Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Number You've Reached is No Longer in Service

"The Number You've Reached is No Longer in Service". Those are the perhaps the most hurtful words I've ever heard.

I disconnected my mother's phones this week.  One of them was the home phone number that has been her number for 42 years. It was my home number for 25 years.  I called it tonight to see if I could record her outgoing voice message to my computer before I lost her voice forever.  But I was too late.  The phone company is too efficient at disconnection.  It's surprising how efficient they were about this.

But now, I have only a message from my Mom about a week before I found her on the floor.  I listened to my voicemail tonight, and it is the only saved message  have.  She sounds chipper, telling me to call her back, how long she'll stay up, and that she loves me.  It's the last time I heard her say "I love you".  I did record that message to my computer so at least I can relax about ever losing it.  One little thing I can relax about.

In between my living hours, there are grieving minutes and seconds.  Seconds where something reminds me of her, or something that I wanted to do with her.  Today there was a Hallmark commercial for a book that you record for your children to read when you're not there.  It was something I wanted my Mom to do for my nieces, but I never got the chance to tell her about it or buy one for her.  She would have loved the idea as she wanted to be more in their lives.  I started crying of course, thinking that again, there is another chance to hear my Mom's voice again, and it is lost.  Then my friend P called in the middle of my crying jag.  She listened with such empathy after losing her mom just two years ago.  She knows everything I am going through, and still continues the grieving process today.

I really hope that someday I'll be able to see her again someday.  To hold her, to talk to her, to hear her voice, to tell her how much I love her.  I miss you, Mom.  I miss you so much.  One of the last things you said to me in your sick haze was “It’s not your fault Jeanne”.  I am trying to hang on to that, but it is so hard.  I wish we had done video recording or voice recordings where you told me more stories about your life, the good and the bad.  I don’t know enough about the good things in your life.  I wish I had thought to ask more questions and spend more time with you this last year.  I wish I had known.  I wish I wasn’t so angry and hadn’t pushed you away.  I will never have that time back with you.  I wish that you would come to me and talk to me again.  I want you back in my life.  I love you Mommy.  Always.

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