As I'm sure many of you know, she died in 2012 from rapid-onset lung cancer. What I haven't been so vocal in sharing is that in the 12-18 months leading up to her death, she and I had become somewhat estranged. My mom was an alcoholic, and could either be my biggest supporter or worst critic - depending on how much she had to drink on any given day. My entire life, I stayed close to her and let most of the inconsistency roll off me - after all, she was my mom, and the only one I'd ever have. I supported her through her divorce from my first stepfather (who she married when I was 3, and who was basically my father figure growing up); I supported her through her tumultuous marriage and then her divorce from my second stepfather (who she married when I was in my early 20s, and who is still an important person in my life). I was there as the glue trying to patch together the broken and battered relationship between her and my siblings. I was there when she went to rehab, and emerged - both times - promising to do better, to not drink, to pull herself together. I was also there for her when - after stopping by unannounced for a visit while in Cincinnati - I found her passed out in a room of old food and wall-to-wall bottles, covered in her own filth. I cleaned the house, did laundry, and sobered her up enough to shower and change. I was there when my brother called to tell me that he had stopped by and found her passed out again, the house a complete disaster.
At some point, I just broke down. I loved my mom so very, very much but I just could not continue. She was breaking my heart, day after day. My biggest fear was that I'd get a call that she was in jail, or beaten outside a bar or - even worse - dead from liver failure. I had been living abroad for about a year, and was trying to make a life for myself. I just - well, I just could not, ... not anymore.
And so I broke off communication. I defriended her on Facebook. I stopped sending emails. I couldn't cut the cord entirely, so I did send the odd couple hundred dollars here or there - never enough that she could get in real trouble, but enough to keep her eating if she was struggling. During Christmas of 2011, we struck up a tentative reconcilliation - each of us suddenly shy around the other, and unsure of what to say. We began emailing again and talking on the phone. Things seemed good. And then, in late February or early March, she went silent. She would disappear for days at a time and then her replies would be erratic and odd. My first - and only - thought was that she was drinking again. And so, I stepped away. Then, on the 3rd of July, 2012 while in town for a friend's birthday, I picked up the voicemail that would change everything. I still remember how it began - "Erin, it's the mom. Please call me. I'm in the hospital and I'm sick. I promise it has nothing to do with drinking." I called back only to discover that she had been diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer and was given less than 6 months to live. She hadn't been drinking, or ignoring me. She had been so sick that she couldn't get out of bed.
She died 7 days later, on what would have been her 58th birthday.
As I read through the old emails today, I saw everything through a different light. Her emails to me towards the end of 2011 and beginning of 2012 are suddenly clear and poignant, full of self-reflection and honesty and apology. They have a clarity that could only have come from sobriety. Reading them now is both comforting (to "hear" her voice again) and heartbreaking - oh, how I miss her so very, very much. I am weighed down by the enormity of all the things I never said - and all the things I should have said. I wish I had added her again as a friend on Facebook because she loved following my life. I know she was very proud of me, and yet I shut her out. I wish I had answered her emails, or picked up the phone.
I am so glad that I found these messages. Reading through them, it has become abundantly clear that I have only just begun to grieve - and that the tears I'm shedding today are but the smallest drops of a river that will flow from me until the day I, too, say goodbye to this world.
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