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pauraque_bkThe anniversary of my mom's death went by without my noticing. It was August 4th. It's been four years. I certainly haven't forgotten her, I just didn't realize the date until I saw a post from someone else about her own mother's death.
I guess I'm a little afraid of forgetting. Trying to convince myself. I remember at the hospital the day she died, the hospital counselor person walking with me through some offices to go and get... maybe paperwork, and she asked: "Do you have a lot of recordings of your mother's voice? When my grandmother died it helped me to listen to recordings."
I said no. The only recording is an answering machine tape, which I kept but haven't listened to in a long time. I have kept papers with her handwriting on them. I can't throw them away when I find them because there will never be any more.
When I think of her voice it's hard to think of her saying anything. I hear her laugh. Different laughs -- sarcastic, embarrassed. I can also hear her scream in frustration, though that almost never happened.
Of course I can't forget her face, there are many pictures. The last time I saw her face she had a black eye, because she had previously passed out and hit herself on the table. I also remember her head bald from radiation. It's hard to imagine the misery. I don't think I tried to imagine it then. I was always scared to be too close to her, to know too much of her suffering, though what I wanted more than anything was for her to understand and accept my own.
I also remember her arms, they were very freckled like mine and she had skinny wrists. When I was little I was the one to notice she had a new mole on her arm that didn't look right, which turned out to be cancerous and was removed. (This had nothing to do with her death, she died of breast cancer not skin cancer.)
I still sometimes think, she would have liked this, she would have hated that. I wish I could tell her things. I told her everything when she was here, whether she wanted to hear it or not. I needed her attention. I still feel the lack of it. Like no one is watching me, no one whose opinion matters.
The last movie she saw was Prisoner of Azkaban, which had just come out. She never bothered with the books but she liked the movies. She was looking forward to Goblet of Fire, she was interested to know what happened next. I still am easily amazed by thinking of the things she didn't see. It was 2004, she never voted in the election or found out what happened. She didn't see me switch from fandom to gaming.
She left behind a Douglas Adams novel with a bookmark halfway through. When I found it I cried and cried.
She never met or even heard of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
_hannelore. I started talking to _hannelore because my mom had died, and her mom was going to. Perhaps we would have been friends anyway, we liked each other's fic. But I doubt I would have given her my phone number. I don't even remember doing it, and it doesn't seem like something I would do. I must have thought she really needed someone to talk to.
The crossroads -- paths taken and not taken. If not for this, then never that.
Life is very delicate. A narrow strand of spiderweb to tightrope-walk, crowded around by infinities.
I am rambling and have to go to bed now.
I guess I'm a little afraid of forgetting. Trying to convince myself. I remember at the hospital the day she died, the hospital counselor person walking with me through some offices to go and get... maybe paperwork, and she asked: "Do you have a lot of recordings of your mother's voice? When my grandmother died it helped me to listen to recordings."
I said no. The only recording is an answering machine tape, which I kept but haven't listened to in a long time. I have kept papers with her handwriting on them. I can't throw them away when I find them because there will never be any more.
When I think of her voice it's hard to think of her saying anything. I hear her laugh. Different laughs -- sarcastic, embarrassed. I can also hear her scream in frustration, though that almost never happened.
Of course I can't forget her face, there are many pictures. The last time I saw her face she had a black eye, because she had previously passed out and hit herself on the table. I also remember her head bald from radiation. It's hard to imagine the misery. I don't think I tried to imagine it then. I was always scared to be too close to her, to know too much of her suffering, though what I wanted more than anything was for her to understand and accept my own.
I also remember her arms, they were very freckled like mine and she had skinny wrists. When I was little I was the one to notice she had a new mole on her arm that didn't look right, which turned out to be cancerous and was removed. (This had nothing to do with her death, she died of breast cancer not skin cancer.)
I still sometimes think, she would have liked this, she would have hated that. I wish I could tell her things. I told her everything when she was here, whether she wanted to hear it or not. I needed her attention. I still feel the lack of it. Like no one is watching me, no one whose opinion matters.
The last movie she saw was Prisoner of Azkaban, which had just come out. She never bothered with the books but she liked the movies. She was looking forward to Goblet of Fire, she was interested to know what happened next. I still am easily amazed by thinking of the things she didn't see. It was 2004, she never voted in the election or found out what happened. She didn't see me switch from fandom to gaming.
She left behind a Douglas Adams novel with a bookmark halfway through. When I found it I cried and cried.
She never met or even heard of
_hannelore. I started talking to _hannelore because my mom had died, and her mom was going to. Perhaps we would have been friends anyway, we liked each other's fic. But I doubt I would have given her my phone number. I don't even remember doing it, and it doesn't seem like something I would do. I must have thought she really needed someone to talk to.The crossroads -- paths taken and not taken. If not for this, then never that.
Life is very delicate. A narrow strand of spiderweb to tightrope-walk, crowded around by infinities.
I am rambling and have to go to bed now.
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no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 10:15 am (UTC)I manage to avoid noticing the anniversary of my father's death. I blanked my brain to the day so I wouldn't remember exactly when it was. I even try to not notice the date when it's his birthday. It's amazing how one can fool oneself.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 08:19 pm (UTC)I particularly noted the date of my mom's death partly because it was so close to my birthday. She had previously predicted, several months before, that she would not live to see my next birthday, which really didn't make sense at the time because there was no medical reason to believe she would succumb to the cancer that soon. She didn't believe in premonitions or supernatural things of any kind, but what can you say, she thought she would die before my birthday and she did.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 10:59 am (UTC)in my journal, not too long ago, I wrote a letter to your mom. I can show it to you sometime, if you want.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 08:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 11:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 08:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 09:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 03:06 pm (UTC)You should set up a yitzkor thing for her -- donate some money in her name to a Jewish organization, usually something like eighteen bucks will do, and then they send you mailers reminding you that it's coming up. Find a non-Orthodox one, though, because the one my dad uses only prints the Hebrew date.
Edit: Obviously, so you'll have advance notice it's coming up.
no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 03:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 09:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 04:49 pm (UTC)*hugs*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-08 03:20 am (UTC)Like no one is watching me, no one whose opinion matters.
That was the worst thing. Actually, when my mom died I felt like no one actually loved me anymore. It was really bad. But I don't feel that way anymore.