The Last Mile

This morning, I had a really hard time getting out of bed. I felt fully awake, and part of me was pushing for a productive morning. That part, sadly, lost the tug-of-war. Gone were aspirations for raking the leaves, putting the garbage cans out, finishing the first draft of my book, getting to a client early. Gone. All gone. Bed and avoidance won the early part of the day.

I always check in with myself when I lose to lethargy, to make sure I’m not slipping into depression. I’m virtually certain that I’m not – my work is getting done, my house is still orderly (setting aside the leaves that will have snow on them in the morning…), and I’m feeling pretty energetic. So it took a while for me to figure out what was going on – what my body was trying to tell me.

Finally, I realized what it was. Three years ago today my mom had a massive stroke, which led to her death less than two weeks later. Hard to believe it’s been three years already. Often, I feel like I should be calling her to make sure she’s doing well, or to see if she needs me to pick something up for her at CVS before I come to visit.

For a few minutes, I began the downward spiral toward deep sorrow. Mid-slide, I stopped myself. It’s not really how I feel these days.

I’m able to think of my mom with much joy most of the time. With a smile on my face, as I remember the puns she made while in the hospital. Shaking my head in wonder as I remember my sister doing the New York Times crossword puzzle with her, sitting at her bedside. Misty-eyed, but incredulous, as she and her best friend of almost 70 years sang together just a few days before she died.

My mom was a tough broad. She was resilient. She was brilliant. She was funny. She could tell a mean joke. I loved her immensely. I always will.

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About armsakimbobook

I'm a mother, a lawyer, a feminist, a writer, a potter, and an inveterate and unapologetic New Yorker. My book, Arms Akimbo: A Journey of Healing, tells of my journey of healing over a number of years, learning to live a full life after I was molested by my father at a very young age. I live in Maynard, MA, with my wife and and our two moose-cats, Samson and Hercules. My daughter used to live with me part-time, but she's all grown up now and in her junior year of college, which I can't quite fathom, since she was born about five minutes ago...
This entry was posted in Grieving, My Mama and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The Last Mile

  1. Deb S says:

    Wonderful piece. I will never forget being there when Beth said the vidui for her.


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