Being Strong...

When I was a child, of course, a whole bunch of uncalled stuff happened. I don't need to get into it, but one major thing was the death of my adoptive mom, Marianne. I was so young when I was taken away from my birth mom that I only really knew "Meme" as my mom. And being a rotten ADHD kid, I needed a defender, and she was it. She was the one thing, the one fierce force that stood between me and a world that mainly didn't *get* me.
And it's been years, so most of the details are fuzzy. But I do recall the sick sick feeling when I was told she had cancer. And I remember plenty of times being in one hospital or another. I remember watching this incredibly strong gorgeous woman gradually losing this battle. Sure, we fought. We all fought. My father spent countless amounts of money. We went to Vanderbilt, we went to Houston. I can't even remember all the places, doctors, faces. But I remember the fight. I remember the books I read. I remember it all. I remember her telling me it was back. I knew something was up. I had been away at church camp, and I got mail from my sister, and I knew she had sent it from Nashville, and not Atlanta from the post office stamp, and so I just KNEW. In fact, I hyperventillated that night. So when I got back, Meme sat me on the ottoman to her chair. I remember that chair in detail. It was blue, and it had been recovered. The blue print had little flowers on it. Anyway. So, she sat me down, and she told me the cancer was back. I knew. We all knew.
And then I watched her slowly fade away from us. First, I remember the hospital bed downstairs in the den. I remember her sipping ornage juice from a straw and not being able to talk. Cindy, my sister, practically lived with us, and my grandparents moved back to Tennessee from Florida to stay by us and help. I remember the last birthday we had with her, and what I gave her.* I will add a footnote as to what that was* I remember her being moved to the Harton Hospital in Tullahoma. Dr. Bills was her doctor. I remember Pastor Barnes taking me to go see her. That last day. I talked to her for a bit, and I told her I loved her, that I would be back. I spent the weekend at Danielle Bryan's. Karen, her mom, was friend of my sister's. When I got him, Scott, my brother, was there. He was outside in the garage smoking a cigarette, and I ran to him and hugged him. He hugged me hard and then put out his cigarette, and told me to come inside with him. This....this moment,I will never forget. I don't know which nephew it was, but I assume it was Bryce. He was crawling on the floor beside me, and I was sitting on my manatee afghan thing. Cyndi looked at me, Daddy sitting in his chair, and she says, "Sarah....Meme died today." I don't know what else I did for sure except laying my head down and only kind of crying. I don't know when I finally disolved into tears. I remember at some point running up to look out my window at the stars, like I used to when I missed her on visits with my biological mom. *our song, Meme's and mine, was "Somewhere Out There" from an American Tail, and the line "It helps to think we might be wishing on the same bright star" was kind of our thing.* Anywho. I remember my teachers coming out to see me. I remember all the hundreds *literally* of cards and flowers and casseroles. I knew my parents were big in my community, but you don't realize it fully until you see so many cards of well wishes that you can't even count them all. I remember everything changing then. I stayed with my Methodist Church Prayer Partners, Joe and Judy Pawluck. Then, Daddy started dating Joy. They got married 7 months after Meme died. Needless to say, the rest is a whole ton of other stories.
I don't even know why I wrote all this. Except to say, I miss my mom sometimes. I miss, no HATE that she isn't here to see my beautiful children. That she has to lose to something so unfair and evil as cancer. But above all, I just miss her love. I miss the strong amazing person she was. I am sure I have let her down along the way. I am sure she misses us just as much. I,well, I hate to even think how badly Cyndi missed her. Does miss her. I remember her crying at night. Daddy, too. And I hate that no one talks about her. I hate that I never see any pics of her except the one I have. That she is taboo these days, which is exactly what she wrote to us about in her letter.... "Let my name ever be the household word it always was." I hate that no one that I know remembers her. *sigh* It is what it is. I guess, in the end, I just want to say, like many have before. Love what you have. Please.