This blog is very personal. And, very emotional. If you aren't comfortable with that, then -- please, don't continue.
MOM'S SENIOR PHOTOGRAPH
GEORGE MASON HIGH SCHOOL, FALLS CHURCH -- 1972
THREE GENERATIONS...
(Grammy, me; age 3 months, and Mom)
Janet Marsden Wicker
September 2ND 1954 -- July 11Th 1999
"Celebrate we will, for life is short but sweet for certain..."
God saw you getting tired,
And a cure was not meant to be.
So he put his arms around you,
and whispered "Come With Me".
With tear filled eyes,
We watched you slowly fade away.
Although we loved you deeply,
We could not make you stay.
A golden heart stopped beating,
Your hard-working hands were put to rest.
God broke our hearts to prove,
He only takes the best.At the age of 16, on that hot July morning, I couldn't even get through the first three lines of that poem without sobbing. As I stood in front of the 400 plus people that had come to pay their respects to my mother, I remember just wanting to collapse, as I tried to read to them. The weight of the fact that I was never going to see my mother again was almost too much for me to bear. No one in the family was brave enough to say the eulogy, so Pastor James read it. And, it was gorgeous.
Nine years later, the pain is a little bit less extreme, but there are still times when talking about her I choke up and can't get through what I want to say. I wake up almost every morning for the first two weeks of July, gripped with a fear that I'm going to have to relive those days. I know that it's irrational -- but, it's like Groundhog day in this weird time warp. I'm taken back to July 4Th, the last day that I would feel as if I was a normal kid. July 5Th, the camp director pulls me into his office, and informs me that my Aunt and Uncle will be there in a few hours, that my Mom collapsed at the Vienna fireworks and was taken by ambulance to Fairfax hospital... and the cancer, the terminal cancer, has progressed further then anyone realized. I walked out of the office at the summer camp that I loved so much, the place that I escaped to every summer, all summer, to dance, play softball, swim, water ski... it's where I learned to kiss boys, and swear. It was my sanctuary. And, at that moment... it felt like I was in hell. I can tell you every single detail of that day... I remember what shampoo I used in the shower, and what clothes I put on. I remember not being able to stop the tears, and pretending that they weren't there.
I remember walking in that hospital room for the first time, and my own mother didn't know who I was. She was on so much medicine to kill the pain,
she didn't know who I was. Her only child. I couldn't understand that. I hated those doctors, and nurses for failing. I couldn't possibly imagine that my Mother wasn't invincible.
I slept on the floor for the better part of that week, and my dad slept in the hospital bed next to her. The nurses tried to tell us we couldn't, and we both told them to make us leave then. They didn't.
Then I got sick... so sick that I
had to leave. My fever rocketed to 105, and I shook because the chills were so bad. I hallucinated, and had the worst dreams that I've ever had. The doctors were convinced that it was shock.
I had good friends that stuck by my side those days, made me shower, made me eat, tried to get me out of bed... and, eventually I was allowed back into the cancer ward at Fairfax.
I remember sitting on the bed at Fairfax when my mom woke up, and saw the balloons and flowers. We bought Giant out. I put butterfly balloons EVERYWHERE, there must have been 15 huge balloons in her room, and it looked like a garden had exploded. I made signs, and wrote letters.... I thought that I could save her. She smiled. She hadn't smiled in 6 months. Fucking cancer robbed her of laughter and smiles. She got out of bed, walked around, made phone calls, chatted with her visitors.... and, in hindsight -- she was making peace with it. She was saying goodbye.
Mom fell asleep, and my Dad and I went home to shower, and rest in our own beds for awhile... we awoke to the phone in the middle of the night. My mom had called and left a message... so, we were back by her side immediately. She told us how scared she was. When I asked her what she was scared of, she said that she was afraid that she was going to die. I told her, she was. And we cried, together.
The next morning, I said my goodbyes, told Mom that I loved her and went home. I couldn't sit in the hospital room anymore. I was breaking down. Sobbing, non-stop, almost zombie like. I went over and over the past year in my mind, how I could have been a better daughter, how I failed. Why wasn't I there more?! And, now I look back -- and I know that my parents just wanted my life to be as normal as possible. They kept me in 20 hours of dance classes, and softball, and sent me to summer camp that year, even though they knew that her cancer was terminal.
I picked up the phone when I got home, listened to the messages, and the one from my mom, the night before played....
"Hi guys... it's me. I just woke up, and I don't know where you are. I need you. I miss you. I love you. Get here when you can"
That message would be saved on our phone for almost 2 years, and after she passed, it was like a message from Heaven. It was bitter sweet. It was her voice, but it was a constant reminder that we couldn't get there. And we wouldn't ever see her again.
I showered, and a close friend picked me up. I sat in her house, and was just relieved to have some support. I don't remember what we talked about, how long I was there for... I just remember that as soon as the phone rang, I knew.
It was my dad calling, and he started yelling at me...
"Where are you, why aren't you home?!?!? I need you. I need you right now, Shannon. She's gone." I'll never forget hearing those words, and the sound of his voice. The sound of an adult male in tears is bad enough, but when it's your Dad.... It's pretty horrific. I got home in minutes. I have never driven faster in my life. It's like I didn't believe that my Dad would be there if I took too long. I was almost scared of losing him, too. And, I knew that I should never have left that hospital room.
It's so hard to explain, but I relive those moments, every year. I'm sure that there are people out there that will tell me it's not healthy, or I shouldn't still be grieving, or whatever the fuck, some asshole with a degree that thinks he's smart enough to break down every single individuals personal grieving process, would tell me. But, it's what happens. I remember.
The rest of the year, I remember all of the ways that she was such an amazing Mom. Our shopping trips, and pool trips, and the beach every year, and how she used to cry when I left for summer camp because she was going to miss me. The way that we used to laugh soooo hard together. She was so funny. She was one of the most amazing people in the entire world. And, I would have told you that, when she was alive, too. I'm not just putting her on a pedestal because she's gone.
I wish that the kids could meet her. I wish that Chris could meet her. I wish that she had been there to watch me get married in the very same place that she stood when she married my Dad. Pastor James married my parents, he baptised and confirmed me, performed the eulogy at my mother's funeral, and married Christopher and I. I remember sitting down with him a few days after mom had died, and he explained to me that it was like going from a Caterpillar to a butterfly. She was in her spiritual form, in Heaven and she wasn't sick anymore. And from that day forth, whenever we saw a butterfly, that was Mom -- checking on us.
It has been years since I have purged myself like that. I am literally exhausted right now.
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