I pride myself on being a good person. Genuine with moral fiber, and leading with her heart. With kindness. Compassion. Empathy. Understanding. I don’t know if I was created that way, or if it was all formed due to trauma. Perhaps a little bit of both. Either way, I’ve always made efforts to be the person someone can truly feel loved and accepted by. Someone they can rely on. A cheerleader. A confidant. An advisor. A light. Basically, as much good as you can possibly fit into a being. And yes, I’ll admit, a part of it is selfish. I want to be good. I want to be loved and admired, but rare is the person that doesn’t. I’m still human. But my real drive and reason is because I’ve walked through a lot of my experiences in life feeling utterly alone. I’ve felt unloved, and I don’t want anyone, anywhere, ever, to feel that way. I’m talking, I would befriend a prisoner on death row so they wouldn’t die feeling alone and unloved. I would hold the hand of any person that needs it. However, every once in a while, I fuck up. As I said, I am human.
My mother was recently hospitalized. It was nothing overly dramatic. In the movie version of my life, there wouldn’t be any scene of me sitting in the hospital waiting room, biting my nails, staving off sleep to await news. Nor would there be a scene where I get the phone call and I dramatically drop it in shock. It was a pretty standard - your mother had abdominal pain, they discovered something strange and had to go in and fix it. (Clearly I am generalizing and keeping private information private, but I’m also trying to paint a picture where there were no heart stops or panicked moments). She went in for surgery within 24 hours of being admitted (give or take a few hours). I was told the surgery was routine and she’d be fine. And she was. Thankfully, the surgery went well. When she was recovering however, things went slightly awry. Again, nothing urgent, but not smooth either. They had to keep her in the hospital for a week to monitor her. Again, all seemed fine and now, she is fine. She’s home and still recovering her energy and such, but she’s absolutely fine. Thank the stars. The funny thing is, I don’t think I called her once while she was in hospital. Yes, I was communicating with her husband, getting the information I needed, checking in on and with him, but I didn’t call her once. I planned on visiting her on my day off, but because she’d already been in hospital for four days and hadn’t heard from me, she texted and asked me to. I visited. It was lovely, as time spent with my mother always is. Then I went home, and simply waited to hear the next steps. She told me when she was reaching milestones. She told me when she was going home. She told me when she got home. And I still hadn’t called.
I don’t know where my head and heart were at. Yes, I’m busy. And yes, I’ve got quite a few emotional balls I’m juggling that are tiring me out more than usual. But this is my fucking mother we’re talking about. And I’m not writing that in the sense of “she gave me life”. My mother is one of the best people I know on this planet. We’ve certainly had times of being on opposite sides of the fence. Hell, sometimes it felt like we weren’t just in different fields, but on different planets. But I’m forty years old now. I know and understand a lot better. And that includes all my mom had to endure and overcome. All the things her parents put her through. The friends and family that let her down. All of the things I put her through. All the hurdles she’s faced and somehow cleared. And through all that, she’s kept her genuine kindness, caring, hopeful, and authentically positive attitude and outlook on life. And for me personally, though it wasn’t how I always thought it should be, or what it should look like, she’s been there every fucking step of the way. And I don’t write this in an “I owe her” sense. I write it in the sense that she is an inspiration. She is a great example of what’s good in this world, and doesn’t that deserve nurturing? Doesn’t that deserve praise? Appreciation? Encouragement? So she can flourish and spread her wonderfulness in the world like a pandemic for all to be infected or affected by? How could I be so blind? Of all the balls for me to drop, how could it be her??? How could I not call? Every fucking day?
As I write this, she’s been home for three days. We just got off the phone, and had a wonderful conversation. It was hard, but wonderful. She called me on my shit. She told me how alone she felt in that hospital room. How devastating it was that she was there for a whole week and barely heard from any four of her children. That she had to lie in her bed and watch her room mate receive visitors, her children, every day. I am devastated. While she told me she felt she’d failed as a mother and created this somehow, I feel like I brutally failed her. I know better. I am better. And I don't know why I didn’t do better this time. But I’m so grateful we could talk about it. I’m so thankful it’s not something she just accepted with a heavy heart. I’m so appreciative that it’s not going to be an elephant in the room for the remainder of our time together. Nor will it be an awkward topic that she brings up as a joke in hopes to hear an apology or at least some kindness, with me laughing it off as her being dramatic or having high expectations. I have not, nor will I, shrug it off and say “I’m busy”. Because I believe, to my core, that people are what matter most. Relationships. Community. That’s what drives me. I may not have much of one, but I’m going to keep trying to build one. And that community most definitely includes my mother.
The funny thing is… I felt a sense of urgency when I received the news of her hospitalization and need for surgery. I wanted to look over at my boss and say “I gotta go”. But I didn’t. And I’m not saying that was what was needed. But how did I get from that feeling to not even calling her once? I’m not stupid. I know my mother is aging. She’s not of an age where surgery is easy on her body, and recovery is swift and effortless. I remember sitting at home one evening after work, looking at my husband and saying “this isn’t going to be easy for her” and something along the lines of being a little afraid it could go awry. Why could I share that with him, but no one else? Not even my mother? Perhaps I’ve been putting on a strong front for so damn long to the rest of the world, I pushed it forward in this situation also. Perhaps I thought I didn’t want to add stress to my mother, or her husband, and that’s why I stepped back. I honestly don’t know. But I made her think that she had to ask me to come and visit!!! That, to me, is almost unforgivable.
Perhaps I was afraid to see my mother frail and fragile. I’ve heard many say it’s hard watching your parents age. I have yet to really be able to relate to that, but perhaps I did this in order to prevent that. The truth is, the idea of losing my mom brings me to full blown tears every time. Just the thought of it! So what will happen when I’m actually faced with her mortality head on? Will I be able to continue being strong? I’m not sure. Still, it’s no excuse.
Supporting others is hard. We never know what it’s supposed to look like. For ages it was learned socially - this is what a proper lady or gentleman does, or this is what a good Christian does, etc. Sometimes, we learn it from our family, whether it be by example or by learning what not to do. But even if we don’t know what support looks like, we certainly know what it doesn’t look like. It doesn’t look like tuning out, being too busy, or simpmly keeping one in our thoughts and prayers. That’s for sure. It’s more.
I pride myself on being a good person. I am a good person. But good people fuck up. And this was a terrible fuck up on my part. But part of being a good person is acknowledging those fuck ups and learning from them.
Mom, I promise that I will never allow you to feel like you aren’t a priority again. I promise you that, and I promise myself. Even if I’m not 100% certain what you want or need, I know what loving and supporting a person means and looks like. I know better, am better, and will do better. It’s from you that I learned to be the good I want to see in the world. So thank you. Thank you for teaching me, guiding me, nurturing me, and loving me unconditionally so I could have the space to find me. And thank you for forgiving me, for this and untold hundreds of other things I’ve done and possibly will do (unknowingly). I’m so glad you’re fine, and that you’re my mom.
I love you.
Ⓒ March 2023. Beki Lantos. All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form by any means without prior written permission of the author.
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