The little things

Lately I have been noticing how the little things seem to evoke huge emotions I would have never expected. You would think that something like getting engaged or Christmas would cause these types of tidal waves, but for me, I am more moved by the little things. I am not sure that I have ever noticed minuscule things like I do now, but I suppose that experiences like losing your mom will change your perception.

Today, as I was looking under my bathroom sink to find my hairdryer, I came across my mom's curling iron. She used things until they were barely holding on by a thread. I would laugh at her, "Mom, why don't you just get a new one?" She just liked what she liked, and she was convinced that nothing was better than the one she already had. Her poor curling iron had electrical tape across the part where you press your thumb to make the iron open. It had broken a while back and instead of getting a new one, she fixed hers because she liked it so much. She had a make up bag that literally was coming apart at the seams. The zipper didn't work, the top of it just flapped open and close, and it was so old it was discolored. She loved it and refused to get a new one. I found her curling iron and her makeup bag beside my hairdryer, and I couldn't help but pick up her curling iron and hold it close to my heart. I sat on the bathroom floor and cried like a baby, rocking back and forth with the curling iron in my arms like a child. I pressed it close to me as if I could actually get it close enough to feel her again. I looked at the curling iron, examined every little piece of it, I ran my fingers over the barrel, over the electrical tape holding it together. I sat there for a while with it just sitting in my lap, afraid to put it away, afraid that it might feel like I was putting her memory away. I placed it gently back in its spot and thought about picking up her makeup bag, but I was afraid it might fall apart, so I just sat on the floor longer and looked at it. It made me think about her and how loyal she was, how carefully she took care of her things. They were so precious to her, even if they were just a curling iron or a makeup bag. They are so precious to me now.

I come across things like this on a daily basis in my house. Her mug she brought home from work when she got sick, her vanilla lotion that is sitting in our bathroom cupboard, her glasses sitting on her nightstand. They are still waiting for her to return, like we all are. Just little things that would normally go unnoticed. But they scream out to me now. Scream to be touched and examined, to be taken care of. I miss her so much, I would do anything for her to come back. But, all I can do now is hold onto her possessions as if they were her. Who would have ever thought that a broken curling iron with electrical tape holding it together could have so much meaning behind it.

Besides touching her, what I really miss is having "mom days" with her, where it was just her and I together all day. I would be so excited I could barely wait for her to get ready in the morning, and we would go to the farmer's market or the mall, sometimes to Amish country. We never went for anything in particular, just to "get out" and have an adventure. She loved any kind of music, especially if it had a heavier beat. So, surprisingly, she liked a lot of mainstream hip hop, and when a song that she really liked would come on, she would turn the volume up so loud that the windows of her car would practically rattle. That always made me laugh. She'd say, "Ooo, I love this one" and quickly turn the volume knob up as if she couldn't afford to lose one second of playing the song as loud as she could. She'd bob her head to the beat and sing along with the parts of the song she knew. We would sing along to the oldies too, and when I would know the words better than her, she would tell me I was born in the wrong generation. Sometimes I really do wish I was born when she was, so we could have been friends in high school. We got along so well.

Tonight I went to my favorite coffee house for open mic night, and when I went out to my car, frost had settled on my windshield and I had to scrape it off. I have no idea why, but it reminded me of these old boots my mom had that were gray and had black faux fur around the tops. She had those when I was really little, probably only when I was five or six. But I remember them. As I was driving around this one curve near my house on my way home tonight, I remembered a time when I was very young, still sitting in a car seat in the back of my mom's van, and we went around that curve and did circles on the ice and went into the ditch. I don't know how old I was, but I remember this happening and even the coat my mom was wearing. It was a brown and tan fuzzy coat, and this was back when Ford still made Aerostar vans. I am not sure how old I was or how it is even possible that I remember these things, but I do, and what is even stranger to me is what prompted these memories. Just little things, simply passed by everyday, completely unnoticed. I notice them. They make me think of her. Everything makes me think of her.

She is on my mind practically all the time, even when I try not to think of her. I am having more and more dreams about her, and she dies in every single one. Sometimes they scare me and I wake up in the middle of them, and other times I sleep through them, letting her die all over again. I have had only one dream, in fact, where she did not die. It was the one I wrote about many posts ago where we were in a cabin together, just her and I. Other than that, they have all ended in the same fashion, replaying what happened on October 8th.

Just a few nights ago, I was thinking about her and I together on our family vacations to Hilton Head. We stayed in a condo that had a swimming pool, where we spent most of our time during the day. For some reason, I was thinking about a bathing suit she had. It was navy blue on the bottom and white on the top and had a gold embroidered anchor on the white part. She wore Jackie-O sunglasses, and she sat on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water while I swam around them. Sometimes I would float in between them and she would lift me out of the water by her feet. I really liked when she would get in with me, and I would carry her around while she floated on the surface. As a little kid, I didn't realize how buoyancy worked, and she would say to me, "You're so strong!" My latest dream about her was this type of scene. I was walking through the gates to a pool, and I saw a bunch of people I knew there, and I caught a glimpse of my mom out of the corner of my eye. I got this weird feeling, that feeling you get when you see someone you haven't seen in a long time and you're completely overwhelmed and surprised to see them there. I knew she was supposed to be dead. "Mom!"I yelled, and I ran over to her, and she was wearing her navy blue and white bathing suit and Jackie-Os. We got in the water and swam together and I carried her around while she floated, and I held her in my arms like she was a baby. I moved her all around the pool effortlessly, letting the water do its job to hold her up, and she curled closer and closer to my chest. I knew she was dying. I held her like that until I knew she was gone, her face looking exactly as it did that morning in the ICU. I snuggled her close to me and sat on the step of the pool and rocked her back and forth. I patted her back and hummed to her while I cried. I did my best to take care of her and make her comfortable since I knew she was dying and she was probably scared. I knew there was no place she would have rather been than beside me, and I tried to keep her as close as possible, to keep her warm and safe until I knew she was in Heaven.

I like how in dreams you can feel emotions and understand them without them even being mentioned. Your brain does some serious processing while you're sleeping.

I think that I had this dream because I was always so worried that I could never do anything for my mom while she was sick. She actually apologized to me for "ruining my life," and she never realized how sorry I was that hers was ruined much more than mine ever would be. When it sank in that she was dying, all I wanted to do was cradle her in my arms and rock her back and forth until she was gone. I would have done anything to keep her safe, to keep her from being scared. I just wanted her to feel snuggled and cherished up until her last breath and feel nothing but loved. I loved her more than I will ever be able to love anyone else on this planet. She deserved that kind of love, and I am so happy that I was able to provide that type of rock-solid, undying love just for her. Everyone mentions to me now how much I meant to her, but I have always known that.

When I was growing up, we had an old wooden rocking chair she kept in our family room. I remember curling in a ball on her lap with my pink blanket and rocking together in that chair until I fell asleep. We were each other's world.

Cancer has shattered them both. One, forever. The other will eventually heal, but there are pieces that will always be missing, lost forever with her.