Dreaming.In.Reality

You know.. Today I had a lot running through my head.. about some actual thought provoking subjects.. and I wanted to write them here.. but mainly 2 stuck in my head.. one I will write now.. and the other.. maybe tomorrow.. but one urgently needs to be written now. It’s lengthy… so be forewarned.. I’m about to rant a bit.

All through our lives.. we’ve always been asked who’s our role models, or who is our inspiration.. all that fun stuff.. or who do you wish you could be more like.. and I know MOST of us, would say.. the LAST people they would want to be like.. are our own parents. Which is very true.. but deep down, all of us know there are things, that our parents are, or qualities that they possess.. that we wish we could be more like, or have more of.. My mom.. is truely a unique creature..

My mom is 60 years old. She’s no longer the most gorgeous creature on Earth, but in her younger days.. she was such a quiet beauty.. with big eyes, dark hair, and a winning smile. Now adays, life, marriage, kid(me only), and the years.. have taken their toll on her. At first glance to my mother, she seems like one of those crazy ladies, who love their sweatshirts and pants, blue eyeshadow.. or green.. she wears green sometimes.. and foundation darker than her normal skin tone..Her face lined with age, and with the endurance of life.. takes on the effect of a drying apple.. it’s not as soft or supple as it used to be.. her hair greying faster than it should.. and perhaps a bit thinner than normal… But at a deeper glance.. and perhaps a bit of understanding.. one can see.. that her sweatshirts hide her misfortunes in life, and that her foundation covers the darkend healed skin in an effort of female vaniety… and that maybe her blue eyeshadow.. is an attractant.. to her still big eyes, that still reflect that winning smile.

See.. when I was a senior in highschool.. I came home from school one day, to my mom.. just sitting on the couch.. very quietly waiting for me.. after busting in the door, she softly called my name.. which stopped me dead in my tracks.. my mom never speaks softly.. she’s over boisterous.. and energetic.. in all she does.. when I turned to look at her.. she was just watching me, with tears welling up in her eyes.. Dropping to my knees next to her, asking her what is wrong.. she just gathered me and held me close for a good half hour.. in which she cried silently. When she had composed herself, she told me about her day. After I had gone to school.. she got ready for her day, went and had coffee with her best friend, then went to see her doctor for her health exam.. She was there all day. And then she told me she had cancer. I thought my world was ending, because for me.. people with cancer.. don’t make it. And all I could think of was my mother, being lost to me.. because of this illness, running through her. She gently explained to me, that the following Monday, she had to go back for more tests, tissue removal, and then begin aggressive chemo and radiation.

Over the next 8 months, I watched my mom age at least 10 years. I watched her lose her hair, I watched her look at her skin.. red, burned and scarring from the radiation.. I listened and cringed everytime she ran to the bathroom to be sick from the chemotherapy… I watched this vibrant woman that raised me.. fight a battle, I know I never could wage how she did.. She waged it almost nearly alone. With cancer patients, they tell you to have the support of your family and friends.. She had me.. and one friend. On her own, everyday,she got up, got ready for the day, and went through those days.. ONE by one.. Each morning, she had to cover her skin in creme, to help prevent scarring.. all over her upper body, neck and face.. Every day, she had to see that, she wasn’t coming out of this.. unscathed. To this day, she wears the marks of her trials.. dark skin patches all over her upper body, leathered wrinkles…She also over the time of her battle, learned to really not give shit.. about what people thought.. and to live life for herself.. and what makes her happy… something I have yet to learn or even try to.. My mother had always been an independant sort.. but with marriage, she stopped working fulltime, and devoted herself to family. When I got older, she started working again..until she got sick.. My parents I don’t think ever had the easiest relationship.. I know they certainly don’t now.. but they still love each other deep down.. and I believe my Dad could have been more supportive during all of it.. but he’s a bit of a stoic fool…and I know my mom wishes.. that she could be the woman she was when she was 25.. not in a lukewarm marriage.. nor forced by your health to limit your choices in what you can do in life..

My mother was proclaimed a year later.. cancer free.. and she has been ever since.. but it’s a fear that lurks in both of our minds.. She’s such a worry wart about me.. even more so now that I’m not home for her to watch over.. She’s handed me into the care of my husband with open arms, and contents herself to be with those friends who enjoy her company…She made such a deal out of me moving and getting married.. I suppose all moms do.. but her biggest thing was, for me to just be happy and be certain down the road that I would try to be as happy as I could.. and that my relationship and marriage was more than I expected.. and I think deep down.. that my married life, is what she never had in hers.

Woo rambling.. so in short.. I can say that no there are some things I wouldn’t want to be like my mom in the sense of.. She does have a tendency to repeat her stories.. a lot*L* Or start with but not end with a point… which I ALWAYS make sure to end with a point*L* Even if sometimes, I have to backtrack a few steps to find it. Because I know we all do things like that as well.. -must correct bad parent habit.. must correct bad parent habit- She’s a bit of a flake.. but hey! everyone is now and then.. And she may not be in the life she would have desired for herself… but she’s also a fighter, and a survivor with a heart of gold, who would do anything possible and give anything possible, even her own happiness and comfort, to make those she loves happy and safe.. I’d like to think and hope I have those qualities of hers.. I’d rather be that.. than cold and non-understanding.. than to pass judgement on someone.. without knowing their story. Because that’s another quality of my mother’s that I love.. she takes the time.. to get to know people, find out what their shoes are like a bit..finds what can be seen beyond the bookcover, no matter how odd it might be and accept them.. without harshness or being false.