…a brief glance…

i remember that she’s gone. obviously, this is knowledge that i have stored in my brain, a painful ache that rests softly in my heart, but there are some days when it hits me that little more. perhaps it’s the quiet reflection of the months that have passed without her, perhaps it’s all the things that are happening that she is evidently absent for. my sister’s new house, daily life stuff, the good things, as well as the bad things, even my crappy job. the little things i would absently tell her, the latest going ons with my circle of friends.

i know that she would have been as excited for mer’s baby as i am, because she knows how much mer means to me. how baby lee would be the first baby of our little close knit posse. just as she would have smiled proudly as jade got married. friends whom i’ve had for years, who spent as much time here in my house, as they did in theirs. her knowing glance at ann and i, or jes and i, in our formal living room as she walked passed us to go to work, acknowledging we were once again together, talking and talking, despite being together all day or night, knowing that we were no where near done yet. though i know she is still with us, and sees all things, she’s missing moments, moments i took for granted when she was alive. the things i used to tell her out of habit. sitting on that stool in the kitchen side by side after getting home from work, talking about mundane things. funny things, the latest dramas from the biggest drama queen of all…he who shall not be named. sentences usually starting with ‘my gosh….’ filo accent and all.

when i drop by the house after work before heading out again, i am forced to walk through the front door, and despite my efforts to refrain from doing so, my gaze falls to the side, my hands shaking as i try to open the door as fast as i can. the house is cold as i enter, and it is almost with great relief when i walk out minutes later. this was her house, she is what made this house a home. every nook and cranny screams a reminder of her. a memory, one after the other floods my mind, and it’s exhausting consciously trying to fight it, whether or not i know it, i am fighting it.

we keep her bedroom door closed, partly because it hurts to walk past it every time i go to my room, or go to the bathroom, or i’m merely sitting in the rumpus room and i can see straight through, and imagine it’s one of the rare times she is actually sleeping in her room before my having to wake her up to go to work later that night. personally, for the most part, i keep it close because every now and then, when i miss her more than i can express, i can walk in her room, and i can still smell her. her essence lingers in her bedroom, despite the limited time she spent in there. tonight, i walked in there, and though the room was cold and empty, faintly, i could smell her.

it’s hard to believe that it has been over eight months. it seems almost a betrayal to have survived this long without her, even though i know we all have to move on, and have started to do so. i guess i find it hard to comprehend that the closer it nears to a whole year, the more it becomes real. after a year, there is no turning back. there’s no more hiding behind the bubble of the first year. it hurts my head, and my heart to know that if or when i get married, she won’t be there. to help plan, quietly oversee, express her approval or disapproval. more than that,  she won’t be able to be the doting grandmother she always dreamed of being. all my children will know her from would be stories, memories told from all of us who loved her. it’s stupid, but i kind of wish i was able to give her that.

everyone tells us that we were my mother’s greatest pride and joy, that she lived for us. this we knew, she told us often that we meant the world to her. despite whether we felt it or not, especially during the difficult years.

communication is not a strong point in our family. in the past, there has been a lot of yelling, and very little hearing. silence spoke a thousand words in our household, therefore when there was silence, there was deep disappointment.  despite all this, there was a strong sense of loyalty. the four of us, stuck together. when all hit the fan those years ago, and rumours and gossip about our family spread like fire, we stood together, and worked through it as best as we could. our relationship with our mother was no where near perfect, and she was no cindy walsh (apologies for that particular reference, it was the first that came to mind) but she was ours. she loved us with all she had, and i wonder if she ever really knew how much we loved her. sure we learned to say it when i moved to london, it was a lot easier to say i love you through the phone than it was in person. i fear that she didn’t know that she was loved, and valued, and that i am sorry if i didn’t always convey it well. did she know just how big of a part in our lives she played.

lately, though it’s something i have always known, that i am fortunate to have been blessed with the friends i have. friends who has seen me fall apart at the most random of moments these last months, and just be there. friends who understand that when i become quiet, my mind has traveled elsewhere, to a memory that somehow pains me. they know who they are, as i am with them often throughout the week, and on the phone daily. their mere presence, bring support beyond words. friends who pray fervently for me for things in my heart unsaid, and just understand me. friends who make laugh so much it makes my side hurt and i fall to the floor. for their consistency most of all and undeniable presence in my life. even those who are not in the same country, but remained constant their presence has played a part in the healing process.

my mom did a lot of things well, and one of them was friendships. i look back at her friendships, and how well she was loved, and i am proud, a touch envious even for she had amazing friendships and relationships that sustained time and distance. her closest and best friends ranged from one extreme to another. crazy to sensible. but whichever end of the range they fell, they all had one thing in common. humour! throughout the years, i have watched my mom with her best friends laugh for hours, i have been lucky enough to have been a party to it more often than i can count. i love that she shared that with us.

the car ride to the blue mountains or wollongong with tita ro, tita glo and my mom at the back seat of the car are one of my favourite memories. my ats and i sitting at the front of the car shaking our heads as the three of them giggled uncontrollably for one reason or another. then taking model shot pictures of the three of them posed. fun times.

i remember that my mom was most relaxed when she was with tita rory or tita terry. the dynamics varied, but powerful. they brought out the best in her, the person that she was outside just being our mother. i will always be grateful for how they loved her, and continue to do so to this day.

i was flicking through foxtel today and caught the end of an extremely sad movie, bad move i know, but hey i was already there. the basic story was a mother was dying of something, i didn’t quite catch what of, and just before she passed away, she turned to her friend and said,

“You’ll look out for my girls?” to which the friend replied with certainty and conviction,
“How could I not, they’re you.”

and of course tears flowed…but that’s how i feel tita pat, aunty esty, tita rory and tita terry have rallied around us. with such selfless love, tita pat and aunty esty most of all, have somehow adopted us, and look after us more than they already did, as some sort of unspoken pact with my mother. knowing that my mother would have done the same. without tita pat, i’m sure we would survive, but without her motherly care we would merely exist. we are eternally grateful for the love and care that my mother’s sisters have poured out to us, every time we talk and get together there is that void we are so aware of. but as aunty esty had pointed out, we are getting better, as we are no longer bursting into tears whilst on the phone. tiny steps….

anyways, enough of my incoherent pointless babbling. apologies for my reuniting you with kleenex.