Turning it off

Turning it off. I’m surprised sometimes by my ability to just “turn things off.” It’s how I deal with stress and cope with unhappy events. Sometimes that gets me in trouble. When I was in college, a lot of times instead of being motivated by stress, I’d just “turn it off.” I’d just refuse to think about it. Of course, that resulted in some unpleasant test scores!

Over time, I’ve learned to sometimes NOT turn it off, and that’s probably helped me a little bit. This is not without exception. One harsh word from Katherine is enough to make me cry like a middle-aged woman watching Steel Magnolias.

But in other ways, I’m such a guy. I rarely cry aside from that. I didn’t cry when Mom died. Or Grandma. Or my childhood dog. Etc. That’s not to say these things didn’t bother me. I just don’t like feeling unhappy, and when my thoughts drift to such things, I sort of change the subject, internally.

I don’t talk a lot about Mom. I think Katherine grieved her death far more than I did, on top of an already rough year. She felt the loss much more immediately I think. Kat talked to Mom almost daily. Often I would come home and she would be chatting, and after hanging up I would ask her who she was talking to. “Mom,” would could the answer.

“My mom or your mom?”

“Your mom.”

“Oh,” I would reply, not quite knowing whether I should be miffed that I had been cut out of the loop entirely!

After some time I stopped protesting why she never let me say hi before hanging up. Not that I didn’t want to. But they had their thing. And just like a boyfriend and girlfriend breaking up, often it’s the interaction in daily life – the routine – that we miss as well as the person. She had that with Mom and I didn’t.

Of course I can play the ‘son card’ and claim to have a connection with Mom she could never know. How she raised me and taught me how to live. In some ways that’s true. As much as I see Dad in myself, I also see a lot of Mom. But to be quite honest, most of the closeness I felt with Mom came from the last couple of years of her life. It’s not that unusual really. Most of the closeness I felt with Grandma came from the two weeks I lived with her in college. Plus, I think it’s because we finally understood each other a little bit.

Children say they love their parents. But they don’t know love. I didn’t know love until I fell in love, and I didn’t know a lifelong love until I married Katherine. I still don’t know the love a parent feels for a child, but as we grow up, we start to understand. There’s no manual for parenting, and they did the best they did. And it was pretty good. They sacrificed their ambition for you, their money, their time, their hobbies, their friends. I always felt bad that Mom never went to Europe. I know she wanted to go so badly. Even on their modest salaries, Mom and Dad surely would have gone without having to support their family.

Mom and I had some great talks over the course of our first 25 years. Particularly memorable was when I was at the height of teenage impossibility, throwing my best rebellious tantrum since 2 years old. Instead of responding to my shouts, she asked me to go on a walk with her, and we talked for nearly an hour.

The last couple of years were also memorable. I finally had the independence I had always wanted, and she got to see how her son turned out. We had moved past our rocky past, and I appreciated her more than ever for the amazing woman she was. We had the best talks over the last couple of years.

When I can get my sisters to open up, they tell allude to the horrors of her final days. I had moved to California only weeks before she died. I feel bad for not having been around, but at the same time, glad I didn’t have to see her suffer. I wish I could have spared her that. Even more, I wish I could have spared my sisters that. And knowing Mom, she wishes it more than anyone.

Only once did I take care of her when she was sick. She was so worried that she was imposing on me. She had just had Chemo again. This time, instead of working between rests, she was really sick. She complained that the house was so dirty, and how she felt like she should be cleaning it. She was in a lot of pain, and she couldn’t get out of bed to go to the bathroom. I tried to help, but she finally gave up and asked for the bedpan. She started to cry and she struggled to disguise the panic in her voice. “I’ll never get out of bed again. This is it.”

“Yes you will Mom, you’re still recovering from the Chemo.”

But she was right. She might have gotten out of bed a couple more times, but never really to do anything. Shortly after, they brought in a special hospital bed for her. At the time, I didn’t realize I was seeing the beginning of the end. But she did. From the day you get back the biopsy results, you undoubtedly think about the final days when you’ll be bedridden and unable to care for yourself, waiting for your body to waste away enough to give your mind and spirit peace.

That day. Right in front of me. She realized it had finally arrived. There would be no more cleaning the house and taking care of her family. I think for me, that would be the most horrifying moment of the cancer. From the sound of her voice, I think it was for her too.

I never reflected before on just how significant that moment was. I guess I’m just good at turning it off. But in the honesty of sleep, my mind wandered where I forbade it to go. I awoke missing Mom as much as the day I said goodbye in Willard - sick on the bed she feared so much; rushed by the nurse trying to keep a schedule.

I turned over and hugged my wife. She squeezed my hand and asked me what was wrong. “Nothing,” I whispered, “I just love you.” As she drifted back asleep, I reflected on how lucky I’ve been to have such wonderful women in my life, and how they’ve made me who I am. Mom, Grandma, Katherine, Ruth, Sarah. I love you. I know I didn’t say it enough to Mom, and I certainly haven’t said it enough to the men in my life. Now, a third of the way through my life (Hey, I’m an optimist!) I think I finally understand the beauty and depth of the love that only a family can share. And I thank Mom for teaching me.