The Last Time


It was a year ago today. This will be really tough. A year ago today. We were about to meet up at the Erin and have my birthday dinner. I even have the texts from July 31st, about some things we were talking about. You were making strides. You wanted to discuss some things. You felt you were heading in the right direction. I met you at the Erin. We both got seafood combos. I told you that I could just take my insulin at the table now. I can’t believe it now. I never, EVER, could’ve imagined that would be the last time I would see you and know you actually saw me. I can’t believe it would be the last time we would talk face to face. Man. It’s hard to even type this without breaking down. I can’t believe that would be our last meal. I am happy we had a good one. We talked. It was just you and I. As it has been decades before. As was common, we differed on opinions on topics years old, but we tabled them for the moment of celebration. I wish I could go back to that day. Tell you, Mom, your life is going to be over in 11 days. You’re going to be taken from us…and we are absolutely helpless against what is heading straight towards us. Like a tornado with no warning. Man. I can’t believe we were just sitting on those old wooden chair, enjoying our food, you’re typical, “it’s sooooooo good…” We wrapped up our dinner. We walked outside to the back of the parking lot where your car was parked and you pulled out a bag, of course decorated with blue and red tissue paper and I went inside it and pulled out two great gifts. A Sixers long sleeve tee and an Eagles hoody. Both of which I loved. I was really impressed with both choices. After your incident that bag sat where I put it for about 6 months. I couldn’t even touch it. I couldn’t change the way the bag was arranged. I couldn’t touch the gifts. I remember saying goodbye. I remember wrapping my arms around you and hugging you so hard I picked you up. You laughed and I walked away and said bye. I called you a few hours later. I will never forget what you said. Sadness was obvious in your voice. Looking back, I wish I just got in the car and went over. You said, “You should’ve just come here and stayed over…there’s nobody here…..” I don’t even know that I can portray the sadness I felt in your voice. I don’t think you’ve ever really said it that way. It typically was, “oh you should just pack a bag and sleep over….” This time was different. I don’t know why. I wish that I didn’t end up going out that night. If I could take it back, I would. I know I am being way too hard on myself cause everyone will say, “but how could you know…?” And I couldn’t. I couldn’t have had any more of a clue than any other human being. I don’t know why, like many others, we weren’t even given the chance to get you to a hospital so you had a chance to survive. As I look back, there was no way you were going to come back from such a devastating blow. I don’t get it. I don’t get how God chooses who stays and who goes. I really don’t. That was our last meal Mom. We made it a good one. I don’t even feel I can enjoy my birthday, but I have to try. I will head down the shore tomorrow. I will think of you. I will write Mom in the sand before I head out. I will be at peace like I have been every time I have ever been in the water. Another thing I truly have you to thank for. We all miss you Mom. We are all struggling as we see the waves of memory and emotion comes at us….and we are powerless against their path. But the tide comes in and the tide goes back out. And my God, did we ever swim against the tide this last year. Sometimes fighting to get back up to the surface and sometimes enjoying the darkness of being covered over by the water. You are so truly missed. I think of you every day. What I find myself doing is trying to make sure other people are okay. Especially people who have lost loved ones the last 12 months. I want to make sure people are ok in their hearts as well. I can’t solve people’s problems. I have enough of my own to work on. I guess we all do. I hope when I see you again, I can look at you and give you a great big hug. Your son misses you. You were my hero. You still are my hero. Love you Mom. Bobby

PS…If you can give me the call you gave me so many times about the day you had me, how happy you were, how happy you were to be my mom. That would be awesome. I will hope you call me in my dreams. It would be a great birthday gift. 


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