Love and Miss You, Mom

My mom died December 17, 1991. My mom was such an easy person to dislike, and I loved her very much. Understandably, I get a lot of my humor from her, my straightforwardness, my honesty, my migraines and my mental illness.
My mom was one of six kids, poor, and had a rather hard childhood. Fortunately, all her siblings were there for each other and always remained close. My mom became pregnant when she was 18 by my dad, 10 years her senior. Unfortunate, because she had a brilliant mind and was set on nursing. I happened instead. Fourteen months later, my sister happened too. My dad chose to stay away (his choice of job) most of the time, so she raised us practically alone. My mom was ill, physically and mentally. She had a bad back (had several major surgeries) suffered migraines, and medicated herself with pain pills and alcohol. This may have eased her pain, but was hell on my sister and I. I constantly think if antidepressants had been available to her all those years ago, it could have changed all of our lives.
My mom was physically, mentally and emotionally abusive. She took most of it out on us kids, but mentally and emotionally...the person it was directed at didn't much matter.
I didn't realize till I was much older why she behaved the way she did. I just hated her for it. She was honestly a very cruel person, but she was also (which I didn't understand) a very sad person. She was lonely, neglected, struggling with so many issues and raising 2 kids by herself.
My sister and I were rebellious, looked for and wanted acceptance, love, peace of mind and just plain happiness. We found it in all the wrong places. Well, once again, I can't speak for my sister, and I won't. But this is how I felt.
Let's just fast forward about 15 years. I changed and in the process, I forgave. And, with forgiving, I opened the door to let love in. I saw my mom in a way I'd never seen her before, like putting in a higher watt bulb and suddenly all the shadows disappear. I changed my bulb.
I began loving my mom, and she responded in kind. Thinking back, she probably hadn't had many people love her unconditionally. In all honesty, she gave people little reason to like her, not alone "love" her. That's where the unconditional part comes in.
My mom became one of my biggest supporters, and I say this smiling, she always told me the way it was...as much as I didn't want to hear it. When I moved to Texas and married my husband, she was my closest friend (she and my grandmother, my grandmother was my best friend from the day I was born till the day she died). I think, now, how sad it must have been for her to have the only person that would talk to her, without screaming and fighting, living a thousand miles away. Finally, though, she was able to let herself love someone and them love her back.
When I had my boys, she was the best grandmother. She loved my kids so much. She never failed to tell me how blessed I was to have them, how blessed I was to have my husband; a man that loved and supported me, and that she loved me.
My dad began having heart problems, for years he was feeling poor and going to dr's. He finally had open heart surgery to repair some of the valves and even had problems with that surgery. We were all overwhelmed with my dad's health. A few weeks after his first major heart surgery, we went to visit for Thanksgiving. We were hesitant to do this because the boys were (Casey) 2 years old and (Charlie) 11 months old. But they assured us that Dad could handle it. While there, Mom would often cry when holding my boys, she loved and missed them so much.
A few weeks later, on December 17th, my mom called late one night to tell us that my dad had gone back into the hospital. There was a problem with the thickness of his blood. My husband was the only one still up, and she told him she just wanted to let us know about Dad, that it wasn't life threatening and not to wake me up, just to tell me that she loved me. That she loved all of us. A few hours later, she died in her sleep.
We found out later that she, too, had heart disease, and no-one knew it. A few days later I received a large box in the mail, filled with Christmas presents from Mom. She must have mailed them the day before she died.
I will always be grateful for the relationship that my mom and I had developed, for all she shared with me, such as all the years I wanted children and didn't conceive. She'd tell me it would happen when it was God's timing. When I'd have my little hissy fits with my husband, she'd tell me how fortunate I was to have a man as good as Mark, someone that loved me the way he did and was always there for me (and I'd realize how she knew this from first hand experience, having never had this sort of man in her life). When I had my babies, she was always there to answer questions, ease my fears, settle my nerves and hold my hand...however long the distance may have been.
Many times I still hear her talking to me, telling me how blessed I am. I still hear her voice, feel her touch as she'd stroke my hands. I never understood this, and now I find myself doing it to my own boys. I know they probably find it as curious as I once did, and yet one day they'll be doing it to their own children and they'll remember my touch. And they'll understand too.
In many ways I am my mother, and in many ways I'm not. Regardless, I loved her with all my heart and I miss her every day of my life.