I want to start by saying that 99.9% of all of you have been PHENOMENAL with your kind words of support. And I am IMMENSELY grateful for them. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I would not have gotten through this past year without all of you.
With that said...
There are some people who I REALLY thought were going to be there for me, to support me, to let me lean on them blah, blah, blah. People who adamantly insisted they "had my back". People who were so passionate in telling me this that I was sure they'd be one of those special people who would be there at 3 AM when I was sobbing uncontrollably and simply needed to know someone was out there. But nope.. no where to be found.
Look.. I know everyone has problems and mine are no more dire than anyone elses. I know we all have lives and responsibilities. But honestly.. in this age of modern doodads and gadgets, how freakin' hard is it to spend thirty seconds, maybe a minute, responding to a text or sending someone a quick e-mail to say, "Hey.. I'm thinking of you." or "How are you holding up??" Or hell! Even finding a few minutes to make a quick phone call. Ya'll remember those right?? Ya' dialed a number and actually SPOKE to someone. So they could hear your voice and you could hear theirs. Novel idea huh?
My closest and dearest friends, and even some of my on line pals, know that I can be found at any hour of the day. If you need me I'll spend hours chatting with you on line or on the phone. If it's physically possible I will drop everything I'm doing and be at your side as fast as my Mom mobile can get me there.
Now before anyone accuses me of being whiny and unreasonable I certainly do NOT expect anyone to come to my rescue every single time I come crying to them. I understand that sometimes it just isn't possible to do that. I myself have had to tell a loved one, "Listen, I'm the middle of something I can't stop right now but as soon as I can I will call/text/e-mail you." And then I DO JUST THAT. Because I gave them my word. And that means something to me.
I'm also not implying that these people are insensitive. I think some of them simply have their priorities skewed. They just don't think about the impact their actions (or in this case inactions) have on someone. Again, I'm not proclaiming to be the perfect friend who is there every, single, solitary time one of my friends calls on me. I've allowed myself to get so caught up in my own problems and pain that I sometimes forget others have their own battles to fight. Sometimes I realize I'm doing it without anyone pointing it out to me. Other times I need a little nudge in the right direction.
The older I get the more I realize that life really IS too short. And we never know what each new day will bring. In October of 2005 my Grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It had spread to her lungs and her liver. It was, in essence, a death sentence. She was eighty-two years old, with eighty-three close on the horizon. The doctor's told us she probably had only around six months, give or take a month.
We got three. And I thank God those three months happened to be during the holidays. Christmas 2005 will always be one of my favorite Christmas's. Though bitter sweet, we had Me Mom with us one last time.
On January 19th, 2006 she passed away. I was thirty-three years old and I'd always known losing her was an inevitability that I could not escape. Even so, losing her as quickly we did was a shock. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her and miss her. She was my biggest fan and loudest cheerleader. I always knew she loved me completely and unconditionally. My children adored her. Particularly my oldest son Cody. As a toddler we lived with my Grandmother and my parents for several months. So Cody and "Me Mom" spend a lot of time together. They watched baseball and Disney movies together. They had lunch together every single day. They were best buds.
Her loss was hard on all of us. But especially Cody and I. I would give anything for even just one more hour with her. I was there the day she left this world. By her side, her hand in mine. She'd been in a coma for two or three days by then. And hadn't opened her eyes once. But that morning she did and I saw her look off into the corner of the room, seeing something none of the rest of us could. And she smiled. I knew at that moment that someone had come to take her home. Her Mother and Father, maybe her sisters and brothers, her husband.. whomever. There was someone there in that room with us. I felt it in the almost palpable silence of the moment. No one will ever be able to convince me differently.
She closed her eyes then, took one final breath and was gone. As gut wrenching as it was to say good-bye to her I would not trade that moment for anything. I found it as comforting as I did sad.