Single In New York...

Fall is quickly approaching. It’s my favorite season and my least favorite season at the same time. I love the weather, the smells, the cool breeze, the quiet streets, and the changing of the leaves.

This October marks the thirteenth year that my mom has been gone. Once September hits I know that October is closing in faster than I would like. I can’t help but be… reminiscent of my past.

She had been sick since I was five and passed when I was nine. I can count all of my memories of her on one hand. I am so envious of my family for having hundreds and even thousands of memories of her while I wouldn’t recognize her if she walked right up to me today.

How does one forget their own mother? A mother is arguably one of the most important figures in a child’s life. I was nine. Not three. I should have tons of memories of her. I should know what color her eyes were, what she smelled like, little quirks she had, sayings she used, and how her hugs and kisses made everything better. I should know what her favorite animal was, her favorite color, I should be able to hear her say “I love you”.

Instead, I remember what she wore in her casket the day of her wake. I remember screaming in the church at her funeral when they were carrying her out “Where are you taking my mom?” I remember that it rained that morning. And that I didn’t go trick-or-treating. I remember that my sister couldn’t cry because she had cried too much at home. I remember that my brother has never looked more like a zombie than he did that horrible morning. I don’t remember seeing anyone at the church but I know that it was so full they had to turn people away. I remember that all the men in the fire department with my dad wore their Class A uniforms to her funeral. That’s the first time in the department’s history that was done for someone who was not a member. I remember that flowers were sent to my house because there was no room for them at the funeral home. That had never happened before. That’s how much my mom was loved and appreciated.

I remember the day I went back to school and everyone was afraid to talk to me. Even my teacher.

But most vividly I remember when and how my dad told me that she was gone. I had slept at my best friend’s house the night before. My sister was in upstate New York on a school field trip for three days. My brother was at work at the movie theater and then stayed at his friend’s house afterward. She was home with my dad and one of her sisters. I didn’t feel good that night. My stomach didn’t really hurt, but something didn’t feel right. I wanted to go home. So I called my dad. My Aunt answered the phone and convinced me that I would be alright if I just laid down and tried to fall asleep. I found out twelve years later that my brother and sister also called right after me with the same complaint and wanted to go home as well. They were both convinced to stay where they were as I was. She passed within 15 minutes of our phone calls.

I lay on the floor in my friend’s room. Her mom came in and whispered in my ear that next morning. “Your dad is coming to pick you up. He’ll be here in about five minutes.” I didn’t ask questions. It didn’t even seem strange. It was early in the morning. But he would often pick me up if I wasn’t home really early in the morning and drop me off at my grandparents’ house if my mom was having a hard time and needed to go to the hospital again.

I waited by the front door with my bag on my back, clenching my pillow on my stomach. I still didn’t feel right and I couldn’t describe it either.

My dad pulled into the driveway and didn’t get out of the car. My friend’s mom kissed the top of my head and hugged me goodbye. We were only three blocks from home, but the ride felt like forever. My dad never said a word or even looked in my direction. I thought I was in trouble for something.

When we pulled up to the house he shut off the car and didn’t move for a minute. Then he got out and walked around the car opening my door for me and helping me out. He knelt in the driveway and put one hand on each of my shoulders. He only looked me in the eye for a split second. He shut his eyes, lowered his head and let out a few quiet tears.

“Your mother’s not with us anymore.” I didn’t know what he meant. She moved? She left us? I don’t understand.

“She’s gone. I am so sorry.” And that’s when I got it. I threw down my pillow and my bag. I rant up the driveway and into the house faster than I had ever run before. The bed was made. Sheets were folded and stacked on pillows on the bed. An IV stand stood empty, unattached to anyone or anything next to the head of the bed. All I could do was scream “No.”

To this day I still hate myself for forcing my dad to say those words. With my brother and sister he didn’t have to say a thing. All he did was look at them and they both knew. I know now that for my dad to have to come up with the words at that moment in time and tell his nine year old daughter that her mother had passed away was probably one of the hardest things he has ever had to do in his whole life.

I will never forget a single detail of that day for as long as I live. I will never forget the thoughts that ran through my mind and how I felt at that exact moment, the moment when I knew that I would never see my mom ever again. Because I still feel it everyday. And every October it intensifies. And every fall I think of all the birthdays she’s missed, my brother’s wedding, my cousin’s new baby boy, my sister’s first house, and all of the fun we’ve had in between.

I wonder if I will ever really remember her one day. That maybe I have those memories somewhere in there. I just locked them away to protect myself. Some think I will, some think I won’t.

…I’m still unsure.