baby steps

Today I took a baby step back to normal...

The biggest connection between my mom and I was art. She was my teacher when I was younger and as my talent developed she began to live through my artwork. She stopped painting to take a more practical path in nursing. She would tell me that was her one regret and one she did not want to see me make. Once she stopped painting, she could not go back. Most people do not know that over the past few months, while my mom and I were fighting, I used art to try to bring my mom back to life. I found art classes for her to take and took her shopping to buy art supplies. As we shopped, I became the teacher. I explained the new tools and made sure she left the store with the right materials that would help bring her visions to life. My hope was that with each brushstroke my mom would form a new identity, not tied down to the pain of illness or abandonment. The night before her first class, I came over with my old and newer art box. I gave her my old one from high school and made sure it was organized to her liking. I also added finishing pieces from my art box so she had enough colors to work with (I knew her rainbow loving self would need a full spectrum of colors).

Her first day of class I was so excited to talk to her to see what she learned. We sat at the table as she showed me her exercises and said she felt like the class was too beginner for her. Her instructor even offered to let her switch to the advanced class during the summer, but like everything else, my mom was not confident enough to take this step. She asked me if I would consider taking the class with her. She thought it would be fun to do art with me again. I said it depended on my work schedule. Now I have spent the summer unemployed and everyday all I think about is how we could have been in class together...

Now fast forward to today. One of my best friends and I went to paint pottery. When my friend brought up the idea, a piece of me felt so much anxiety over the idea of picking up a paint brush again. To quote my eulogy "when I paint my hand is [my mom's] hand." Art is such a personal thing between my mom and I that my mom feared that I would not be able to paint once she was gone. To be honest, I was not sure I would be able to. I made a promise to my mom I would paint again, but the idea of holding true to that promise made me feel sick. I saw the pottery trip as a challenge I had to face.

As I worked on my piece, I felt the happiest I could feel. I heard my mom reciting different painting lessons in my head as my brush hit the ceramic. I got carried away and for a moment I felt like I was five again drawing at the kitchen table with my mom. With each brush stroke, I felt like my mom's hand move with mine. I was connected to her, a feeling I forgot until today.

I am not back to fully painting again, but today I took a baby step to fulfilling my final promise to my mom. Again to quote from you eulogy "when i paint again, my hand will be [my mom's hand] and [she] will live on doing the thing she loved the most."

Thank you for painting with me today mommy. I promise we will again soon...

Happy

I never realized how hard it is to be happy. It takes a lot of effort and if one puzzle piece does not fit the happiness will not last for long. Yesterday I can honestly say was the first day I began to feel normal. I even had moments where I would forget everything and just enjoy the moment. As I experienced those times, I would be quickly jolted out by the need to pick up the phone. There was never a day I would not share every little moment with my mom. Endless phone calls while in the car, as she would get mad at me for talking while driving. It became a game for me to keep the conversation moving so quickly that she would not notice that we were talking in the car. Whenever I had a down moment, I would think about my mom and that has not changed. I don't think it ever will.

It is a common phrase to have a hole in your heart, but that is the only way I can explain it. My mom was born with a hole in her heart. Not the metaphorical I speak of but an actual hole. In a lot of ways I feel like this is a cruel joke to show me what my mom went through her whole life. I never realized the pain she went through until now...

I know you...

Almost at the two months mark and today it hit me that things are very different from when my mom was alive. Not in the ways most would think, but in the little things. Sarah and I have put together a new show line up, shows my mom was not alive to see air. I am reconnecting with an old friend my mom never knew I was talking to again. My mom never even got to watch Glee club make it to nationals. I can continue to list but it would leave me crying and unable to finish this blog...

Throughout the exploration of these new aspects in my life, I catch myself saying "mom would love this" or "mom would hate that." As I type, I am watching CNN and the Anthony verdict and I hear my mom's voice yelling at the TV. As I watch the coverage, I find myself thinking about the fact I do not KNOW what my mom would be saying tonight, I can guess but that is it. As I watch "Switched at Birth" on ABC Family, I can turn to Sarah and say mom wouldn't watch this show because she wouldn't want to read the subtitles but who am I to say that? I can say all I want that I knew my mom and know her thoughts but through out the past two months I have been proven wrong. Her friends talk about her dancing and how much she loved to go out. No matter how hard I try, I cannot picture that Sheri. They talk about her love of the "Beach Boys." Again, not the Sheri I knew. No matter how much I "know" or actually "knew" (still having a hard time putting her in the past tense, but that is a topic for another post) my mom I well never know everything, yet I can sit here and say she would love or hate something? It took these thoughts for me to actually hear in my mind "mom is dead." Up until now, I have forced those words to not enter my mind or soul. I would say it out loud and would see the images, but I would refuse to believe it deep down. The seen cannot be unseen and I have taken that step and there is no turning back. Honestly, that thought hurts more than seeing the discoloration on my mom that day and watching my mom leave her place one last time in a bag.

As each day passes, I miss my mom more and more. I wish my mom shared the "Beach Boys" with me and her love of dancing. People are complex and you can never know someone completely, but I wish I would have tried harder when she was here...

Handwriting

I was going through some stuff today and saw my mom's handwriting on a piece of paper. As I held the paper in my hands, tears filled my eyes. Just holding something my mom held now has so much meaning for me. With this piece of paper in my hand I had an overwhelming feeling. How did my mom handle all of this and how am I suppose to take over? My mom had a strength like none other and when that strength started to weaken it was a sign of bad things to come. I have realized that her handwriting is a visual to what was going on inside of her. The envelope I was holding with my mom's writing was from a long time ago. The writing was nice and smooth and each letter was finished. Compare this to writing from the past year, you will find writing that is not readable and the lettering blurs together. A piece of me wonders if things could have been different if this was caught sooner...