Made it Another Day

 I suspect a lot of my writings this year will be documenting 'firsts'.  After all, after 62 years I am no longer a sister or a daughter.  I am, still, a cousin, an aunt and a friend but everyone else has gone on to their just rewards.  

The past weekend was another first - my first Mother's Day being the only kid alive.  All I can say is, "Yuck".

It feels awkward.  For one, my father's death was in 2003, my mother's in 2020.  Time has marched on and so it seems as though speaking of mourning them is the same as waving a brightly lit flag and shouting, "LOOKATMELOOKATMELOOKDAMNITLOOK" over and over again.  Yes, everyone gives lip service to the idea that grief has no real time table but let's face it, crying over my parents' deaths seems out of sorts, in a way.  They've been gone awhile.  Let them rest in peace.

My brother's death and mourning him makes a little more sense but, well, it's also more difficult.  If it hadn't been for his illness, we would not have been reconciled.  His behavior had deteriorated to the point that even I could no longer stomach the abuse and, for the first time in my life, I had actually told someone mistreating me that they were no longer welcome in my life.  Being told he was dying gave us the opportunity to forgive each other; however, my anger at him over his refusal to spend money on basics like health care while buying broken down limos and giant dogs off the internet took awhile to dissipate.  He lived the life he wanted to live, that is for sure, and there is much to admire about that as long as one does not look at the wreckage his lifestyle caused.  

This past weekend I went to Mass and the cemetery.  I sent cards and greetings to the women in my family who are mothers.  I watched television and hung out with my dogs. And I mourned.

I mourned my mother who probably did not expect me to be the child that lived the longest.

I mourned my brother who never really lived how he claimed he lived.

I mourned my father who spent his life just wanting to be loved but unable to truly love anyone in return.

I read my book on St. Dominic, I prayed, I took walks.  I balanced all the checkbooks and reviewed all the statements.  I paid bills.  

In two weeks I will read the Prayers of the Faithful at the funeral of one of my oldest and dearest friends.  I lost two from college this past year.  It feels weird again...like I am swimming in jello.

All in all, my life is filled with blessings.  I am safe.  I am almost completely well.  Life really is pretty darn good - but it still feels strange to be the last one standing.

The grief is real but I also want to say, with confidence, that I am walking taller than I ever have simply because I am the last one standing.  I made it one more day - without those I always had around me - and for that I am grateful.  God's got me.  I am okay.