One Day a Year

Mother's Day. A day to celebrate your mom, being a mom - or remember just how amazing your mom was if she is no longer here. One cannot escape or ignore Mother's Day - and rightfully so. Many moms do amazing, incredible and selfless things ALL THE TIME - they deserve a day of recognition and reverence. I am continuously in awe of all the moms out there who put the needs of their children above their own, and who work past the point of exhaustion so their children can have a life worth remembering. I am impressed. I am dazzled. And...regrettably...I am jealous. 

Jealous. Ugh - I hate to be this selfish brat of a person. I wish I could be completely happy and joyful for others; I wish I could take the 'bigger person' approach and appreciate what I had - but I cannot...not fully. Of course, I greatly appreciate that I knew who my mother was - there are many in this world who don't; I am thankful I had eleven years with her where I felt like the most important person on the planet - there are many in this world who don't get that either; and I am eternally grateful I had a grandma and aunt who were there to step in when my own mom couldn't really be a mom - but they are gone too, and that adds a whole other level of emptiness to this day. 

Needless to say, Mother's Day is hard for the obvious reasons. However, this Mother's Day ache isn't something that arose after her passing in 2009 - it's been hanging around since she left.This compounds the pain of Mother's Day - yes, my mom died and that sucks; but fourteen years before she died, she chose to leave - and every Mother's Day since then has been one gigantic reminder that I wasn't enough for her to stay. Certainly, she had her reasons - reasons that had very little to do with me - I am old enough now to sympathize with many of them and understand the others; and while those perspectives give adult Josie a great deal of peace, they do not erase the pain, confusion and alienation young Josie felt growing up.

  

In college, I tried to write a poem for her on Mother's Day, but I did not give it to her; because while I was well-intentioned, my own hurt and anger were much too vividly on display. I did not want to hurt her or make her feel guilty - I only wanted to bring her comfort, so I brought flowers, brownies and a card to the nursing home instead. She was really sick at this point - having had her breast cancer surgery in February and having been on life support in March...but she was "improving" by the time May rolled around. That's the word doctors would use - improving - but she never actually improved, she just stayed in limbo between life and death for a few more years thanks to the marvels of modern medicine (that sarcasm you are sensing is another beast in itself...living wills/advance directives. Make one. Use it - for the sake of those who love you.). Regardless, I felt I was losing her - again. 

In my mind, I had lost her once when she left, a second time when she got sick...and was set to lose her one last time. I was trying to reconcile past pain enough to be fully present with her in the time she had left. I didn't get there then - and I would not get there before she died. It was a mixture of immaturity and circumstance that prevented such a thing: I was too broken in my twenties to let my guard down, and the moments where she was actually herself were too few and far between for a real closeness to exist. 

Time, ultimately, has been the only thing that could bridge my "mom chasm" and help me recognize that while I was devastated by some of the actions of my mother, she really did love me. Three-hundred and sixty-four days a year I have that perspective. I am a happy, well-adjusted 30-something; grateful for the life I have and the people (and animals!) I love and have loved. On Mother's Day, I'm a shattered little girl who has missed her mom for so long on so many levels, I cease to be a functional human being. Perhaps, one day if/when I have my own children, there will be a brightness to Mother's Day. Until then...I'll probably just be this girl one day a year: 

Hi Mommy, it's me.
Your daughter.
The little girl who loved you so much
She couldn't leave your side, and hung on to your skirt
So tight
Her little fists turned white.
Do you remember me?

Of course you don't, because you're not my mom.
The one I love s'been dead for years now, 

But you're still occupying her dying body.

I remember who you used to be.
I remember when you used to love me
And how you used to care;
But priorities change and so did you
When you left me standing there
With no skirt to cling to. 

I wish for the naive days of my childhood -
Before I knew what it felt like to lose you
And then watch you die.

Your selfishness nearly destroyed me,
Still I can't help but care for your feeble frame.
It bears resemblance to a woman I once adored; 

The broken body of a woman I now, at times, deplore
Is damaged beyond repair,
And I know I can't restore you.

Your essence is a mere memory now.
I don't even know you anymore,
But I miss who you once were.

You're more hurt than you're worth most days.
'Course...I don't really mean that.
What I really mean is, I love you; 

I always have and I always will -  

But you have damaged me, Mommy.
I hold your tattered skirt in my hands.

Worth the Hassle

I am almost human again. I am almost ready to live the life of an adult - with full-time work hours and occasional happy hours; rather than the life of a toddler - complete with a raging chocolate milk addiction and scheduled nap-times. I'm almost the person I was before I hit my head...but can we ever really be who we once were? Every second we live, we morph into someone slightly different than the person we just were.

Yikes, Josie. Stop the philosophizing...(we all know that's NOT going to happen, or I wouldn't be writing a blog post, would I? Humor me...it's been awhile.)

I'm not the same person I was on or before January 2, 2015. This realization struck when I was out to dinner with my sister just over a week ago; we were taste-testing gelato before ordering it - something I had watched people do with fascination, but had NEVER actually done myself. Normally, I'd just peer into the gelato counter sneeze-shield, select my desired flavor based on sight alone, and order - all the while keeping my fingers crossed that my selection would be something yummy - or, at least, edible. But not this time, folks...not this time.

This time, I tried FOUR different flavors before I settled on a strawberry and vanilla two-scoop combo (yes, all that work...all those tiny spoons...for strawberry and vanilla...your judgments are not welcome here *sarcasm* Judge away. I deserve it.). I thanked the nice boy behind the counter for being so accommodating to my requests...then Tess chimed in, "Yeah, this is a big deal for my sister. She usually doesn't do anything she thinks inconveniences anyone in anyway." He replied in some polite and friendly manner - and I even said something back, but I don't really remember the exchange because my brain was swimming in the words my sister had just said...she was right: this was a big deal - a HUGE deal - I didn't do those kinds of things...

Yet, there I had been just seconds before...tasting gelato with abandon. If that is not a life-changing moment, I don't know what is.

All gelato aside, my post-taste-testing reflection made me realize a pretty significant shift in "Josie." In the last seven weeks, I started to let people do things for me; and in the last four - I stopped fighting it. I started to let people help me. Prior to my brain injury (that still sounds weird), it was a tall order to get me to accept help; to get me to ask for it - nearly impossible. Any acceptance of help would leave me feeling excessively guilt-ridden and indebted to whomever was kind enough to offer his or her assistance. I'm certain I would've said it was pride that required me to act in such a manner; but that's the lie I told myself. My sister's words were the truth: It was never pride...I just never thought I was worth the hassle. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. Ever.

I am the helper. I am the one who makes everything ok. You have a problem? I will fix it: from clogged toilets to the boy who breaks your heart, if there is something wrong in your life, I will make it right! I will pick you up, carry you to your car and buckle you in (right, Teeny? Inside joke...I know, it's bad manners to tell inside jokes; my apologies). I want your life to be as good as it can possibly be - as easy as it can possibly be - at all times. I cannot stand it when it's not. My needs...psh, small potatoes. I really do mean that...which is why - historically speaking, I have not handled being the one who needs support very well. If I need help, it means I am not helping someone or something (ahem, animals) else. Helping is where my confidence originates - it's one of the only things I sincerely believe I do really well: I'm an unstoppable, capable, solutions-oriented fixing machine! But if that ability goes away, my purpose in the world ceases to exist. I lose all of my power. I become vulnerable. Life taught me to be very selective about who gets to witness my weaknesses...so I tried to pretend I didn't have any.

Newsflash: That didn't work.

My inability to let my "weaknesses" show and my initial refusal to let others carry my responsibilities at school had some pretty scary consequences in those early days of January - when I was still trying to maintain some semblance of control over my brain  - when I was trying to just "suck it up." But I couldn't - and my efforts to do so made things ten times worse: ask my students, colleagues, doctors, sister and anyone else who had to deal with the crumpled heap of Josie during that time - I was a disaster - who was completely unwilling to admit it. Slowly, with the rationale of many - my incredible teaching-partner, my amazing school director, my compassionate coworkers, my fantastic friends, my (completely unamused) doctors and my persistent sister, I realized that I would have to take a step back from life for a little while. So I did.

I stepped back - and others stepped in. My teaching-partner planned and taught all the lessons, she treated my students like her own - and along with my homeroom partner, colleagues and school director - dealt with any and all parent questions and concerns (she also did more than her fair-share of Josie-sitting - it's similar to babysitting, but with a much more stubborn clientele...it was completely unfair to her - I should've done a better job of self-regulating...); parents corrected my papers, my colleagues took on my House Leader responsibilities and arranged to have their friends come in to help me grade interim assessments. Away from school, my sister ran my errands (and bought me chocolate milk...lots of chocolate milk), friends cooked for me, waited on me hand and foot, and catered to my every need. I slept and slept and slept...more or less continuously for about 20 days. And slowly, I emerged from the fog. Getting back into life was an ordeal - and was a much slower process than I anticipated, but hopefully this coming week, I'll be able to work full days...with naps only when absolutely necessary.

I'm almost the person I was before I hit my head...but not quite. Now, my secret's out: I'm not made of steel. But, lucky for me, no one ever expected me to be. I still fight the swell of appreciation and pangs of guilt that make me want to buy everyone I know a really nice car - ok, a really nice cap - but they don't want any caps from me. They barely want my gratitude. They legitimately just want me to heal...that's it. My guilt-complex barely knows how to operate under such conditions, but I'm learning.

I realize that accepting help does not make one helpless...it makes one human. In the past seven weeks, I was vulnerable - powerless at times; I trusted high-quality people with my workload, my care and my safety (note the 'high-quality" emphasis here, kids - you can't trust everyone...that's just reckless).  I inconvenienced people like I have never inconvenienced people before - and their words and actions in the aftermath of all this inconvenience helped me realize that I was - that I am - worth the hassle (and as the nice gelato-boy found out, that has extended to other facets of my life). People really like helping - how silly of me to think I was the only one. Maybe it is about pride after all...