Five years later feels like just yesterday

regrets-on-benchDear Mom,

I’ve been anticipating this date with so much dread and heaviness- February 10th. Exactly five years ago today, February 10th, 2015, you had fallen outside of your place and that eventually led to your passing away, a shock to all of us, including you, I am sure.

It breaks my heart everytime I think about it. And I know they say not to live in the past, but how can I not? That is where you were. And that is where I always want to be- with you. I think a part of me, a big part actually, is not here but either trying to find you or just gone whereve you are.

I break my heart over and over again thinking about what you might have done that morning, before your fall. I am so angry at the homecare worker who not only took you out for a walk to Shoppers Drug Mart to get some groceries, but who also made you walk back even though you said you were tired, wanted a cab, or even a bus, and she said, No, let’s just walk slowly back.

Mom, you hadn’t taken a bus for years and years. The fact that you asked for one- well, she should have realized that you weren’t able to make it home comfortably. That you needed a ride back. That you couldn’t walk more. It might have been a short walk for some people, but not for you- with your heart condition- and the osteoarthritis. I am sorry that I wasn’t more understanding about that myself on some days. I should have walked more slowly along side of you rather than skipping ahead, and I should have held your hand more.

But that day, I wonder about stupid questions. I don’t know if it is just to torture me and make me feel more guilty, or to just try to imagine myself being there with you and going through what you went through with you, as if that would somehow change things or make things better now. I imagine what you went to buy that day. I imagine what your plans were for later that day when you ended up in the hospital instead.

I wonder who the woman was that walked you and what happened when you fell. Did you trip over a step? Were you tired? And how did you hit your face and nose? And how could that stupid woman not have called an ambulance or reported the fall to her employer? That cannot be legal. That is not right! I am so angry still, after five years over this.

I want to see the couple who ended up walking by and finding you on the pavement bleeding, and who eventually called the ambulance for you. I want to meet the one out of the two of them- was it the man?- who let you rest your head in his lap while you waited for the ambulance. I wrote an article in the North Shore News asking if the people who helped you could come forward so I could personally thank them. I wrote the article after you passed away. I know you would have wanted to thank them.

Even though you hated hospitals, you were always so giving to strangers even there too. I remember how you wanted to buy a box of chocolates to give to the hospital staff while you were in the hospital. I was too worried and preoccupied to make it happen for you. I am sorry. I am sorry for so many things. The list goes on and on.

I am sorry that I wasn’t there with you that day when you fell. I am sorry I didn’t come to your place and drive you wherever you needed to go so that you wouldn’t have fallen. I am sorry that I didn’t stand up for you with the homecare woman and the whole company more after all of this to demand they do something about their total negligence. I did go to their office a couple of times to talk to the supervisors in a meeting they set up. But they blamed everything on my grief, on my emotional state. As if it was something I would get over and realize was not their doing.

But here I am five years later still angry as hell and so ashamed that I let the whole thing go. I know they were just scared because their big company’s reputation was on the line, so they through the blame on me and my grief. But I should have stuck in there with it more. I should have stood up for what I really believed. But I didn’t have anyone else on my side to back me up. I didn’t want money or to blame someone. I wanted justice enough to at least make sure this would never happen to someone else. I couldn’t bring you back, but maybe I could try to prevent another family from going through the same carelessness, and have the company take the situation more seriously. It was serious. You are gone. And I feel so ashamed, guilty, broken hearted and angry. I just didn’t know how to fight the fight on my own.

Mostly, I feel angry at myself. A friend of mine- a colleague I used to teach with- saw my article in the newspaper and reached out to me over Facebook to say she was sorry for my loss. And I eventully called the ambulance services and hospital to find out the names of the people who helped you get to the ambulance when the homecare person you were with didn’t. I seem to remember the ambulance service not wanting to give me full names or contact numbers of the couple who helped, probably just to respect their own privacy. So I never knew their full names or got to meet them in person. But the ambulance service assured me that they had passed on the message of eternal gratitude I wanted to send to them.

But I didn’t have the courage to do what I really wanted to- which was to fight for you and your rights. I know it is what I should have done. It was a lot to take on on my own. No one else seemed to see it like I did and I was scared to fight the fight on my own and try to go through the grief and shock I was feeling over losing you. But I know it would have been the right thing to do.

I am sorry that you ended up falling that day mom. I am sorry that you ended up in the hospital. I know you hated hospitals. I am sorry that things got worse, that you even ended up in the hospital over Valentine’s Day when there was a Valentine’s Day event you said that you were really sad not to have made it to.

I kind of hate Valentine’s Day now and these days leading up to it because of all that. Sometimes, I just see broken hearts everywhere on that day. How could I not when the person with the biggest heart, the person who brought me into this world and contributed the most to my loving heart, was scared, hurt, weakening, and in pain that day? How could I be excited about Valentine’s Day when you started getting even worse that day and I had no idea that that was going to be your last Valentine’s?

I think the homecare people who were not taking responsibility for their part in this thought that over time I would forget about it, that I let it go because it would become clear that it had nothing to do with them. Well, instead, the opposite is true. I am ashamed I didn’t stick with what I believe. And I am still angry at the awful way they handled, or really didn’t handle all of this. And you know what one of the worst things to live with is, Mom? Regret. I am full of regret over not going with what I believed was right and worth fighting for. It didn’t go away. It didn’t fade away.

I still feel like this all happened just yesterday. I remember every moment of it. I especially remember the things I didn’t do for you. It was like I was trying to make a million choices of things I thought would help- but I kept picking the wrong ones. And I thought there would be more time to explain and apologize once you got home. I just didn’t know that wouldn’t even be an option.

I am sorry, Mommy. I am sorry for not being there for you better. I am sorry that I made all these wrong decisions because I didn’t know how to juggle a bunch of things or I wasn’t clearly seeing what was most important, or because people were telling me I needed to go home and rest and that you would be fine. They were wrong. And I should not have listened to them. I should have stayed with you.

I wish there was some way I could fix it now. I wish that I could turn back time and turn things around. I still run through the scenarios in my head- of what I needed to do instead of what I did do. As if that could somehow magically undo what happened. I can’t change it. I can’t believe I am still telling myself this after five years. But I can’t help running things through my mind again and again. It doesn’t do anyone any good does it?Maybe I think I need to punish myself for my mistakes with you. But none of this brings you back or makes the past different. And that is something I have to live with somehow.

What would make it better, or what would help me let go of these regrets a little more, is if I knew you are okay now, that your spirit is soaring. I wish that you are now having beautiful Februaries with heavenly plans for Valentine’s Day that no one can ever take from you. I hope your heart and soul is filled with so much love and togetherness and peace and joy.

I hope that it is true that heaven can take care of you in ways that far surpass what we know here on earth. I wish the hearts in heaven are the most welcoming, beautiful, magical and healing and that they surround you and fill you with endless love.

 

Where should we go?

dream travel

Hi Mom,

I had a dream last night or this morning that I was at some event. It looked like an Indian or maybe even Ismaili function. I just remember seeing some clothes that looked a little Indian-like, and that smell- you know the one?- Of chai and sweets and maybe even uger baathi (incense).  Anyway, I don’t even know what I was doing there.

But in front of this plain white door was laying this outfit, on the floor. It didn’t look like something I recognized of yours. But at the same time, I don’t know how to explain it, but I felt as if you had just been in it. As if you’d been wearing it. But then you kind of disappeared out of it. Like your physical form just left it and it lay on the ground not in a pile, but almost in the position it would be in if you had been sitting in it and leaning against the wall or door it was in front of.

It was an Indian outfit. Pale blue and white, I think. Light fabric. Maybe some little sequins on it.

Then, out of nowhere, you appeared. Not in the outfit, but just watching me look at the outfit. I stared at it with such sadness. You could probably see that. And I might have even asked around, wondering where the outfit came from and why it was there.

But then you were behind me. I don’t know what you were wearing. But you looked sad too, I think.  But you looked at me as if it was normal for you to be there, right near me. And I was kind of in shock and didn’t know what to do.  I knew you were not alive anymore, but as usual in my dreams, it felt as if you didn’t know this. And I never want to tell you or say anything about it in my dream. So I don’t know.

And instead, I just waited for you to say something. And you looked at me and said, “I miss you. Can we go somewhere after this?”

I cried. And I’m still crying at the thought of it as I write this to you.  I didn’t want to wait until after the event was over. I wanted to say why don’t we go now?  But I think I just cried in my dream and then woke up crying.

I don’t want you to miss me so much that you’d be so sad.  I don’t want you to be sad. And I know you don’t want me to be sad either. So I guess I can only try to turn this around and say, I miss you too, Mom.  You have no idea.

And I would have gone anywhere with you.  I wonder where you’d have wanted to go. To eat, to a different city or continent? For a drive or a walk? Or just to your home somewhere?

I’d like to imagine or pretend we could go somewhere together. Where should we go? Your choice. I want to take you anywhere you want to go.

Thanks for coming into my dream. Don’t be sad though, Mom.  I think I remember you had your hair done nicely in the dream.  That made me smile. That you were somehow still dressing up for any events, even if they were just to show up in dreams.

Vicks

mother and daughter6

Dear Mom,

I think I suddenly got some sort of cold. I was fine yesterday, but then at the end of the night and this morning, I felt so tired, with a runny nose, and a bit of a scratchiness and cough in my throat.

I reached for the Vick Vapo Rub of course.  It’s strange how such a small bottle, and the smell from it, can bring back so much sweetness, and love but also sadness and sorrow.

Vicks, and just that smell, makes me think of how I had such a loving mom- you- who took care of me when I was sick, no matter what age I was.  Even though I got frustrated over you “babying” me at those times, God, what I wouldn’t do to have you do that for me again.

I am sorry if I ever gave you a hard time over caring the way you did. It was such gift I was given- to have you as a mom, to have you take the time to rub Vicks on my throat and forehead and nose.  And your hands. Vicks conjures up the feel and look of your beautiful, soft hands, oozing love through every finger. Giving me your healing and warmth and motherly magic.

mother and daughter2

So I wish I could go back to those days, to appreciate them more. And more than that, I wish I could go back to them to tell you how very much they meant to me, how much you meant to me, and still do. And I wish I could give you back that same tenderness, and caring and time.  You spent so much time with me- as much as was needed to help me through, especially when I got sick.

The soups, the hurder (tumeric), and blankets, and tea and your hand on my forehead. Everything soothed me right into my core, into my heart. And so when I think of you lying there in the hospital, and me not being able to give you back that soothing and comfort, it tears me apart.

Vicks brings me back a warmth and smiles- the tenderest of memories of the most love I received, and will receive, from any human being ever. But it also breaks my heart and brings me to tears because that love is gone. Or the love isn’t gone, but the touches and what I can see and hear- your voice unlike no other and the words you chose that no one else could. Even the way you said my name.

mother and daughter5

The thought of if already brings a ache in my throat. And this is not from a cold, but from grief. From anger, from pain, from losing you. But mostly from not being able to help you the way you helped me. I am so sorry, Mom.  I wish I could have brought you a bottle of Vicks and put my hand on your forehead, and make everything magically better, the way you always were able to do for me.

I keep being told you are no longer in pain.  But the people who tell me this are here, alive. So how do they know what you are going through? I need to see and feel it for myself.  Please give me more signs.  I still, after 3 and a half years, don’t feel it- your peace.

Please reach out and tell me or show me that you are okay.  Please.

YOUR favor

live-life-as-if-its-in-your-favor

I used to love this kind of thinking, and I can believe it for myself. I mean, right from the start, everything WAS rigged in my favor. I got you as a mom. That is absolute proof right there.

And I still experience so much goodness, and “luck” and beautiful happenings that make me feel so grateful and loved.

But what makes me angry is that I feel like everything wasn’t rigged in your favor. That’s what I wanted.  Because you deserved everything in your favor more than anyone else.  It makes me so sad how the string of events, especially at the end of your life, felt like they were completely opposite to being in your favor. Why did it happen like this?

Why to you? You deserved everything going your way. You helped all of us stay safe, loved, and cared for.  It should have been given back to you many times over.

Maybe there is so much in this that I don’t see, that this was all for the good of you, that there were things behind the scenes that were happening that were for the best, the best for you. But I don’t see it. And I don’t know if or when I ever will. Because we just don’t know. We just didn’t know.

And I’m sorry I didn’t know, Mom. I’m sorry I didn’t know how to turn things around for you.  I wish I did. I wish I still could.

I hope that somehow, everything is so rigged in your favor now that you are enjoying every moment, peacefully, happily, without any pain, without any worry, without any struggle. Just lightness, just love, just sweetness and warmth and safety. Forever taken cared of. It is how you made me feel, how your love made me feel, always. It still is.

Happy Birthday Blues

Happy Birthday, Mom!!! You are the best mom ever!

L-Loving
A- Always real
I – Intuitive and generous
L – Likes tea and cookies
A- Acts cute and small but is unbelievably courageous and strong

Thank you for being my mother, father, friend and one of the most amazing teachers, especially when it comes to matters of the heart, I have ever had. Love you Mom! #MomsTheWorld #BestMoms #ILoveMyMom

mom birthday

Dear Mom,

I wrote that message above, on my Facebook status, exactly three years ago.  It was March 16th, 2014. Your birthday of course.

Facebook often sends these ‘memories’, of messages we post in the past, to remind us of what we saw as important to us and what we were thinking years ago. Maybe to even make us see the change in us?

But I am in shock over how much has changed since then. It was only three measly years ago. But back then, I had EVERYTHING, and I didn’t even realize it.  I had everything, because I had you. And I had no idea that that was going to be the last of your birthdays I was ever going to spend with you.  I had no idea that one, or two, or now three years since then, I would never be able to wish you a happy birthday in person again.

That fills me with tears and heartache and sorrow so deep that I feel ashamed of having taken life especially life with you, for granted. I wish I could have those moments back that I didn’t realize would be gone forever. I wish I could be feeding you cake right now the way you used to to us when we were younger.

memories tears

Mom, where did the time go?  Why did it happen the way it did? Without any warning, without any signs, or maybe it was more that there were signs but it was without any awareness, on my part.  I should have listened and noticed and helped more.  I should have made it obvious that you were my number one priority, because that’s how I felt inside. I just know I didn’t show it enough.

You are still my number one, Mom.  I made sure to wish you a happy birthday at exactly 12am last night, like you did on the last birthday of mine that you were around for.  And I am really trying to honour you by holding my head up high and doing things to make you proud of me, to have you know that I am not going to have this life you gave me to me go to waste.  And that I am so proud to have had (or can I still say just ‘have’?) you as a mother.  I want this day of yours- what would have been your 79th birthday- to be celebrated and cherished because your life and love and presence in this world deserves to be celebrated an cherished.

But it’s hard mom.  I’m sad.  More sad than I ever thought I could be.  How strange it is to be so grateful for having a mom like you, for being able to spend all the years that I did with you, and for having the sweetest memories of you in my heart. But to also have so much pain from it- knowing that you are no here anymore.  I know I shouldn’t say it like that.  I know I need to believe you are here, just in another way.  But you know what I mean. You went through it too with Mama.  It’s crushing to our hearts when our Mothers are not here for us to hold hands with or see smiling or hear their voices say our name.  No one else says it like you.  me and mom

I would do anything to hear you tell me to remember to eat, or to put my coat on, or to ask me a hundred times if I want more food, even when I was full, the way you used to.

I texted you today, Mom. I texted you at your old phone number. The message said, Happy Birthday, Mommy. And then there was a teary face, a pink heart with two stars shining on it, and a birthday cake with three candles on it -imogee symbols I chose to put next to the text.  I just wanted to send you a message somehow.  Not through the air or in my head. But in some real way like I might have in the past.  I don’t know if anyone else has that number now. I don’t know where the text went if it did go anywhere.  But I haven’t deleted your number off of my phone. I just don’t have the heart to.  Maybe I never will.

I also posted a cover photo on my Facebook page that says Happy Birthday, Mom on it- with a cupcake and one candle. One candle for my number one- my Mom. You will always be my number one Mom.  Don’t you ever doubt that. And my profile picture is a photo of that Generation to Generation frame I had given you- that you put up in entrance in your apartment. Now it’s on my kitchen wall.

I went to Shoppers the other day, and bought this teddy bear and chocolates. Sorry,  I ate the chocolates pretty quick. But if you were here, I would have given them to you.  The teddy bear and an old Christmas snowglobe I found at Shoppers as well is also for you.  Thank you for all the sweetest little gifts you used to buy me from there as well (that’s the shawl you used to wear almost every day- behind the cushion and the teddy bear).

teddy bear

It’s sad that even those memories are tainted now.  Shoppers was one of our favorites- because really, it was one of your favorite places to pick up cutesy things. But it was also the last place you went to, ever, before you were gone. And I associate it with that sad ache of imagining you walking home from there and falling at the end of your walk.  And it kills me to think and know I wasn’t there for you.

So much happiness- birthdays, chocolates, teddy bears, shopping, laughing, cake, smiles and love- mixed with so much sadness- death, falls, pain, emptiness, tears and heartache.

I don’t know what to do with it all, Mom.  All I can do is take one day at a time, and live in it and face it- sometimes crying, sometimes smiling.  All I can do is be honest with my feelings and stay as authentic as you made me.

All I can do is be grateful for this day- your birthday. The day that the best thing that ever happened to me came into this world- my mother.  All I can do is to know I was lucky enough to spend all the birthdays that I did have with you.

I just wish you had more. I wish that now, birthdays in heaven are truly blissful and full of peace and love for you. No pain, no fear, no suffering. Not even a hint of it. Just a truly HAPPY birthday, with lots of cake – your favorite kind that you made all the time (buy maybe now you and Mama can make it together again and SHE can feed you a piece? :-)).

And lots of warm, soothing chai, and endless peace. That is my birthday wish for you. That you are full of peace, love joy and wrapped in your mother’s loving arms.  I know that’s where I wish I was right now.  But in the meantime, I will live this life the best I can to honour  my angel mother.

Happy Birthday, Mom. Sorry for the tears. But I just miss you terribly.