Trial Through Fire Sale

I have a post started and it's sitting in draft mode. I don't know what or how to say what I want to say, so it's easier (lazier) to just leave it sit. My Mom's birthday was Friday, yesterday was the 2nd anniversary of her passing and I have so much I want to share but have hit a wall. It's not an emotional wall, so much as a concrete creative block. I wanted to write about some recipes, the weather, some work stuff, but it just seems kind of trite in light of these anniversaries.

Yesterday passed without much effort. Friday passed without much effort as well.  I have learned in two years that the anticipation of the "big events" is far greater than the emotions that come on the actual days.

I have no intention of turning this blog into a doom and gloom sympathy and grief blog. I enjoy (and hope you do to) reading about recipes, cooking and other random observations. But my experience two years ago was so earth-shaking and world-rocking that it's very hard to tease it out and ignore it. It doesn't help that this is the window of time where everything went to hell and there are so many triggers that ignoring the elephant in the room just leaves me stepping in what the elephant leaves.

My Mom would have been proud of me yesterday. I enjoyed a marathon shopping trip to Kohls. I used my 30% off bonus, $10 coupon for men's wear and scored a boatload of Kohls Bucks.

Kohs was one of her absolute favorite stores, living in Milwaukee during the early days of Kohls department stores. She always took great pride in finding great deals, 30% off, senior discounts, Kohls bucks--she would joke they had to pay her to take merchandise out of their store. When I first moved to Rochester, my Mom was distraught to discover we didn't have a Kohls. She sent several letters to corporate and lobbied hard. Of course when it was announced a Kohls would be opening, she assumed full responsibility.

In the days before her death, HB and I went to the Kohls up the street from their house so I could take a little break. When I'd run home to be with my Mom for her last doctor's visit, I had only packed clothing for a few days. Little did I know I'd still be there two weeks later, facing the end of her life and subsequent funeral with only a pair of jeans and a few tops.  Walking in the front door I started feeling this oppressive weight bearing down on me, almost to the point of a physical burden on my shoulders. HB headed off to look in the men's department and I browsed through clothing. My heart wasn't in shopping, but I tried to focus on finding a few things. 

HB and I met up in the center aisle and wandered over to housewares. As hard as I tried to stay focused and just enjoy a little freedom from the dread of what was coming and the stress of caring for my terminally ill Mom, I was having sneaking thoughts drifting through my mind like the smell of smoke and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from.

Mom will never shop here again. You'll never hear her talk about her great deals again. She loved Kohls. She's dying. You are going to be a motherless daughter.  You will never see her again. Oh my God.

Up until this point, I'd handled the news of her terminal situation, agreeing to care for her at home in her final days and scrambling to finalize POA and other end of life issues without tears. It happened so quickly and so matter-of-factly that I guess I hadn't been in any condition other than shock. I am a strong person and needed to be strong. My Mom was dying, my Dad was in terrible shape and needed me and I shoved my own emotions aside just to muscle through. Apparently the months of worry and weeks of concern and days of dread finally snowballed into an avalanche.

Without warning,  and without any ability to control myself, I burst into tears. There comes a point where emotions well up and take over and you are absolutely powerless to control them. There I was standing between Rachel Ray Pans and Calphalon, completely losing myself to hysterics. HB was a few rows down and took one look at me and came running.  Other customers eyed me, probably wondering why anyone would cry over a sale.

HB asked what was wrong and how do you explain something so random as my Mom will never shop at Kohls again?, when in truth my Mom is dying and I can't stop it. I am facing a life without the one person who was always there for me, always my greatest champion, the one person who could hold a mirror up to me and my life and tell me what I needed to hear even if I didn't want to hear it. My Mom, who battled 6 years of infertility to have me. My Mom, who fought so hard to be a good Mom to me in spite of her own horrible upbringing and her Mother's abuse. This complicated, prickly, difficult woman who gave me life and helped me be a strong powerful smart woman was leaving me and I wasn't ready to let her go. My Mom, who frustrated me beyond words, but whom I knew loved me more than life itself was going away and I would never see her again, never hear her voice again, never share another thing with me and who would never be there for me again. And she would never shop at Kohls again.

I was afraid I'd be banned for life from Kohls. It's bad for business when someone is hysterically losing it in housewares. I felt like a complete idiot. Maybe that's why I need to share so much of this here, in my blog. That my feeling like an idiot, My Mom will never shop at Kohls again...while kind of random, is a way of dealing with something much greater and much more frightening. Getting it out here validates what I went through, remembers he story and gives me a place to share something that I didn't have anyone to share with at the time.

There's no dramatic ending to the story. HB held me while I cried. I dried my tears. I made a purchase and we went home.  I didn't tell my Mom about my meltdown. She didn't need to know. I know she was worried about me, but I was strong for her.  She had given me the gift of caring for her and I needed to continue honoring that with courage.

My receipt from yesterday reads, "You saved $745.12"  I'd like to think somewhere, my Mom is laughing and thinking I could have done better.