Full Circle

My mother passed away on Sunday after a long battle with multiple illnesses, both physical and mental. I am assured that she is at peace and can watch over us with a clarity of mind and emotion that she has not experienced in a very long time, if ever. This week has been a time of intense reflection and remembrance both within myself and with family. Memories of times and conversations keep flashing about, much like an old film strip that has been cut into millions of pieces and then spliced in no particular order. So much of those pieces of film center around her love for us, her family.
During the last years of my mother's life, I found it necessary for both me and my child to remain separate from my mother. Due to the nature of her mental illness, I felt that it was my responsibility as a parent to protect my son and to protect myself. I do not regret having done so. I spent many years grieving the loss of the wonderful mother that I knew as a child, and I spent some time this week again grieving that loss. As I grieve, I do not feel guilt or regret. I do feel sadness and disappointment and longing. I so long to still have the mother that I once knew, the one who stayed so devoted to my bedside during my worst times. At the same time, I am incredibly thankful that the events of my growing up did lead me to get to know my father better. I am still finding out so much about his love for me as well. He no longer has the exuberance of my mother to hide behind and now shines forth brightly. I see him, and I see him in me.
This week, as we recalled memories, I was sharing more details of Simon's upcoming surgery with my father. Naturally, the conversation also brought in their experience with me when I had surgery for craniosynostosis at 2 months of age. I long to know more, and my dad wants to share. I shared that Simon's new neurosurgeon, Dr. Tuite, was actually mentored by my old neurosurgeon, Dr. Thompson. Dad shared how my mother kept in touch with Dr. Thompson over the years and how it was Dr. Thompson who literally saved my life. In 1977, doctors had the understanding that the pressure on my brain was going to kill me if left any longer. My father looks at the surgeon and the procedure as lifesavers for his firstborn. I shared the schedule at the hospital for the week, and my dad shared how he changed his schedule to be at the hospital that month. My mother was the one at my side with no real breaks, but my father was there too.
I knew that he worked in the building next door, but I had no idea that he made sure that the job lasted longer than it had to. My father was an elevator and escalator mechanic, and he had a job at Bayfront Medical Center during that time. So that he could stay in the area, he made sure that the equipment kept "breaking" and needing work. He alerted the building managers of what was happening so that they would not keep calling, and he was able to stay right there, literally on the roof over our heads. When his shift ended, he would join my mother by my side. Together, my parents held my hands and each other's hands.
Today, my father no longer has her hand to hold, and neither do I. As I go into my son's third surgery, I so wish that I had my mother for support. I am incredibly grateful for my father and what he can share, but I wish that I could have my mother to be with me, a mother. Since she cannot be here in person, I have to take comfort in my belief that she will be in that hospital that week anyhow. We will be at the same hospital 35 years later. She will be with us as we wait, and she will be with Simon as well. She did not know Simon while here on earth, but I know that she loved him. I also know that she loved me, and she will never be far away.