A date with today

I was sitting at Rafaella tonight, listening to Alison give a small update on her week, at Jenna's request, when she pronounced a sentence that stopped me cold. "I look at the date," she said, explaining how she gets by from day to day, while gesturing to her watch. I looked down at it and suddenly the date hit me. HIT me. October 6th. OCTOBER 6th. I'd been looking at it all day long at work and nothing occurred to me. I can't believe i forgot. I can't believe it didn't ring in my head all day. It really makes me sad.

I've been talking about October 6th for practically a whole year. Last year, on Monday, October 6th, i met my mom at the emergency room in Harlem Hospital and a young, black medicine resident with a bald head told us, rather coldly but determinedly, that they were looking for possible cancer. I've been telling that story for so long now. Even though it wasn't her official diagnosis, i still think of it as The Day They Told Us She Had Cancer. The FIRST time ANYBODY said ANYTHING about that.

I'm angry because i thought that this day would have more importance, like it would be louder and more solemn. I did feel completely crappy all day long, but for different reasons. I think i'm angry because a year went by, and i couldn't do anything to reverse the events that happened after this date. There's a part of me that wants to relive every day, every minute of her sickness and there's a part of me that is terrified of reliving it. I wish that i could change things. I wish that by reliving it i could make the outcome different but i can't.
I'm so angry that October is here. I'm angry that October came back, without my mother. That the fall is here and winter is coming and my mother is not. I've wondered before when the pain would cease to be so intense. Now i wonder when i'll stop being angry.

I'm worried that by reliving the memories i'm trying to hold on to my mom. Wait, that's not clear. I'm afraid that i'm afraid that if i don't remember every single, gory detail of my mother's illness that she'll be gone. That i won't remember her at all. But she's not her illness. So why do i feel like i need to keep her in it? Why can't i keep her alive in the memories of the good times? In part it's because my relationship with her grew during the illness and i grew to love and respect her in different ways than ever before. I spent a lot of my childhood being ashamed of my mother and in her illness and death i've grown to be so proud of her.

Even though my mother was slowly dying, and the cancer was eating her alive, i saw my mother transform in some ways. She was so beautiful and cute and cheerful and peaceful and energetic and positive and inspirational and forgiving and brave and strong and loving, and so funny. That's why i can't let go of the end, of the bad times. Because the good times, in the midst of the bad times were amazing.