Pink Toenails

Today for some reason, more so than others, I miss my mom terribly. I went to the bank to take her name off of my savings account, and I had to fill out some paperwork. A couple of signatures later, the man helping me pointed a finger at my mom's name and said, "And write 'deceased' here." He winced and apologized, and I was flooded with that tired feeling of having to face it all over again. I can't believe how things like this can drag on. Deceased. I wrote it, and I left.

You know how you see those "goth" kids around, the ones that wear black and have black hair and eyeliner and nail polish? I never really thought too much about any of that stuff, I just figured they were trying to express themselves or maybe they were depressed or maybe they didn't want to be paid any attention. Oddly enough, I have gone from the girl who wore pink and and purple and bright blue with energy and laughter practically exploding out of me to the girl who looks at those kids and thinks, "I get it." I totally get why they want to dress like that. I'm not sure what it is, but I can say with confidence it's not depression. The other night, all I wanted to do was wear a black sweatshirt and paint my nails dark. I know, obviously, that doing so wouldn't in any way make me feel better or relieve any stress or bring back my mom. But sometimes, it feels good to blend in and go unnoticed and just be dark. I guess we don't always have to be bright and bubbly if we don't want to be.

Last night, I decided to have some quality time to myself and watch a movie and paint my toenails. I pulled out the darkest color I could find, and it occurred to me: Don't let this win. I looked at my dark-green-almost-black polish and thought how sad it was that my once favorite color turned into a pathetic interpretation for the dark, cloudy feeling I have inside me. It's not that I'm sad, it's just that I'm not as happy as I was before this all started. But, believe it or not, I still am happy, just not as much as I used to be. I picked up my dark nail polish and tossed it back into my drawer, and I pulled out the brightest, hottest pink I could find. I wanted to put something bright back into my life. It may be forced, but it's there.

This morning, when I looked down at my feet, I looked at the curly, thin scrawl of my mom's handwriting across the top of my right foot, permanently there to remind me I'm not without her, framed perfectly below my hot pink nail polish. I smiled and felt light. Success.

I'm sure that some people may read this and think how pathetically childish it is that a bright color of nail polish could really help someone move on from such a monumental loss. Yeah, ok, my mom died. I watched her die. I listened to her scream my name and yell for help and ask not to die. I stood beside her and held her hands down and patted her head and lied to her and told her she would be fine. I encouraged her to be strong, I told her I loved her. I watched as the nurses turned the alarms and monitors off, knowing that their work was a lost cause. Who knows why we feel comfort in some things and not others. I choose to make up pictures in my head of her and Aunt Polly together, and I choose to think that she knows every second of what goes on in my life even though she is not here anymore. I choose to think that my tears and sobs and nightmares and fear do not phase her, that all she feels is happiness and love and joy in Heaven and can not be bothered by negativity and loss and heartache. To some, this may be make-believe and it may be fairytale, but for others, this is hope. For me, it's hope. I will not let life stop and I will not let this defeat me and take away all that I have worked for. I choose to paint my toenails hot pink in December to make myself feel better that my mom is dead. You may not get it. You don't have to. I don't get it either, but it's working. No matter what, I will always be myself, pink toenails and all.

She loved me just the way I was. It is sometimes hard to feel comfortable in your own skin when the one person you could always rely on for support is no longer near you. I doubt so many things I do these days, and since I am anticipating a huge job interview on Friday with a national company, I wish now more than ever she was here with me. To help me and encourage me and make sure I know that I am still ok to be me, even if they didn't like me or want to hire me. Don't get me wrong- I understand that no one can make me feel happy with myself but me, but sometimes, those words are so comforting when they're from your mom. I really loved her so much. I still love her. I do not understand why she had to get sick. Even though I am always trying to remain happy and upbeat about the fact that her and my Aunt Polly are now together, I can't help but feel cheated sometimes. Sometimes I feel as though my tears will never end. I am crying, just thinking about how much she loved me. I am so glad I knew all these years how much she loved me. She would have rolled her eyes at my tattoo, but she would have loved my hot pink nail polish.