Brian's notes - a few days after the funeral: I don’t think I’ll ever forget how my father sounded when I spoke to him that Tuesday afternoon. I remember him apologizing to me for how he told me that my mom was dead. I also remember saying something along the lines of: “That’s okay, it is never an easy thing to say, and there is no right way to say it.” Other than that, the next hour is a blur. Joshua and the dog picked me up from work; he packed our suitcases for the trip while I called Aunt Carol and Aunt Amy. We were at David and Eddie’s by 7:30
Tuesday night, and then by 9:00 we were dropping the dog off
at a friend’s
house and on our way to the airport. I’ve never been a big believer
in God or angels until that night. I called United Airlines at 7:30 at night
asking
about two round trip tickets to Ohio for 11:30, and for a total
of $530.00, Joshua and I were in the air four hours later. I still can’t
believe how quickly we got on a flight, or how inexpensive it was. I’ve
spent more on a round trip ticket with two months advanced notice than I
spent on
that ticket with 4 hours notice. I want to say that I can only
conclude that my mom was watching over us, but I know that’s just my
way of comforting myself, and that’s okay. The only thing I really remember about Wednesday is waiting for my Aunt Carol and Grandma Fish to arrive. I felt so helpless seeing my father in pain, knowing that there was nothing I could really do to help him. I tried to hug him as much as I could, but somehow I just kept thinking that if Carol or Grandma would just get here, everything would be okay. They have been such a strong force for continuity and support in our family; I just thought they could make everything better. I knew it was a false hope, but I needed them to be there. Sometime Wednesday afternoon, my dad asked me to take apart the bed that was placed in my parent’s dining room over 10 years ago for my mom. My mom’s little sister Amy kept joking with me that I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to take it apart, and I kept thinking how this was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done. How foolish was I to think that taking apart a bed would be considered difficult compared to the days ahead, considering that I had to take my mom’s dress to the dry cleaners then to the funeral home so that she could wear during the services, or the last time I saw her in the coffin, or when it was my turn to speak at her funeral. It was strange at the viewing on Friday. Joshua and I walked into the room and I didn’t even see the coffin at the end of the room. Or, maybe I saw it, but subconsciously ignored it because I couldn’t deal with it. All I know is that I didn’t become aware of it until I heard my brother Chris catch his breath very quickly. That’s when it sunk in. My big brother, the rock I always knew I could depend on, was hurt. I have always been so proud of him and how he interacted with my mom, and her being gone didn’t sink in for me until I saw him starting to say goodbye. I cried. I’m crying as I type this. I’ve never felt very close to Chris, and most likely that’s my fault for not trying hard enough, but having him hug me was one of the best feelings in the world. He was like a big security blanket, and I knew that as long as he held me, things would be okay.As he was hugging me, I couldn’t stop thinking about how I left them in 1997 when I moved to California. I missed most of the last six years of my mother’s life. That’s something I will have to live with for the rest of my life. Yeah, I called her five days out of the week, but I didn’t get to see her. I didn’t get to hug her, I didn’t get to sit down and joke with her. I missed out on a huge part of her life, and I am so sorry for that. Even though I love Joshua and my friends out in California, I felt guilty about leaving them. Then Chris said something to me. He said “Don’t ever feel like you didn’t do enough. Mom loved you, and she knew you loved her,” but it didn’t take away the way I felt about not being in Ohio, and that Joshua and I are never going to be able to have our marriage/commitment ceremony with my mom as a witness.The weirdest thing about the viewing wasn’t that my mom wasn’t there; it was what my eyes first focused on. Her fingernails were blue. I’ve never seen my mom wear fingernail polish, but the first thing I thought was that the funeral home had painted her nails. That’s another thing I’ll never forget. It’s kind of creepy what your brain focuses on and remembers, isn’t it? The funeral on Saturday was a blur. I know that Penny and David were “running” the ceremony, but I can’t remember what it is they said. I know my father got up to speak and said that the rain outside wouldn’t suit my mom’s personality because she would have loved sunshine and a field of daisies. I have to disagree because she loved every kind of weather as long as she was with the people she loved. I remember going out into the rain with her many times just to walk around the block looking at worms and splashing in puddles. I honestly don’t remember what I said when it was my turn to speak. I had a few notes put together, they were: Mom. This is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. I always knew this day would come, I just never thought it would be so soon. Did I ever tell you how much talking to you brightened my day? I still have a message you left me a while ago, asking me to call you because it had snowed for the first time this winter. Whenever I’d ask how your day was, you’d always have the same answer – “Alright.” Do you know how proud of you I am? You were dealt one of the worst hands I’ve ever seen, but you made the best of it every day. Yeah, you had some complaints every once in a while, but you always found the positive in everything. I only hope I can do the same with my life. I miss you; I love you, god speed. Did I stick to my notes, I don’t know. I do remember that at one point I put my hand down on the lectern and my ring made a loud clanging noise. Other than that, I don’t remember much. I’ve been told that I did well up there, but I really don’t know.And now it’s been over a week since she left us, and I’m not sure where I am. I find myself crying for no apparent reason, other than something triggers a memory of my mom. I think the hardest part of the day is around 6:30 when I get off the train and come back aboveground. That’s when I’d call my mom almost every day as I was finishing my walk home from work. For the last few days I’ve called and talked to my father, but it’s just not the same. I miss her so much.
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I miss telling her stories about the latest thing my silly dog
has done. Her favorite was when I talked about Loki eating a bright blue kitchen
sponge and Josh and I being confused when he pooped this huge
blue thing. We
laughed so hard I thought we both might need to change our underwear.
One last thing comes to mind. When people ask me about my mom, I don’t picture
her in a wheelchair. I always flash back to one summer day when I was about
six years old. It was raining pretty hard, and for some reason my mom decided
that she needed to get the mail out of the mailbox. She ran down the driveway,
grabbed the letters, and then ran back up to the house with a smile on her
face. That’s how I remember my mom. The MS may have whittled away all
the extra stuff in Paula Fish, but it never took away my mom.