Moms fight
My mom got sick, which I don't think I fully understood the extent of until my last visit to the hospital with her—walking into the hospital room, seeing her lying in a hospital bed, telling me that she didn't have much time left and there wasn’t anything more they could do. Everything they tried was only bringing more suffering. A reply of words of which I tried to find the strength to speak but could not. There's no excuse why I had let so much time pass between us, and that's something I believe I'll forever carry with me. I found myself busy working two jobs, dedicating my time to a trade and a career, and focusing on a relationship rather than spending that time with my mother. Who at that time was battling a fight I'll never understand? I don't know how she remained so calm facing it all. I can't imagine all the thoughts she must have had. However, in all of that darkness, there was some light. She had just become a grandmother to two beautiful boys. I feel as if that gave her a reason to fight more. Watching them grow in the short time she had with them. Even just the small moments she had with them, I'm sure, meant everything to her. She would lie in bed and color with them. Hold onto them and cherish that time. I often wonder if my nephews will have those memories of her.
My brother and sister-in-law decided to have a gender reveal for their firstborn, Aiden. Being the "photographer," I would capture the moment. The occasion was held beside our home; looking back at the footage of that day, I was surprised that I caught the lilac bush beside our home that day. It stood there for as long as I can remember. It was my mom's favorite. It would only bloom a few months out of the year; it had a distinct smell; the blooms were my mom's favorite color, Purple.
Between that time in the hospital and her time while in hospice, the time passed by so quickly, and it was almost as if I couldn't believe it. Having planned all these trips, I thought things would've improved—trips to Graceland, Longwood Gardens, and Dollywood. But things never got better. I have no recent photos of us together—just family photos in an album. Why, today, I'm so passionate about capturing those moments. It's a heavy weight to carry, knowing I never got to do those things together before she lost her battle the morning of September 21st, 2022. I was working at the time, having just gotten the news. Working at a company that I had just started at. They had no idea about her battle; I didn't share it with anyone. Today, and until I meet my fate, it's a story that I'll share in great difficulty. It has shaped who I am, and I hope to continue her legacy. So I'll continue to wear a lilac and know maybe she's watching over me. Love and miss you, Mom.
“There’ will be a moment when you realize that you’re 27 when yesterday you were just 17, and you won’t be able to tell how a decade passed away and your life got divided into before and afters. The fury of youth will subdue, and nothing will change. Still, everything will feel different when you look at old photographs and blurry family vacation videos taken on old camcorders. Scents will remind you of childhood, hangouts will become reunions, and dinner spent with loved ones will become the best food you ever had. And I know on some days you won’t be able to show anything of those ten years, but I hope you remember to breathe and let go of the knot in your chest. I hope you go out in the sun and live a little. Because tomorrow is 37.”
