Hitting the Curb - Hard

Much profanity ahead. Well, not much by my standards, but perhaps a bit by yours.


My mother loved to haul some serious ass in her wheelchair. Woman did not slow down for anything. She was the crazy lady begging us to let her go at the top of ramps. . . She had one leg, so often the fastest way to go was to push herself with that one leg backwards. Zoom. Go. Go. Go. One time, we were taking the pups to the vet, and they had just poured new concrete. For some reason, my mother thought it was ramp all the way. Backwards she went, zoom, zooooom, CRASH, BOOM! She hit that curb going as fast as she could go. She went flying out of that chair and landed flat on her ass. Her face? Startled! What the hell just happened? Then laughter. My mother was always good for a laugh.

I hit the curb today too. But I didn't laugh. I've been crying all day.

I picked my gorgeous girl (who is driving me nuts lately) up from school and off we went to our favorite after school destination. Bonus points if you guess it. It's Target. I know, too easy. Anyway, as we approached the light on the corner, an old man was trying to get his wheelchair to hop the curb so he could get on the sidewalk. Now that's a trick my mom would do too. She couldn't be bothered with handicap ramps at the END of the walk. She got on where she was. But this guy wasn't making it. I rolled down my window and asked if he needed a push up. Yep, he did. So I stopped, set on my hazards, and got out to help him. I had to roll him down to the ramp part of the sidewalk, which was a joke and a half. It was on a hill, AND had a huge lip to it, so really, unless you had great strength (like my mom had) or someone pushing you, you weren't getting up that thing in a manual wheelchair. It just wasn't possible. I had to turn him backwards and pull him up, it was such a steep area, and such a big lip to the curb/ramp/whatever the eff you want to call it.

Here it is, this is what counts as wheelchair accessible.

I got him up, turned him around, and said goodbye. He saw my girl watching through the window and told me she was a pretty thing. I said she was my world. I waved and got back in my van. I had caused a mild traffic jam, but the guys in the car next to me, rolled down their window to tell me that I was nice. I said thanks. I felt fine.

Then my daughter asked why I did that? I explained that, well, when GaeGae (my mom) was in a wheelchair, wouldn't we have wanted someone to help her? Yep, we would have. "So that's why you did it?" Yep, that's why. Because we all should help each other.

Next up, biggest cryfest this girl has had in a while. I sat and sobbed and snotted all over my pretty new infinity scarf in the Target parking lot. I don't want to be nice and help other people up on the sidewalk ( I mean, I can, but that isn't what I WANT! )I want my mom. I want to push her up ramps and let her fly down them. I want to help her up the curb, and I want to lift her from the ground when the curb knocks her out of her seat. I want her to tell me I'm nice. I just want her.

That was the first time I've pushed a wheelchair since she died. I had no idea it would affect me that way. For so long I hated that wheelchair. I hated that it put this distance between us, made me more of her guide than her companion, made it more difficult to hug, be physical. I hated the limits it placed on her, and how cumbersome it could be. And now I just ache to hold those handles and push. I ache to deal with pushing her chair through doors that won't stay open when no one seems to want to help. I WANT to fold that chair up and throw it in the back of my van for the fifth time that day. I long to see her hauling ass backwards in it, and me shouting at her to BE CAREFUL. I miss that sorry ass chair. I miss that crazy, loving, fun woman; my mom.

As far as I go, I've hit a curb too. I am doing so much better, but after talking with my therapist, we realize my anxiety is back in full strength. She thinks my grief has turned into depression and that I need to up my medications. She's right. I'm shaking at everything. My surgery is coming up, and I keep hitting a wall on that too. I feel change on the horizon, and I'm scared I'm going to mess it all up. I'm just scared, and lonely, and well, motherless. Which is the worst. I can't think of a more awful word to be.


Anyway, I'm okay. It is going to be okay. I have therapy tomorrow, and tomorrow is a new day. Hopefully one where I can keep my emotions in check. Hopefully one where I can find a ramp, or if I do hit the curb, I can get up and laugh.

I miss you mom. I wish I had half your strength.

PS. I will try and take a picture of this sidewalk tomorrow so you can see what I am talking about. It is in front of the Whataburger on 9th Ave.
UPDATE: Pic added above

Social Media Lies and Real Life Truths

Isolation.

Lack of authenticity.

Social media lies.

A recurring theme in my therapy sessions are how I do not grow my authentic relationships because I take the easy cop out and seek support from solely online sources. My therapist argues (and I pretty much believe all that she says, as she is one smart cookie) that prior to my mom's death and the loss(loss of friendship, not death) of a very good online friend (within two months of one another) my life was full, and my emotional needs were met. I liked having what we call IRL (in real life) friends. I have several, and I love them. But I was able to weather storms and life's day to day without constant contact because I always had a listening ear and someone to fall back on. Both the online friend and my mother were ALWAYS there. I didn't have to "work" at relationships, because I had these super easy ones. The one with my mom, well she was my MOM. She was always there to listen, to be there, and her life basically revolved around ours. The other friend filled that girlfriend role so well, that even though we never met, I felt I had a best bud, someone to always listen and who was there. But while I loved her, I realize a relationship online is NOT the same as IRL. I will never be there to watch her kids for her in an emergency, and she mine. I will never give her a big hug when something devastating happens, nor she me. She won't see my tears or know I am crying as we chat it up on FB. Still, it was genuine feelings on both our parts. Unfortunately things went South, and that friendship ended. I also have an amazing group of online women that I can chit chat the day to day mom stuff with. And other stuff too.

But here's the deal. I lost two pillars of my support system, of my constant relationships. And the online group, well, having such easy and great access to that, means instead of reaching out to other IRL friends, I post there. I get the immediate gratification of instant responses. While that is awesome, it causes me to not call other friends and foster relationships with them. I lose the dialogue a local friend and I could have had, and thus, I drift slowly away.

When the shit hit, I was so blessed. Online, IRL, family, friends, everywhere and everyone, the support and kindness was amazing. It has literally reshaped my world view.

Even so, social media is lying to me. Just because 50 some odd people "like" that my insurance is approved, does not in any way deepen my relationship with them. Nor do they really share in my joy. And by posting it on FB, the people I could have called and talked about it with, shared my joy, relief and yes, newfound nervousness with, didn't get a call. Instead of sharing that moment with me, they got the opportunity to like it on FB. The end. So while, as a result of FB, I may "share" more of my life with more people, it is not authentic, and it does not deepen relationships, rather it eventually causes stagnation and distance.

So this is something I am working on. I am working on reaching out more to IRL friends and family members. I am working on not waiting to be invited somewhere, but making the invitations. I am making the call, instead of passively sitting around, and waiting for my phone to ring. It is working. I am getting out more, but not overextending myself by seeing too many people that I am flustered or that I am spread too thin. I am working on getting closer to a few people, and putting more into those relationships, and less into others. Which is good. But it also kind of sucks. I ain't gonna lie. I love me some online peeps. Always have, and always will. But by relying on them exclusively to share information, both good and bad, throughout the day, I am isolating myself and, as I already said, creating a divide in other relationships.

All this to say, I went back to my ladies sewing group this week. This is the first time I've been in quite some time. I kept making excuses to not go. I don't know why! I went this week, and it was such a relief. Such a relief to sit and sew, and listen and participate in chatter, and to hear women fellowship and talk about the Lord. It was such a relief to hear the devotions, and to pray in a group. The lesson was so what I needed to hear. It changed how I am processing my grief, and how I am viewing my upcoming bariatric surgery.

The lesson? Jesus, I trust you.

Jesus I trust you, when I am not sure why my husband is cranky. Jesus, I trust you when I am not sure if I am making the right parenting choice. Jesus, I trust you when I go to therapy each week. Jesus, I trust you, as I reach out more to the homeless and others. Jesus, I trust you, even though I am grieving and cannot ever possibly be the same. Jesus, I trust you.

See, catastrophes in life happen. We all suffer loss, be it via death, unemployment, divorce, WHATEVER. Our lives can change in a second. And in the pain, it is so easy to take a step away from God. It is so easy to become bitter, and to not only isolate ourselves from our loved ones, but also from the love of our Creator. But that is what we cannot (or at least I cannot) do, for then all hope is lost. It is in these times, we have to say, "Lord, I am hurting so bad. This pain is like no other I have felt. Jesus, I trust you, in this awful, awful time of my life. Jesus, I trust YOU." By doing this, the pain is not gone, the grief is still there, but the bitterness and anger aren't. It is this, that lets us take our worst moments, and not turn them into good, because there is nothing good about losing someone you love, but make good come out of them.

My mother died suddenly and discovering her body has been the most traumatic experience of my life. But I realized I did not want her death to just be another day, and nothing change. I refuse to let her go, and me not take anything from that. What I learned in her death was kindness and grace. People, strangers, friends, family, even people who I KNOW weren't necessarily fond of me, reached out to me in my suffering. I hurt so bad. I was a walking sore. And people responded with love, kindness, generosity, and grace. Now, not everyone is emotional like me and not everyone feels the need to share every single emotion they are feeling, as I so seem to do. But death IS happening all around us. So if I am feeling this pain and if I NEED this kindness so much, I imagine so many more people do too. People that I don't realize need kindness are desperate for it. They deserve it. So this has made me want to be kinder. This has made me want to give grace. I do fall short, and my temper does get the best of me, but I am striving to be kinder and to let stuff go. To give grace.

I also care more about those in need. For years I helped take care of my mother, and if not for my husband and me, she very well could have been homeless. Those people on the streets don't have a daughter willing to take them on, or if they do, for some reason it hasn't worked. So I want to be their daughter in whatever way I can. I want to deliver meals to homebound seniors that need that help, just as my mother needed it. I want to reach out and give and love, just as everyone needs and deserves.

We ALL deserve that.