I haven’t turned to this blog in a long time. I haven’t felt that I needed to write out my thoughts and feelings to sort things out or find meaning. For a while now it’s lay dormant. It’s my blankey from my childhood, it’s still here incase I need it, but I’ve been doing pretty well on my own. Until Mother’s Day.
In the afternoon my mom called me; her voice was shaking. She told me that our friends had been murdered in their home. I suppose, technically, they are her friends- but I don’t see it that way. I call to chat with them; we email back and forth. And I looked forward to our time spent together.
As a kid, I was a whole-lot-of-kid. I’m not going to say I was a handful… but ask anyone else-they’d probably say it for me. Besides my actual parents- the ones who raised me day in and day out- I had 3 sets of parents who also tried to keep me out of trouble and who I, in turn, adopted into my heart as another ‘Mom and Dad’.
My heart feels like I lost a mom and dad this week.
Dad was like your favorite funny uncle. He would crack jokes and tease you in such a way that you didn’t realize he has just slipped in a life lesson. He was tricky like that. And if my college graduation party memory serves me correctly- his beer pong game is on lock. So watch out. His hugs are just as powerful as his sneaky advice-giving. Huge vice-like hugs that could wring out the bad and leave only the best stuff behind.
Mom. Momma. She told it like it was. “Enough with all the drama.” With this tone that so clearly said- ‘you and I both know you’ve gone to far, so instead of make things bigger- let’s come on back down to Earth.’ No judgment. Just a reminder. I have the home phone number memorized. After all my own number was just two digits off. Every 3 or 6 months I would cook up an excuse to call- gardening advice, decorating ranchers, planning a family get-together. If I’m being honest I just needed some momma-time. I emailed Friday, trying to make plans for a big cookout, maybe in May or June… I’m somehow still hoping I’ll hear back. Denial.
Yesterday I put my hand on her coffin and whispered goodbye.
This cannot possibly be happening.
They were warm, giving, easy to know people. Their children are grown, like me. They don’t need to be parented. They don’t need to be raised. They’ve both become wonderful and successful people. But all the best parents get promoted to friend in the eyes of their children. And their kids deserved another 40 years of friendship, at least. Their grandkids deserved years and years of their love and wisdom.
I’m not alone in feeling this way; all of us who are grieving feel the same. We were all robbed. We all deserved more time.
More that all of this, all the loss, all the feelings. They didn’t deserve to die like this. Fighting, afraid, in pain, slowly. The world doesn’t make sense to me. How could this ever happen to anyone? The malice and violence are beyond my comprehension. Nevermind the fact that my pseudo-parents long-time-friends were kind, gentle and giving. Not this. Not them. Not their kids. Not their grandbabies. Not fair.
I would like a do-over of Mother’s Day this year. I do not accept this Mother’s Day. Universe, you’re going to have to go back to the drawing board and start again. This day wasn’t right.