Happy Mother's Day, Mom

Four years, three months, and nine days ago, I came home from high school to find my mother sitting at the kitchen table with an ashtray beside her and red circles surrounding her blood shot eyes. My mother and father experienced a fair amount of stress, tension, and conflict in their lives, so this situation was not entirely unusual. Maybe this was financial? Argument? Probably. Actually, I briefly thought that maybe I had done something wrong, and more importantly, that I was about to be punished.

Actually, it was something I had longed feared and envisioned. My father (more on him later), my closest confidant, a great family man, the quintessential knock-around guy, the "jokster," the serial smoker, the martini drinker, the risk-taker, was given a death sentence. At this point, I was wishing that I was in trouble.

He had once won thousands of dollars sitting at a blackjack table, but he could not manipulate the odds in this equation. It was definite; he would soon be gone.

Three-to-six months. Stage 5. For my 66-year-old father, acquiring lung cancer was not very surprising, it was actually expected. It was almost the exact prognosis given to his own father at about the same age 28 years before, a man who perfectly fit the aforementioned description of his son.

As the months progressed and my father weakened, I often found my mother, who was 51-years-old at the time, in that same predicament: sitting at the kitchen table, hand over head, trying to conceal tears or screams of frustration. She had taken a permanent leave from her job. This ensured that she would be able to spend as many hours as possible with my father, but also that creditors and banks would spend hours calling our house looking for money. She paid for medication and groceries on credit and kept my sister and me as focused on education as possible, all while her daily duties centered around helping a man, who had since gone blind, walk around the house. And while she may have lost her cool trying to manage all of our lives, she never made him feel like a burden.

Her commitment was undying. People who suggested we try assisted living were dismissed in brutal fashion. Friends who didn't visit were no longer friends. Individuals who tried to make the situation harder were warned. Lenders looking for their monthly payment were given the proverbial middle finger. People who said she was crazy, well, they didn't understand. It was a mess; an imperfect situation. But she knew how to handle it, even if she cried at night.

My father died on January 19, 2008, my 19th birthday, and 354 days after his diagnosis. 354 days of bloodshot eyes. 354 days of sadness and impending death. But as anyone who's lost a close friend or family member knows, it never ends there. Even so, my mother weathered our financial storm to help me and my sister get to college, even though she never had that opportunity herself. She didn't clam up, she opened up about our father and what happened, easing the mourning process for us. She put effort into reversing repressed anger and depression, given symptoms after such a traumatic experience. A big part of her life was cut short when she lost her best friend.

As my sister and I begin to pursue our own futures, my mother seems perfectly content with encouraging us, even if our goals take us away from her home, which is permanently missing one key person. Her unselfishness and unconditional love are amazing, qualities I am convinced you cannot fully grasp until you have kids of your own. What I hope that my mom does understand is that her happiness is central to whether I fulfill my aspirations in life, just as my happiness is fundamental to her dreams. I pray that the joys and successes that I hope to experience can be shared with her to the fullest extent and ease whatever pain she felt and still feels, even if it's just the slightest reduction.

I love you, Mom.
Happy Mother's Day

Although I planned for my first blog post to be the customary "about me" thing, I have been so busy as a senior at Marist College that I happen to just be getting around to my first post on Mother's Day (well technically, the day after), even though I vowed to begin on March 9 (for reasons I will also explain later). And I guess it's fitting, since my mother (and more generally, my family) is such an integral part of who I am. So ironically, one of the most personal posts comes first. More to come on me, this blog, and those who inspired me to create it.

Cheers