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Till I See You Again

In memory of the strongest, most beautiful, person I've ever met.

By Katherine SchaeferPublished 7 years ago 6 min read
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We always loved reading Winnie the Pooh together when I was a little girl. Till next time.

On this day, two years ago, I lost my best friend. I remember it so clearly, like it was yesterday. I awoke at 9:00 AM and rubbed my tired eyes. I checked my phone, and decided that it was time to start my day. I hopped into the shower, dressed myself, and made my way downstairs. At this point my dad had left for work, and my stepmom was sitting downstairs drinking a cup of coffee. This was my daily routine. Wake up, get ready, drink coffee, and go to work. I sat in the garage with my stepmom as she smoked a cigarette. I felt weird. I felt like the weight of my body was dragging me down, and it was almost unbearable to walk. I felt moody. Every passing car that I heard drive by irritated me beyond belief. I felt so tired; like I hadn’t slept in centuries. At one point I remember saying to my stepmom, “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I feel like total shit today.”

By 11:00 AM I had started my daily commute to work. I hated that place. I hated how everything smelled like onions. I hated how snarky and arrogant management was, and above all else I hated slicing meat. I arrived at work a little before 11:30 and sat in my car for about ten minutes. I remembered that I had bought a pack of cigarettes the day before, although I was trying to quit. I lit a cigarette and pressed it between my lips. I enjoyed smoking menthol cigarettes because they were familiar; they reminded me of my mom. For a moment I became panicked. Fuck. When did I call mom last? A week? My phone had recently broke and I had to get a new one. Does she even have my new number? Why hasn’t she called me? I had been so busy with my summer classes and working that I had forgotten to give her my new number.

Things were different between my mom and I. Money was tight and I was tired. I was tired of going to the hospital every other day. I was tired of worrying about when she was coming home, or how we were going to pay the bills. For eleven years I had done these things. The last time we spoke we fought about money. She needed to borrow some, but I didn’t have much to spare. She got angry and hung up on me.

I promised myself that I would call or visit her that night, but that never happened. I got out of my car and started my day at the sandwich shop. Seven hours passed, and I was able to go home. I was excited to go home, have a beer, and take a hot bathe. That didn’t happen. I began my commute home when I received a phone call from my dad. He had asked me to call the Sheriff’s Office when I had a second. I assumed it was something about mom. Maybe she needed me to drop her off a few things, or maybe she was going in for a surgery. I made my way home, and my stepmom offered to take me for coffee. I agreed to go, and we made our way down to the nearest Dunkin’ Donuts. I ordered my usual large iced coffee, with light cream, and no sugar. She ordered a large iced coffee with cream, sugar, and vanilla flavoring.

We hopped back into my stepmom’s car and I began dialing the numbers to the Sheriff’s Office. Sally had picked up the phone. I had always liked Sally because she was kind to my mom and I, and she was really funny.

“Kate we have something to tell you,” she said. I braced myself. I wasn’t prepared for another open heart surgery, kidney transplant, or lung biopsy. “We’ve been trying to get a hold of you,” she said.

“Oh shit I’m sorry, I forgot to give mom my new number; I just got a new phone,” I said.

“Your mom…," she started to say. I could tell in her voice that something terrible had happened, by the way her voice was cracking.

It was on August 1, 2015, that I had found out that my mother had died. Not on that day, but a week before. A WEEK. I remember getting hysterical, and angry. I began cursing and shouting at Sally, my stepmom, and anyone that was nearby.

It’s been two years since she’s been gone, and some days I wake up and it’s like the whole grieving process begins again. I go through bits of rage, sadness, and then acceptance. Ever since that day things will never be the same. I can no longer call my mom when I’m having a bad day. I can’t tell her about my anxiety, or my depression. I can’t listen to her say how proud of me she is, or how much she loves me. Instead, I get to come home after a terrible day and reflect on the whole situation. I get to think about how my mother died, alone, in a hospital room. That thought alone keeps me up at night.

I can’t sit and watch horror movies with my mom anymore. I can’t sit and laugh at scenes from Rosemary’s Baby or quote lines from Goodfellas. Coffee doesn’t even taste like coffee anymore, because I can’t enjoy a cup of it with my mom. There are no late night drives to Lancaster anymore. I can’t even pass through Lancaster without sobbing. There are no spontaneous cards waiting on my bed anymore. My mom always wanted me to know I was loved; even when she was difficult to be around.

Ever since my mom has died I have tried to make the best out of my life. I moved away from my hometown, continued college, and tried to reinvent myself. Everyday is still a struggle. Some days I do really well, and I only talk about her once or twice. I manage to get out of bed without feeling like total death. I put on a smile, and go to class and work. Other days I wake up and feel like curling up in a ball and crying for hours. Somehow I still manage to pull myself out of bed, and I move forward.

I’m not writing this to have anyone pity me. God knows I don’t want a pity party. I’m writing this as a warning. Do not ignore your parents or push them aside because you are busy. Try to spend time with them, and tell them how much they mean to you. Thank them and show appreciation for the little things they do. Life is precious, and short; don’t take anything for granted.

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