Mother, Interrupted

We sat in front of the cemetery admiring the marble monuments covered in snow; traffic was unusually heavy, so we had a lot of time to admire the scenery. It's a beautiful cemetery, both for its upkeep and the way it reflects the seasons' splendor: barren branches burdened with ice bow to cold stone; lush, emerald summer grass rolls along the slightly unlevel surface; a tapestry of autumn leaves blanket the ground in fall; and rows of happy daffodils trumpet spring with their yellow faces glowing in the sunlight.

"Do you want to buried here, Mom?" she inquired from the back seat, "It's a pretty place." I smiled, "No, I don't like the dark nor do I like to be closed in. Cremate me and sprinkle my ashes." "Sprinkle you? Don't you want to be in a box like Bonnie under my bed?" My Mother's beloved Pekingese was cremated, and her memorial spot has yet to be chosen. The box of ashes rest peacefully under my Mom's bed, where the dog would sometimes sleep.

"No, sprinkle me down at the beach, so when you feel the sea breeze blowing, it will be me kissing your cheek." She thought about that for a while, "Who will take care of me, Mom, if you're not here. I don't want to be an orphan."

For the last nine years that very thought has kept me centered. I would prefer to swallow the right pills and drift drowsily off to oblivion. Please don't give me any of that permanent solution to a temporary problem bullshit, either. How long is temporary? Somehow I think ten years is the turning point when we mark things temp to perm.

Emily stops me from doing what I really want long to do, of course. The draw of being needed and not wanting to miss her important life events keeps me here: truly the meaning of borrowed time. Otherwise, I would have willingly checked out long ago. Sometimes I regret not doing so successfully BE (Before Emily). The stillness of the night often beckons me to merge with it--to relax, to let everything go, to drift slowly into oblivion. No more heartache, no more disappointment, no more loneliness, no more pain. It whispers to me between my muffled sobs, "You know you want a soft place to fall--I am that."

I am so emotionally weary. Even at Girl Scouts the other mothers pick at me; jackals ripping the flesh from downed prey. They laugh at me and whisper in voices loud enough to hear, "No wonder she's alone--she's not very together." I am so very tired of being left out and being everyone's foil. I'm the proverbial third wheel in all events that I attend. I sit back and observe others live more complete, more fulfilled lives. I am good--I care for people--I try so hard to be there for others--why is it never my turn? Why are others so loved and I stand alone? Why am I worthless? Why do I always have to the one on the outside looking in? I think it's because I'm not supposed to be here anymore. I'm living a life on borrowed time; the universe knows it and dishes out what it will.

So I remain here, a soul dissatisfied sublimating her needs because she's needed here now. I despise every minute of it.