKE UP! I COULD NOT LIVE WITHOUT MY MOM!
The next days were a blur to me and all I really
knew is that I ached inside for my mom. I ached for all the things she would
miss out on, the milestones she would never see. I wanted so desperately to have
my mom there with me and to do all the things that grown up daughters do with their moms once the daughters realize how wonderful
their moms actually are. grandsons.
“Missie” I heard the girl next to me whisper, I looked up and realized the ceremony was over and I had
daydreamed right through it. It was time for the bridal party to depart from
the church sanctuary in pairs and my partner was waiting patiently for me to re-join the world of the conscious.
I
remember how happy my dad looked that day. As I watched him mingling with his guests, I recalled the kind of husband and father
he was. He provided both emotionally and financially for our family. He fiercely loved his family with all his heart. There was
never a more patient man; I tested this on many occasions! When diabetes took hold of my mom’s health, my dad was right
there every step of the way. Most of his nights, he sat up with her when she
was unable to sleep and then had to go to work himself. I remembered how he sat
at her gravesite nearly every day for hours, just sitting, being near her the only way he could. He told me that the hardest thing for him was “being married for twenty-eight years and then all
of the sudden NOT being married!”
Until this point I had been a fog, my body was
going through the motions but my mind had been remembering the most traumatic event of my life. I forced my mind to re-join the wedding realizing that no one was betraying my mom; we were just trying
to go on with life, no less than she would want.
My mom’s influence is still with me some
17 years later. I think of her all the time and hope she is proud of who I have
become. I know that she would want my dad to be happy, she never wanted him to
be alone, and she told me as much in one of our conversations near the end of her life.
Things are not the way I expected them to be. I have learned over time however, that even though things are not the same, they can
still be good. My dad and I are as close as ever. We have frequent family get-togethers
and talk and laugh about “old times” which often includes my mom. My dad’s new wife loves him and treats him well which is what matters most. In the grand scheme of things, things are okay.
After all, each day, as well as family is a gift that needs to be appreciated and cherished.
