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 and intensified my binge eating disorder, 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 58th birthday.
Hi Mom,
I usually write you a letter on your birthday, but as the clock hits midnight now, I haven't quite figured out what to say (in any articulate way, at least.) Sometimes, just holding things in or pushing emotions down is easier. It means not having to experience the case of the “what-if's.” What if you were misdiagnosed? What if I took better care of you? What would life be like if you were still here? It's just a spiral that never leads anywhere.
I know I always bring up the fact that I have so few photos of you. These days with cell phones, I could see us having lots of selfies and maybe I'd even have video on my phone to be able to hear your voice. Try as I might, I still can't remember it. I can hear the muddled sounds you made in your sickest days, but that's not how I want to remember you. I would go back through the few home movies I have, but I haven't had the mental strength to face them of late. Sometimes to move forward, you can't spend too much time looking back.
As with every one of your birthdays or anniversaries of your death, I contemplated going to the cemetery. I didn't. I won't find what I'm looking for there. What I do see is see a simple marker and a wish I had been able to do a bigger headstone. I see the other markers that have filled the empty spaces around you and wish you had family or empty space around you. But I don't see YOU, and being in that physical location can't bring you back. I hope you understand why I don't go.
In losing you, I've found motivation to make the best life possible for myself. I think this is what helps me keep my emotions in check. It's as close as I can get to sort of positive spin on a life cut short. I can't bring you back, but I'm doing the best I can to propel myself forward.
I love you and miss you more than words.
Emily
More 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
- Six Years, Slow Healing – April 2013
- 57 – August 2013
