I felt so alone again tonight. I was walking to the subway, having left tia Beatriz's apartment, and as i was approaching Amsterdam it hit me like a truck: "OH SHIT! I'm totally alone in the world."
It's a feeling like i don't have a bottom, like the ground has dropped out from under me. Like, my worst nightmare came true. And it did. I can't believe i'm still here. I can't believe it'll be a year on Monday since i went to Macy's with mom to buy the Breville juicer. The juicer that my mom wanted so she could consume some nutrients that would help her gain weight and get better and not be in pain every time she ate. I think i want to smash every wall right now. I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe we didn't know. I can't believe that in August the dietitian saw that mom had lost 20 pounds since April, and we didn't fucking know how serious it was. I can't believe nobody pointed us in the right direction. Why didn't i know? Why didn't i do something else? Why didn't - just why? The months have passed since my mom died and it's been day to day survival, i guess. I've felt a lot of support and i feel like a lot of people have saved me. And i've wished desperately for the pain to stop and never come back. But OH FUCK, it's gonna get worse. And i just have to suck it up. September's gonna suck, October's gonna be worse. Nofuckingvember. Christmas.
OHMYGOD, why can't i go back in time? I can't relive this, i can't.
I don't understand why we cry when we're in pain. What's the purpose of that? I need to google it.
Something happened. I was okay-ish at group tonight. No, i mean, i was okay, i was hopeful that we could all help each other through this, that our bond and support would save us. And i feel that about us collectively. But, what do i do when i feel like i'm going to die with panic, like my body went up in flames, like the world had ended, like it will be night forever?
I was so terrified when i crossed Amsterdam Avenue. I thought, oh shit, i need to call Dr. Hirsh right now, how am i going to make it to tomorrow? I was listening to Bowie and my other comfort music through my headphones and i decided, i'm just going to walk as far as my legs take me, until i can't go any further. The thought of descending into the subway was too scary. I needed to keep moving because out here where there's sky and space and air i could be safe. As long as i kept moving. And i thought, so much for getting the rest that my body is demanding. One more night without proper sleep. And so i walked past Alice Tully Hall, heading uptown on Broadway, as far as it was going to take me to be okay. And then i passed Pottery Barn. I looked to the window display to avoid making contact with people whom i wished would just be invisible so that i could feel invisible. And i looked more intently into the window display and i saw a bunch of arranged flowers. Sunflowers. A bunch here, a bunch over there, on the table, single flowers in vases, sunflowers everywhere. Loads of sunflowers. And i slowed my walk and i thought, and i paused, and i stopped. And i thought. Those sunflowers represent life. Those sunflowers represent Leslie. Leslie wouldn't want me to run away, to give up. Leslie would want me to take care of myself. Leslie would say live your live fiercely. I think she would say to make it worthwhile as long as i'm here. So i turned myself around 180 degrees, took another long look at the sunflowers and headed to the subway. And i prayed to Leslie. I haven't prayed to anyone in a long time. And i said, "Leslie, help me to have courage. Help me to know what to do." I knew i had to come home and write.
Crying exhausts me. I think i sort of feel some kind of draining sensation when i'm crying. This time i felt like the pain was draining, like it was a good thing. And now i feel like i was knocked out and just woke up. The crying never lasts so long anymore. Maybe i can only do so much at once.
When i was at tia's place this evening she asked me when i was going to help her buy a juicer. I told her i had forgotten that she asked me that favor. She asked if i ever had a chance to pass by Macy's would i check them out for her. I said, i'll check online. And i thought, oh Labor Day sales, it'll have to be this weekend. And i thought, OH SHIT, oh fuck, fucking Labor Day sales. Fucking juicer purchase with my normal mom. Sick mom who didn't know she had cancer but could still walk and talk and go on the subway with me. I can't remember when the last time she took the subway was. At the end we took buses a few times. I can't believe there was a time she was on the subway that was her last time. I can't believe all the last times. I can't believe it. What do i do when i can't believe that she got sick and died? Crying's back. I'm typing with snotty fingers. Why do i feel like i've never felt these things before?
How is going to work and acting like i'm fine even possible? How were we making all those cancer jokes in the kitchen today while cutting the birthday cake? We joke about cancer blue icing, and we throw that word around, and i laugh but i know i'm uncomfortable but i also believe that we're joking about something that's true. And at the same time i don't want to be "my mother died from cancer." I told Erika last week that i feel like i am "my mother died." Like that is my identity, that is what my name should be. When i meet new people or see an acquaintance i haven't seen in a long time and they ask, "how are you?" i want to say, "my mother died, i'm okay." Because my mother died is the first and foremost. And sometimes i can act like it isn't, or i can put it in a drawer for a few hours, for a day, and it can be something that happened to me recently, but not who i am.
And then those triggers that we were talking about in group tonight happen. And every new store that opens is a store that my mom will never see. And every news item is one i'll never be able to share with my mom. And i look at the program from the show Andre saw in Las Vegas and i think, wow it looks beautiful, my mother will never see this, this show has no purpose anymore. It's beautiful and pointless. Traveling is pointless. How can anything have a purpose if i can't share it with my mom? What's the use of doing anything anymore? I can't buy her food anymore, i can't buy her the Loreal face cream she liked, i can't buy her clothes, shoes. I can't buy her all those things i did when i tried in vain to make her stay alive, to stay here. If only i could provide her with...she needed a shirt that fit her shrinking body, she needed nutritious food, she needed comfortable slippers, she needed vitamins to give her strength. At what point did i realize none of that would work anymore?
Why am i crying? What does this accomplish? I don't feel better. This just means there are more tears to come. I read so many sage words and i'm fascinated and intrigued and i marvel at what might be true. About the purpose of life, about the meaning of birth and death, about what love really is, about surviving the dark times and finding the light. And when i read all this it makes sense and it feels good. But right now, there's only grasping my head with both hands because it's going to explode with terror. I want to disbelieve what my memories tell me. Looking around at the apartment doesn't make me sad. Hardly ever anymore. It's so different now than it was. I just have to sit still and look inside my brain and that's where all the sadness is. The realization that i couldn't do anything to stop her death. That i knew my mother was dying. That mi mama se me murio. That she got sick, and worse, and that all the attempts to make her better didn't work. That they always told us, it's not curable. Since October, so many different doctors told us it wasn't curable. And i never believed them. No, not my mother. She was going to be the miracle. Even just for two years, i tried to bargain. Why not my mom? Why couldn't she be the exception? And i told her all the time: mom you can be the exception, you can survive, it's happened before. And i asked her to think positively so that her body would hear good messages not negative ones. And i told her stories about individuals who had gone on to live 2,4, even 6 years beyond their prognosis. And i really didn't believe she would die yet. This couldn't happen to me. And yet in January i wondered if mom would even be around in May. And she wasn't.
Not even six fucking months since we heard the word cancer in the emergency room that night. What do i do now? I'm crying, what else am i supposed to do? How can i give myself to the world when i feel like all there's left is pieces? Pieces of something i never liked to begin with. Where is this so-called phoenix Elizabeth Lesser talks about?
My world was me and her. And it got ripped apart. And now other people live here. And i love many of them and i know they love me. But they're here because she's gone. And she's not here. I could look at the positive, and the good things. And right now a teeny, barely audible part of me wants to do that. But no. I don't care about the positive side. I don't have energy to see the glass half-full. I'm going to smash that glass. There's just a void in my middle, caused by disbelief. Is it a reluctance to accept the truth? Yeah. It's not that i can't believe it, it's that i won't believe it.
When my mom was 33 she took a plane from Bogota to New York because she was looking for a new horizon, as she liked to put it. She left her mom and the world she knew, and she came here looking for whatever was out there that was better than what she had left behind. And she counted on her sisters for support. And she fought bitterly with her sisters from before i was born right until months before she died. What did her life mean? I can't even handle that right now.
I'm 33. I want this number to mean something to me. I want to know the answer to what i'm supposed to know now. And sometimes i think i'm supposed to discover something at the end of this whirlwind. Like a neat ending to a beautiful children's fable, the kind my mom used to love. I can only think of all the things that made her amazing. And how i didn't appreciate them enough when she was healthy. I need for there to be a happy ending. I need a lesson learned and a treasure discovered and the ray of light and the choir of angels singing.
I'll hold onto my music, my friends, my family and my girls.
I want to figure out which parts of me are the ones newly broken, and which are the old broken parts. What do i do with them?
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