Yesterday was Mother’s Day. My first without her. My husband came through, with such an outpouring of love and understanding that I ended up crying more from being touched by the beauty of his spirit than for mourning my Mom.
Thank you, sweetie. I need that bolster of love before I dive back in.
July 1 (Sat), 1995
Why do I always hope? Hope slaps me with a large hand. Hope always hurts. Why don’t I ever learn? Why do I try to get the attention of withholding men? This is what I want in a man:
· Someone who is eager to talk to me
· Someone who is eager to see me
· Someone who puts me before his work
· Someone who likes to give me things
· Someone who likes to take me places
· Someone who reserves time for me
· Someone who is a gentleman towards me
· Someone who sends me notes and cards
· Someone who is not afraid of commitment
· Someone who does not work out of town
· Someone who sends me flowers.
My mother wanted my husband.
This is the thought that rings in my skull. And in a way, I’m glad. I’m glad because she was happy for me. I’m glad because she got to experience almost all of these things, even if it was just in a son-in-law.
But I’m split in the middle. My breath catches. If I could have wished my husband on my mother, I would, but I can’t. I want him for me. Not a step-dad.
This is weird, I bet, to even think about these things. I want my mother to be happy. I want her to have a man like my husband. But she can’t have him. Not that he’s a commodity to trade—if he chose to date my mother I wouldn’t and couldn’t stop him, I’d just run away and take a lot of showers and try not to imagine anything.
Three days before my Mom died, when we thought she was just loopy from a change in meds, we brought her home to live with us. For those three days, she got to see what being treated like a princess was all about. Hubby made her tea. Hubby drove her anywhere she wanted to go. Hubby talked and talked and talked to her. When I wasn’t home, she was his top priority. When I was home, she was our top priority together. We spoiled her rotten.
Partly, she engenders being spoiled rotten because she was so damn sweet. Partly, we wanted to convince her to live with us long-term, because her mental state was not always reliable.
I’m glad this is my Mother’s day entry.
She was lonely, and angry at herself for falling for someone (is this Dad, or some other man?) who does not care about her. But, once in her life, she experienced devotion.
And I stop here, because I know there’s darkness ahead, and I don’t want darkness today.