Losing a Same-Sex Parent at a Young Age

“It's just like waking up,
In that second and a half,
The bliss of not remembering,
Before it all comes flooding back.” – Ben Folds

Yes, everyone dies. Yes, sometimes it is sudden. Yes, you are never prepared for it. At some point you lose someone you love, whether that someone is a friend, family or even a fur baby, it hurts and cuts deep and is so permanent.  

Here’s the part where my story may differ from some. I was 13 when I lost my mom. When you lose a parent as an adult you have memories to hold onto, you have a life. When you lose a parent as a teenager, pre-teen or child, you have scraps of memories. Little pieces you try to cling to and you hold on so tightly they tend to crumble to dust. Some days I can remember my mom’s laugh, other days her scent but most days, it’s a wash. I can tell you she dyed her hair a red-brown color and wore green contacts over light brown eyes. I can tell you she was a cardio queen and taught morning aerobics up until the day before she died. I can tell you she hated western medicine and doctors and believed in healing crystals which helped contribute to her downfall. I can tell you I loved her with all my heart. I can tell you it hurts everyday like a scab you can’t stop pick at and it festers and leaves a scar as a constant reminder. Some mornings I forget she’s gone, or that I’m grown up or that I grew up without her.

Most of the time I just feel guilty, because I don’t remember her, because I’m supposed to, because I hold a torch for someone I was only just beginning to know. My mother shaped me and molded me, even put me in the kiln but I wasn’t done yet, I wasn’t ready. I had just started puberty. I had no mother to walk me through hair and makeup, clothes and shaving, bras and tampons. Some people tried to help, but it was hard and there was pain in their eyes. My dad, tried, but he’s a man. If I ran out of deodorant or shaving cream he told me to use his. I spent one year of my teens smelling like Mennen without a bra and rarely shaven legs. I spent another year shaving everything including my stomach and chest because I didn’t know any better. My hair was a mess, my sense of style a disaster and it has taken me years YEARS to find the woman inside of me. To understand my looks, my skin tone, everything. Losing my mom meant losing my guidance and I had to feel my way through adolescence. My mother wasn’t there to tell me there’d be other boys or spend the night letting me vent with cookies and ice cream and movies. It was just me. I was angry for a long time. But it’s no one’s fault, there is no one to be angry at, my mother had a brain aneurysm. She had a blood bubble that slowly leaked into her brain. It amazes me how a little bit of blood can destroy a life, a family, a child.

Losing a same-sex parent at a young age means you don’t only lose your guidance, you don’t only live with guilt for not remembering, it means you also; don’t know how to respond or how to act. My husband told me at his father’s funeral, he didn’t cry and everyone thought this 11-year-old boy was brave. I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral and everyone thought I was a heartless, cruel child. I’ve cried many tears for my mother over the years. What people don’t understand is as a child you have no coping mechanisms, you have no clue what you should be doing. You are in SHOCK. The gravity of the situation doesn’t hit you for YEARS. As a kid you barely understand your numbers and ABCs let alone death. Something so permanent, so absolute and final how can you expect a child to understand that? I cry at the drop of a hat, over anything, commercials, movies, breaking a glass, but my emotions are bewilderment even to me. I could mechanically tell you about how my mother died and what I had to do to survive without a tear in my eyes and usually with a smile because I know you’re just curious. My emotions have been severed and reattached and so they don’t work like you’d expect. You could be pouring your heart out and I will be dry eyed and supportive but maybe we could be shopping for clothes and I just start crying for no apparent reason. I never learned how to express correctly, how to be appropriate. My mom’s funeral showed me that people judge you constantly and it also showed me that it’s okay because I won’t force feelings, I’m me and that’s all I can be.

Today marks 15 years since my mom passed away. She’s been dead longer than I even had time with her. Each year the anniversary hits me a different way. Some years I completely forget, other years I am overjoyed thinking about the time I did have with her, some years it hits me hard and I can’t contain myself and other years I remember but am neither happy nor sad, it’s just another day. Losing a parent at a young age turns them into a ghost, they are a pale comparison to the person they were or we think they were. They are in your peripherals. They are misty and ambiguous. There are only so many pictures or videos to remind you of someone you can just see the outline of, like a mirage. When the pictures run out, when you've memorized them, when you look at yourself in the mirror and try to pull traits, there's not much more you can do. Some days I remember her voice and think I hear it in mine. Today, I remember everything, the way she clicked her tongue, the way she lost her temper, the way she danced, the way she laughed, her perfume, her outfits, her walk, everything. Tomorrow I might not be so lucky, best to hold on to today.  

I Do What I Do

I love my family and my friends and I, like most people, want to believe I am a good person. However, I do things that might indicate I am, in fact, a horrible person. Let me break it down for you.

Often, I forget birthdays. Unless you are living near me I will probably forget your birthday. If I do remember your birthday expect a super late card and it’s probably because Facebook reminded me the Day Of your birthday. I’m sorry in advance for all the birthdays I miss to tell you how awesome you are. I remember a few birthdays that have been drilled in my head. My Tutu’s (grandmother’s) Dec 12 (she’ll be 92 in 2012), my little sister Nani’s May 29, my dad’s is Feb. 3 I believe, I’m Nov. 15 and my husband is March 13. Other than that you will have to remind me over and over and over again when your birthday is. After a slew of apologies and a belated card, I will forget next year.

Phone calls are not my friend. I HATE talking on the phone. The most I do is talk to my father and my Tutu every few days. So more than likely our conversations will be by text and often times I lose my phone. Actually quite often. I’d say for the majority of the day I forget where my phone is. Once I found it in the freezer along with the remote to the TV. I am absent minded and lazy, so keep that in mind.

Words will fly out of my mouth that will make you think I am a rude, uneducated degenerate. That is going to happen if you know me long enough. I curse, I tell really inappropriate stories and I discuss things in public that shouldn’t be discussed outside of the bedroom. Yes, I am that person. I am a pervert, I am crass and I am pretty weird.

I will embarrass you in public. I will tease you a little. I will jump to conclusions. However, with the bad comes the good.

Those who are my friends and family know the following:

No matter what you are going through, I’ll be there. As much as I hate talking on the phone if you text me “something happened can we talk?” I will call you before I think about responding to the text. I will drop everything I am doing to come to your aid. I will bail you out of jail. I will pick you up when you have a flat. I will bring you soup when you are sick and chocolate and wine when you want to destroy the world and then I’ll destroy the world with you.

My loyalty knows no bounds. I will get into a bar fight for you. I will defend you. I will cock block for you. I will have a series of questions lined up to ask your significant other unless you vehemently and specifically tell me not to. I will fight for you in a court of law. I will shield your name if gossip arises when you’re not around. I will be true to you, but do not expect me to comment or talk poorly of anyone who has harmed you. Unless, I, personally have issues with the person I am your friend but your enemies are not my enemies. I will not talk ill of your ex-lovers, that is your job to decide what that person is to you.

Your problems become my problems. My life story is long (already) but you will know it by heart. I will lay all my cards on the table in an effort to get you to tell me yours. I want to know you and you will know me. When you hurt, I hurt. I will send you gifts from across the country if you are going through a terrible time.

Tell me a story. I want you to. I like to hear how your day was, what’s bothering you, what you learned, what trips you’re planning, an invention you’re working on or anything. I will listen and I enjoy it. You have a photo album? Bring it! I love photo albums. I love seeing people live their lives.

I will teach you all I know if you ask. I will love, honor and respect you. I will give you hugs every time we part and I will nervously wait for your text to confirm that we are in fact friends/family.

I am a ball of nerves an odd mix of anxiousness, excitement, happiness, fear and energy. If you can put up with my quarks I think I’m worth the trouble.