is today. Shit, just typing that title is already making the tears come. I am listening to the Gipsy Kings and I just lit the candles around the enormous photo frame I made for her memorial service. I don’t know how many more times I will say it in my life but it is just NOT FAIR. And nothing is ever going to make it okay, that I don’t have her anymore.
I miss her so much. This weekend I was unpacking and I found my birthday cards from 2008. One from each of the pets and the last from my mom. I turned 35 that year and she wrote about remembering the night I was born and that she didn’t think it was real until they brought me back to her the next morning. She didn’t see me turn 40. And maybe it is stupid to get hung up on a number but it doesn’t feel that way. My mom should have been here to see alot more numbers.
The picture is from Cactus on Alki. Mom had a gift for being the clown, see Rupert as evidence and she was imitating Mrs. Got Rocks, femme fatale in her faux fur. I think one of the things that I miss most about my mom was her refusal to conform to someone else’s expectations. It used to be frustrating to no end. However, it really influenced me.
I needed my mom today when I was getting the verbal beatdown at work. I needed my mom to look at me and yell “Towanda” ala Fried Green Tomatoes and stick her middle finger up at the person in charge. Doing it myself didn’t give the same sense of encouragement. Instead, I waited until the meeting ended and then held the dogs for thirty minutes until I could face it again. I wanted so much to celebrate her today but all I can do is cry.
The only place I didn’t cry was at my banjo lesson today. Instead I ended up helping my banjo teacher get on Skype so he can practice with a bluegrass band in Belgium. I was kind of chuckling to myself because it was a bit like explaining computer stuff to my mom. At least there is a trade off, since often I feel like music is something I don’t understand that easily.
I have cried at banjo lessons before so Paul isn’t weirded out when I do. The only thing I am not allowed to do in banjo lessons is drop the F bomb when I get frustrated.
Sometimes I wonder if it will ever get easier, but I don’t think it will. I think that the hole in my heart is so great, that nothing will ever mend it. Even though I can function and go about the business of living, the hole remains and nothing is capable of filling it. It just remains. Today I feel really breakable.