I don’t remember whether my mom went into heart failure when I was in Jr. High or High school. I do remember it was traumatic seeing my mom who was my living superwoman, in a hospital bed with IVs and machines hooked up to her.I remember wanting to hug her but being afraid to touch her, as I thought I could hurt her or break a machine. It was terrifying thinking my mom could die. I like to think I was a smart child, so yes I knew parents don’t live forever, but it still is jarring to have that reality smack you across the face so forcefully.
As different health concerns got added into the mix, I started becoming a bit more matter of fact in my approach to dealing with my mother’s mortality. Mom was going to die and I was going to be one of those kids in school with one parent. Would my dad remarry? Would I have a stepbrothers and sisters? Would I like them? I remember practicing getting the news at school that my mother died and how I would act. I wouldn’t be all dramatic and cry at school. I’d be as stoic as possible and people would marvel at how well composed I was at such a young age.
Needless to say my mom lived through high school. I’m not sure how she made it through a third, angst ridden, moody teen, but she did. My mother would later tell me how she cried after my 18th birthday because she knew then that if anything were to happen to me, I would be fine on my own. No court could force me to live with anyone and I wouldn’t have to deal with any potential wicked step moms. Little did she know that at 18, I still wasn’t ready for her to leave me. Hell, at 34, I am not sure how I will go on without her.
I think my mom spanked me like three times. My brother and sister thought it was because I was the baby and got away with any and everything, but I was just smart. I didn’t like being hit with a wooden spoon, so I obeyed. Additionally, I saw what Bruce and Simone did and didn’t make the same mistake. Weirdly enough, even though my mom was the one to discipline us, I still went to her and knew I could always talk to her. I am the epitome of a mama’s boy. We would talk when I was at the foot of her bed watching TV or while I sat on the counter as she cooked. She talked to me like an adult and didn’t keep much from me. I didn’t really keep much from her. I was with a group of kids who got caught drinking during a school sponsored, trip to London. I was not drinking (I was planning on doing so later, truth be told) but got the same punishment as the group, which involved a call home and a threat of being sent home at our expense. My mom was not thrilled about the call, but when she asked if I did it and was told no, she replied “if he said he didn’t do it, my son didn’t do it” How is that for trust?
I went off to college and hated University of Illinois. I was a small fish in a big pond. I was no longer seen as “the smart kid” in classes and I didn’t think I could make it. I called home often. My mom talked me off many ledges and I went home almost weekly to do laundry (public washing machines? gross.) and get some good food. I started out doing well, but then I had trouble paying for school and ended up working two jobs. My grades suffered and I was on the verge of a breakdown. I remember telling my mother that I was going to drop out of school to work and figure stuff out and was waiting for a spanking. Instead she got emotional over the fact that I was feeling that sort of pressure and had waited so long to tell her so. She hugged me and told me it’d be ok.
It wasn’t ok. I was still in Champaign years later and miserable as my friends were all graduating and moving back to Chicago or other cool locations to start their lives as adults. I’m not 100% sure whose idea it was but my brother and mother both convinced me to move to Orlando. I would live with my brother and finish school here. I FINALLY finished school and got a degree in biology. I had many “ok mom, so I might have to retake this class next semester” phone sessions with my mom, but she was always confident that I’d prevail and she was right. I knew my mom’s health was getting bad and I really wanted to graduate while she was alive. I needed for her to know that she had done well and that all of her kids were going to be fine. My mom was my driving force when wrapping up college. I would always think of Kanye’s “Hey Mama” when it looked like I wasn’t going to make it:
I wanna scream so loud for you, cause I'm so proud of you
Let me tell you what I'm about to do, (Hey Mama)
I know I act a fool but, I promise you I'm goin back to school
I appreciate what you allowed for me
I just want you to be proud of me (Hey Mama)
I remember getting a call from my mom. She said she needed me to drive to Palm Coast. My car was shitty and I didn’t like driving the 1.5 hour drive up here. She told me to rent a car and that she’d pay for it. She needed to see me in person. Of course I was scared and thought it was going to something serious. Instead, she greeted me like usual and we hung out like normal. I was waiting for the “I have 2 weeks to live” speech but it never happened. It was getting late and I was about to leave when she calls me to the couch and she says that she wants to discuss my sexuality. Awkward. She wanted me to know that she knew I was gay and that she loved me regardless. This was kind of anticlimactic as I thought everyone knew I was gay. I didn’t announce it at Thanksgiving dinner, but I also didn’t hide that I wasn’t dating girls, loved Beyonce, and had great fashion sense. She wanted me to know that any boyfriend of mine was welcome at the house and she wanted to meet anyone. Clearly she didn’t know that I am perpetually single. :( As boring as my coming out was, it still was great knowing that once again, my mom had my back no matter what.
It was hard seeing my mom’s dementia take the toll it took on her. It started out with small things like forgetting things when cooking, or using salt instead of sugar. She would forget things and I could see the frustration in her and she’d beat up on herself. That would break my heart. By the time of my brother’s death in 2013, she was was to the point of asking “where’s Bruce” an hour or so after his funeral. Not only did I have to deal with my brother’s sudden death, but also my mother’s rapid decline. Phone conversations with her became difficult, and I once again started to mourn the loss of my mother. Yes she was physically here, but mentally she was light years away. I felt like I lost my sounding board. I don’t have many close friends that I talk to regularly so it sucked not having my mom there in that capacity. She would listen to me and weigh in with her advice when I asked.
In June, my mother was admitted to the hospital and I drove up. It was incredible to see the rapid decline. It was scary, but she made it through the visit. A few months later in October she got admitted again almost for the same thing. This time it ended up being worse. From there she went to a rehab facility and then ultimately a nursing home. My dad, who still works, went to visit her every single day. It made me see him differently and love him even more than I thought was possible. He kept positive that she would walk again and that she would return home someday. I, on the other hand, thought this was the beginning of the end. I began to try to once again make peace with my mother’s death.
I visited the nursing home 20th of December. My mom wasn’t eating and there was concern. I went there and spent the day with her in near silence, as by this point, she was not really speaking. I came across a Jamaican nurse who upon finding out we too, were Jamaican, gave us some candid feedback on my mom. With her not eating and developing bedsores she was starting to downward spiral that might take her away sooner rather than later. She told me to say anything I had to say. I told her I talk to my mom every time I’m there even though she doesn’t respond. The nurse looked at me and repeated what the originally said and said it even slower. It was scary hearing that but I felt comfort in knowing that someone was being open and honest with the situation. I wanted to prepare myself as best as I could for what was to come.
The following day, I went to work at 8a. I was dressed in a blazer and had on a nice outfit. It was great not being at work at 4a and I was hell bent on having a good day during the craziness of holiday fuckery. My dad called me around noon and was telling me to come up as mom had gotten bad. He was crying and I began to cry at work. I called my boss and she got someone to come in earlier to cover the shift. I drove up to the nursing home. I got there and was taken aback at how far she’d fallen in just 24 hours. She was struggling to breathe and was hooked up to an oxygen line. It was scary. All I could do was cry. They were giving her morphine and anxiety meds. She looked scared. I played music for her. I sang for her and I held her hand. My sister, who lives in California was trying her hardest to fly on standby (Christmas week mind you) to Florida. She was to arrive around 3a on Tuesday morning, and the nurses were doubting my mother would make it. My sister finally got in at 6a and we were all thinking it could happen any moment. I finally ended up going to a nearby hotel room Simone got Tuesday evening around 9. It felt so good to take a shower after nearly two days. I hadn’t even changed. I looked a certified mess. My professor chic look had devolved into hobo chic.
My time at the hotel was cut short as Simone came knocking. Both my dad and I slept through her calls. We had only been asleep for less than 3 hours when the nurses said to call us back as mom was going to die any moment. We rushed back and got there before midnight. IT was at 4:07 when she stopped breathing and was pronounced dead. I could see the colour leave her body and the room was quiet as loud oxygen machine was now turned off.
The whole experience was surreal. I mean, with my brother everything was quick; this was the complete opposite. I didn’t know if I was an asshole for actually wanting her to die, but it was so hard to see her struggle with each breath. I wanted my mom alive, but that was definitely NOT living. It was humbling to see how my larger than life, over the top mother, had been reduced to a shadow of her former self. It was gut wrenching to see my dad sob over his wife of 50 years. (they’re anniversary was December 17th)
I’m not sure what the point of all this was, but I started writing and couldn’t stop. I don’t wear emotions on my sleeve so I think people find it hard to get a read on me. I am not ok. I am so far from it. For someone who prided himself on being honest with his mother, it felt odd telling her it was ok to let go and die because I would be alright. I honestly don’t know if I will ever be right. I feel so sad, broken and lonely right now. Just when I think I’m done crying and fine, I hear, see, or say something that brings me to tears.
I didn’t wait until she was gone to tell her that I loved her or appreciated all she did for me. I was lucky enough to give my mother her roses when she was alive and of sound mind. Still, it bothers me that she didn’t see me super happy or successful at life. I am always going to feel like I didn’t hug her enough, thank her enough or even take enough pictures with her. It sucks seeing my sister and dad go through this and not being able to give them comfort. Right now I’m getting used to my new normal in life. I fucking hate this version of normal.
