Blurbs of the Moderately Insane
2001-12-11 04:15:20 (UTC)

Feelings never healed of the pain...

When I was growing up I spent a lot of time with my
mother's mom. She was my 'soul mate'. She was my steady
rock, my support, my cheering section and my heart. I loved
her like she was my mother. When I was 14 my mom told me
that she was sick, fighting cancer and only had 6 months
left to live. I found out a little before Christmas before
my 15th birthday. I had this insane amount of hope that she
would be my miracle and that she would survive it. My
Christmas card came, no note, nothing but a signature. My
birthday card was the same. I understood she was sick and
going through treatments. I still had hope. I saw her a
time or two in the months before she died. One visit I
remember she was laying in her bed looking very tired and
worn down, she looked at me with nearly vacant eyes and
told me she was sooooo tired, and asked if she could sleep.
I knew what she meant, and I knew she was tired of
fighting. I told her it was ok to sleep, that I would be
ok. I lied. I was being strong for her because she needed
to be weak. I told I would be ok without her because she
needed to leave. I remember her voice and the gentleness of
her softly weathered hands. I was sitting in my room the
day she died, waiting for the call, knowing it was coming.
The phone rang and I shed a single tear. I knew why the
phone was ringing. I didn't feel anything but empty. My
heart shut off and I just couldn't feel anything but a vast