Note: I have several posts on here about my mom and her impact/influence on my weight and her death in 2007. Her death was one of the triggering life events that got me to my highest weight, but it is also one of the biggest reasons I continue to fight for my health. She, with Parkinson's Disease, didn't have the choice to let her body deteriorate. I do. I choose life, and am striving to live a life full of experiences she wasn't able to. Today would have been her 57th birthday.
Hi Mom,
First, let me say that I miss you. Because obviously I do. But that being said, I have a little bit of a rant today. I know I shouldn't rant during what would have been your 57th birthday, but here it goes:
Why did you never step in front of the camera? Not for TV or anything, but for photos? I have gone back so many times to try to find photos of you the way I remembered you, and can't. I have about 3 photos and the rest are all from when I was under the age of 6. It's frustrating, but it really just makes me sad. Why would you not stand in front of the camera? Dad had it out all the time. Though really, we seem to have more pictures of plants that people (his love of bonsai's in particular).
Every time I go through the photos I would get a little miffed. Until earlier this week.
I was trying to find photos from undergrad: ones that show me at my higher weights. And I can barely find any. It's like I dropped off the face of the earth from 2000-2006, and then resurfaced once I lost weight. I disappeared again for a bit from 2008-2009 when I gained the weight back after you died (not that I blame you – I just didn't know how to cope.) I thought perhaps it was because I was avoiding the camera. But thinking back, I realized it was because I wasn't ever in any situations worth photographing. I hate saying, “I didn't have a life,” instead, I think that I was just not living. I was stuck in a perpetual state of self-loathing, and unless you count TV watching and binge eating a life, I wasn't living. Damn that makes me sad.
Anyway, shame on both you and I for not being confident in our own skin. Though really it's what we're taught to do: if we don't look a certain way, we don't deserve to enjoy everything in life. We're always shown that our bodies aren't ideal, so we spend tens of thousands of dollars and lots of wasted time trying to lose weight to chase the ideal. Bah.
Thankfully, I did find one photo today. I know you would probably hate it because I know your hair doesn't look how you wanted it to, you're not wearing any of your clip on earrings, and you're at a weight you always tried to escape, but I think you're beautiful. I miss that smile, and nowadays struggle to remember your laugh.
I tried to prepare myself yesterday for the impending sense of sadness that was coming today. I put on a skirt covered entirely in sequins, played fun music, looked at funny dog videos, and buried myself in working until 3am. It held things at bay until I started to write this post. You would think each year would get a little easier, but in some ways it seems to get harder as I struggle to remember certain things. I've lost what your voice sounds like again, but hopefully it will come back to me. If not, I'll go through some home videos, though you're not seen in most of them either. Maybe you'll come to me in a dream and sing me one of your silly car songs about traffic lights or “home again home again, jiggity jig…” But even if you don't, you're in my heart. Forever and always.
I love you and miss you more than words,
Emily
Other posts about my mom:
- Parkinson's Disease – her story
- Peaks and Valleys – August 2009
- A Voice – April 2010
- Why So Emotional? – April 2010
- Happy Thoughts – August 2010
- 55 – August 2011
- Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda – April 2012
- 56 – August 2012
