My mom is dying

 Dark, I know. Life is sometimes dark and sad. And while there is this heartbreak, my son is excited to be on a soccer team for the first time. And my daughter is deep into her second-to-last high school year and is thrilled and nervous with all that comes with that. And as their mom, I am so very happy for them. And as a daughter, I'm beginning to mourn.

There is this realization that my mom has been in hospice for nearly three months. And recently, she has discontinued her dialysis, giving her days or weeks to live. She is the last person in my life who I have loved my whole life - since before I could remember. My mom, dad and sister were my entire world as a baby and child. I loved them before I could even identify the feeling. And now the last one of this small group is leaving. Well, she's been leaving bit by bit because of dementia. Yet there are small blessings - she hasn't forgotten me or my family this entire time and she somehow had a sweeter demeanor. But the things that made up my mom, good and bad, have slowly left her. What remains is a tiny, diminished version of my small yet intimidating mom. The 4'9" mom who could lift couches so she could vacuum underneath (yes, this was in the 80s so it's been quite some time) no longer walks, can't leave her bed without full assistance and uses disposable undergarments. The fiercely independent woman I called my mom would've hated how her body and mind have betrayed her. I have a little bit of comfort knowing that she most likely isn't aware of any of this. But if she is aware - I hope she can give herself some grace. Because we all - well, my sister and dad if they were still here - know that this is the opposite of the life my mom loved. She loved to travel. She loved being financially stable and treating her loved ones to delicious meals. She loved going to church and having brunch with her friends afterwards. She loved the life she provided for herself and her kids because she and my dad did it all on their own. They worked hard for their American dream. She loved that both her girls were college graduates. I think there was a part of her that was proud to call one of her daughters a doctor (not the right kind, but good enough!) She loved the house she lived in, the lush garden it had, and the cars she was able to buy. She wasn't materialistic but she was proud of being self-made. Well, she was definitely a consumer/shopper but she wasn't trying to keep up with the Joneses. She simply loved that if she wanted something, she had the means to get it. 

Our relationship was good, especially when I grew up. We weren't best friends but I had deep admiration for all she accomplished, respected the way she ran our household growing up (the financial aspect, not the housekeeping - she told my sister that she wasn't a housekeeper), and have so much love and gratitude for how she loved me and my kids. As a child, I never doubted my mom loved me and prioritized me. And that is something I try hard to instill in my kids. They both are extremely confident in how much I love them and I give my parents credit for that. I had a good example. 

Our relationship these past few years has been complicated. While the love will always be there, there were many times I was at my wit's end with her and I felt like I was spiraling. I sought out therapy and anxiety medication, though, to be fair, it wasn't just because of her. But our relationship certainly played a big part of it. Her having dementia made things make more sense because, for a time, I didn't understand the decisions my mom made. They seemed reckless, selfish, and sometimes dangerous. I thought she was just in denial of what she was (no longer) capable of. But maybe she just didn't realize. She was forgetful, she wasn't self-aware - she was falling all the time and getting hurt but didn't want that to stop traveling. She was forgetting to take her medicine which caused her to black out or lose her balance. She was missing appointments, standing people up and not caring. I didn't understand who this apathetic person was. The woman who raised me was always 45 minutes early to church so that she wasn't rushing and could get good parking. The mom I grew up with loved talking on the phone and making plans with friends. The woman I knew now never answered her phone anymore. 

My mom is dying. And yes, her quality of life has been deteriorating for at least a couple of years. But we adapted and tried to work around it the best way we could. But now that she has chosen to no longer go to  dialysis, she is in kidney failure. She hasn't been able to carry on a conversation for a few weeks but now she can hardly give one word answers. She now has a hard time keeping her eyes open. It's only a matter of time for when she leaves us completely. And she will be the last person in the small group of people I've loved since I was born to leave this earth. 

Remembering a deleted social media post

 I'm going to do my best to remember and rewrite the post I wrote about a pivotal moment, the "jumping off" moment of my and The Man's relationship. 

In the spirit of one of my favorite television character's, Sophia Petrillo ... picture it: It's December 2001. Your favorite spicy Sagittarius is turning 23 and decides she would like to have a birthday gathering at the illustrious Holy Cow. Did it deservedly have a 2.7 star rating on Yelp? Indeed. But this birthday girl enjoyed having a good time, and was neither rich or bougie so she fancied the Holy Cow to celebrate with friends. Your girl is still not rich or bougie and grows weary of writing in the third person.

A week before I had attended a friend's birthday celebration at a different San Francisco night club. Being that this was a mutual friend, The Man was also there. We had been introduced a few months before but hadn't seen each other again until that evening. If I'm being completely honest, I found him to be very handsome and a bit intimidating. This was a very good looking fellow. But if my memory serves me correctly, when we ran into each other again I think I already had a drink with the birthday girl and was feeling a bit more courageous. If we go by his memory, he said I loudly and slowly reintroduced myself to him, making him wonder if I thought he was thick in the head. No, I didn't think this, it was just very loud in the club and I was also humble enough to think that he may not have remembered my name. Anyway, I can't remember all that we talked about or even if we spent the majority of time together. But I did remember thinking he was as witty as he was handsome. So I took a chance and invited him to my birthday gathering the following week. He told me he had a prior commitment but that he would try to stop by afterwards. 

I was hopeful but also realistic. It was a Friday and he would have worked all day and then had an event in San Jose. The likelihood of him going to San Francisco and arriving near midnight after a long day and a long work week was slim to none. After a year or so of fruitless crushes and dates, I knew better than to put all my happiness in to him attending. That evening, a small group of us got ready at a friend's house and we headed over to the Holy Cow. Oh, how I loved that seedy club. They played great music, served strong drinks, and there was not an ounce of pretentiousness. I remember more friends joining us, a large group of us dancing and many of taking a break in their outdoor patio area. It was such a fun night.

The Man texted me after 11 PM to let me know he was on his way. I was overjoyed - this good news made a great evening an even better one. Sometime near or after midnight, he arrived and I'm certain he looked so handsome. Beautiful, even. He already knew a few people in the group because they were mutual friends but he was still new to many. And this is important to note because two things happened that still make me laugh. I cannot recall the order but two friends, out of concern, took me aside separately that evening. See, at some point The Man and I went outside and there was only one seat available. He sat down and told me to just sit on his lap. It may sound prudish but that was something I never did. I certainly never sat on a random guy's lap but even men I knew, I was too self-conscious about my weight to do this (another time to write about another issue). But I enjoyed his company and was so happy to see him, I gingerly - and I mean, gingerly - perched myself as close to sitting at the top of his knees so that I was putting as little weight on him as possible. 

The first friend pulled me aside and asked me if I was OK. I think he was genuinely worried this rando-to-him roofied my drink. I could tell that he wondered if I was so impaired that I was now sitting on some stranger's lap. I assured him that I knew The Man, that I had talked to him just last week and actually met him a few months ago. And then I introduced them to each other. It had to be shortly after - because I can't imagine I was comfortable sitting on The Man's lap for a long period time - another friend pulled me off The Man's lap to talk a few feet away, too. I'm certain she said something like, "ElleDee, do you know this mother f*cker?" (How I miss this friend who now lives across the country) Because she is the one who introduced me to the Holy Cow, who I went many, many times with, and knew I never sat on a man's lap so seeing me like this was shocking to her. Surely I was coerced, drugged, or something nefarious. Like my previous friend, I assured her that he was a good guy. After being reassured, I'm pretty sure she said something like, "God damn, he's hot." Fair. 

We all danced, drank, took breaks on the patio, and the night ended when the lights came on. The Man offered to drive me and one of my friends back to the home of another friend. Of course I said yes. When we arrived at the home, my friend goes on ahead so we can have a bit of privacy. It's at this time that The Man gave me a small box and wished me a happy birthday. We hugged and said good night. I changed into my pajamas and rehash the evening with my friend. We are sharing a bedroom my other friend generously lent us so that we didn't have to back to our parents' houses that evening. I opened his gift in front of her and we were both stunned that it was a gold ring with a tiny diamond. "What does it mean?!" I'm sure we screamed. For goodness sake, my friends and I had all met our fair share of commitment phobics at this point so why on earth would this guy who has had one good conversation with me last week give me a diamond ring for my birthday?!

I had many celebration drinks at this point of the night (morning) and had decided to chalk up the meaining of the ring to him being the Oprah of diamond rings. "You get a ring! And YOU get a ring! And you get a RING!" The Man clearly must like to give rings away like candy. What a strange, strange guy. Lucky for him, I thought, I'm not delusional or else I'd read way too much into it. 

Because I was awkward and didn't know how to communicate properly with men I was interested in, I didn't do or say anything. A few weeks go by and we finally connect. I cannot remember if I finally called or if he did. But I remember teasing him about the ring and how I told him I needed to educate him that while I was OK, he should be careful of who he gives rings to because of what they typically mean. And he told me that when someone gives a gift, the recipient usually calls or writes a note to thank the gift giver. Well, damn. He had me there. He was so quick-witted, and so fun to banter with, that I found him to be interesting and funny. It was a very memorable start to what would be the most important romantic relationship of my life.