Whatever

If I had one more day…

Twenty years after her death, he still utters those words. 

I remember the day his mom died.  I remember it so well because every day since then, he has been a shell of his former self. I used to be able to make little jokes at his expense.

“You’re such a mama’s boy”.

Now, it just wouldn’t be right to repeat that once often stated sentence.

I haven’t spoken to him in 3 years.  He got married.  He disowned me due to my perceived lack of loyalty in him.

Whatever.  The reasons don’t matter.

We don’t talk.  We may or may not again.

I don’t care. 

Despite all of our misunderstandings, anger… despite whatever…

I learned a lot from this somewhat meek and gentle giant.

For two decades leading up to his marriage, all he wanted was one more day with his mom.   She was diagnosed with cancer on a Wednesday.  She was dead the following Tuesday.

Just like that.  Whatever.

I suppose a long drawn out death may have been worse.  I suppose all of us are in the midst of a long drawn out death.

The man, with the heart of gold and the disposition of a child, changed when she was pronounced dead.  The innocent somewhat naïve man became a hardened cynic.  He leaned toward women, drinking, over eating… it all became his new crutch.  Excess was to be his road to seeing his mother again.

He didn’t have to say it.  We just knew it.

Then he met her.  His soon to be wife.  She was the resurrected version of his mother.  Kind.  Stoic.  Unrelenting love.  Determined. 

She was who he had missed.

I suppose I was wrong to say that your role as a man and future husband is to be a man.  I suppose I was way off base to claim that it was unhealthy of him to latch onto her like a blind kitten to its mother.

I was wrong.  Whatever.

It wasn’t my role to steal that joy he had waited 20 years for.

One of our last conversations before he married, he quietly whispered, “If only my mom was here to see me stand at the altar.”

“She will be”, I said with that kind of confidence that is only spoken when you are trying to comfort that person you care about.

Whatever.  I meant it.

Two days from now, my mom is having a “procedure” done to her frail heart.  They call it a procedure because it makes the invasive opening up of the body cavity sound like no big deal.  Like whatever.

She will survive.  She always does.  But one day, she won’t.

So many thoughts are going through my head. 

I’m thinking of the time I broke a window and my knee had glass in it and all she did was yell about the cost of a new window.  I am remembering the moment she walked into my house with fried chicken; just because.  I am recalling a moment recently when she called me from a bus stop.  She was crying because it was raining out and she missed the bus.

I am thinking about how she gambled her house away; the house I helped pay for.

I am remembering the good, the bad and…

Whatever.

It’s all good.

She’s my mom; the woman who gave me life.

She can’t be replaced.

In my little family, I love you is a foreign language.  Growing up, the dinner table was strictly there for decoration.  The only words spoken by her to me are those you hear in church or during election year:  Will you contribute some money to help?

Then she hands me the collection plate and waits.

Thank you is as foreign as I love you in our little family.

Whatever.

I decided a long time ago to just be thankful she is still around.

One day, she won’t be.

And one day, I won’t be, either.

One day, one of us, no matter how much we prepare ourselves or believe we have said and done everything to prevent any regrets, will be saying, “If only I had one more day…”

That’s how it works in life.

Whatever.