Hope.

My mom passed away 5 days ago. And it's been the hardest thing I've ever been through. It's still very early in the process, I'm still doing things like paying for funeral stuff or eating Casseroles and Fried Chicken brought over by friends and church people. I haven't had a chance to have a good cry, grieve any sort of way or even believe that she's gone. I can only describe myself as feeling quite raw. I'm right there on the edge of going to bed and never coming out of my room again. I call a lot on Jesus. I 'pull it together' for Matthew's sake and I pray for that peace which surpasses all understanding - just so I can stay upright while at the courthouse in the probate office.

After seeing Heaven, mom would never want to come back here. And it would be very selfish of me to ask. But I'd nearly give anything to talk to her again, see her face, hear her voice, touch her sweet hands, kiss her face, hug her, smell her, tell her I love her and hear her tell me she loves me. Yes, I have all the cliches going in my mind... "You can still talk to her", "you can still tell her you love her", "She knows", "She's looking down on you", etc. But you know what I mean. A girl needs her mom. I need my mom, here, in the flesh. I don't think I'll ever get used to this. I've called her every single day, several times a day, just to check on her for the last 6 years. I've helped her write out bills, I've picked up her groceries, I've run errands for her, I've fixed her TV remote and all kinds of little things. Since my brother died I took 'sole ownership' of our sweet mother and whatever she needed, I tried to do. If I couldn't get it done we made sure we had friends on board to pick up anywhere I left off. If I could help her I would. But please don't get me wrong. Up until recently, Mom did fine on her own - and she and I made a great team. She's helped me and been there for me in more ways than I could even fully explain. She's been my partner in raising my son, she's kept my lights on in hard times, listened to me complain about something, been my go-to person for everything. She was my friend, Matthew's biggest fan, my Bishop family. She would come over to visit and end up doing our laundry and making dinner. She'd go to the grocery store and pick up something to make my favorite meals. She didn't care a thing about eating a big dinner anymore but she did it for us. Because that's just what mothers do. She would fix Thanksgiving dinners and have my ex-husband and his girlfriend over - just so Matthew could feel surrounded by lots of his family. She was my Emergency Contact Person in case I fell down some stairs somewhere. For the last 5 days I've been nearly sick with worry that I haven't "called to check on her today". The urge to call her to check in is like a pitchfork gouging out my insides. I think the longing to hear her voice is trying to kill me.

While you're hanging around the hospital waiting on the enevitable to come, time is a real weird thing. One minute could feel like forever and days on end feels like the blink of an eye. Mom was in pain, not really with me anymore while we were there - waiting, waiting, waiting. But at least she was alive and I could help her by raising the bed or giving her sips of water, pushing that stupid nurse button. Now that that part is over I've never felt so final. So "now what" in my life.

I certainly didn't mean for this blog post to be what it's become. I just feel so damn bad. So bad. I feel bad for my son and I feel bad for me. I feel bad for my mom who was the victim of damn cancer. I feel like Florence in that episode of Good Times when James died and she held up so well until finally she dropped a stack of dishes and screamed Damn, Damn, Damn. That's how I feel. I want to drop dishes and scream bad words. I want to see the bottom of liquor bottles, I want to find Dr. Feelgood, I want to be numb, mad, I want to scream, I want to demand to know WHY?! I want to kick stupid cancer between the legs with a steel toe boot as hard as I can, then stomp it and stomp it until its crying in a heap on the ground.

We went to the hospital for an infection. Dehydration and an infection. And we never came home again until I came home without her. Now "home" as I know it will be boxed up, divided, handled by the state, sold, gone. And suddenly there's no roots even holding us in this state. There's nowhere to go home to. I feel like an orphan, the last Bishop standing, alone. Desperately alone. I could be surrounded by people - and have been since this started but I've never felt more alone in my life. I want to go somewhere - I feel like if I could just get somewhere away from this pain that I would be ok. But I could run forever and not get away from it. So instead I literally walk around in circles inside my own house, fretting over what will become of my mother's memory. What will happen when I can't remember her voice or what her hands looked like. Oh God, I think my heart will break apart into a million pieces and never, ever get back together. I don't know how to handle this, I don't know how to be, I don't know how tomorrow could ever be ok.

And then I think about Jesus. And I'm relieved that I know Him personally and so did mom. At least I have hope in that - and I don't grieve the way the lost do. Because as hard as this is and as hurt and sad as I am, at least my mom isn't. She's in Heaven, beautiful Heaven with our Holy Father and I'll see her again someday. Compared to eternity, our reunion will be in the time it takes to blink your eyes. I can hang on for that long, at least.