A new day. Can I start my new year today? It’s been a rough week or two. The obsessing. The rumination about Mikey. He’s been my rumination victim.Maybe because it had been three years ago on February 4th. I don’t know. The last two weeks weren’t all bad, but boy did I struggle. It had been looming, creeping closer. The day. The anniversary of the day I had always feared most in my life. The day I thought I wouldn’t survive. The day Mom croaked. Croaked with a capital C. Not to make light of it, it’s just that’s what my mind does to protect me. Make light. Mom did that too.

I can justify all I want. She was 86. Quality of life crummy. It was her time. Life on Life’s terms. Her little body had been through so much. A patchwork of scars that hid under her pajamas. She’s out of pain.

I am lucky, blessed I had my Mom that long

and I am

But still, one Mom. That’s what we get. One Mom. And if we’re fortunate we get a loving one.

I heard someone say it doesn’t matter if we are drowning in a bathtub or an ocean, we are still drowning. I’ve been gasping for air.

Our relationship wasn’t warm cookies after school. Although there were often Ding Dongs, Zingers, Jelly beans, Ice Cream and Salami growing up.

As adults it was frequently shopping, Vegas, travel, time with my friends and numerous adventures.

Our relationship was intense, co-dependent, full of love, full of rage, intertwined. We were one for years. Two people one person.As much as I loved her was as high as my rage had been at times. A catastrophic tsunami. Often.

But years earlier before she croaked (sorry) I took a step back. I learned how to truly love her and let her be. God (and he was involved) that was hard.

I learned how to separate my Mom from her illness, borderline , manipulative, outlandish, girl with the curl crushing ways. The hardest work I’ve ever done in my life. To rid myself of the rage, guilt, and hard-wired responsibility I felt for her. To truly get to the root of these feelings and extricate them. To forgive her. To forgive myself.

I was able to do the work and remove what she was not born with…to see who she really was underneath her complexities, shame, fears and ailments.

I received the gift before she checked out. My Mom was fierce, passionate, sweet, fun, hysterical, foxy, smart, talented, Ballsy, a fighter to her last breath, a giver, a go getter, a world traveler, an artist, beyond street smart and truly a Mother in every sense of the word. She loved children and they all loved her. Our home was often a safe haven for them.

I miss her. She was my best friend.

It’s called grief kids.

She still made me laugh even on her death bed. Sorry to sound so dramatic.

Yes, she is always with me. She is part of me. I have her zest, fun and passion.

She adored me. She was my biggest fan. She taught me that there’s enough love to go around, to always eat my dessert first and to be your own best friend.

So yea she made it to 86, yes I ‘m lucky I had a kick-ass Mom, yes yes yes.

But my heart hurt and ached these past few weeks.

Grief knocked at my door. Then it pounded. Then it finally kicked down the door and barged in… I couldn’t suppress it, go around it or bury it.. It leaked all over.

The price of love.

I miss her, I can hear her now.

“My beautiful daughter, I’m 6 feet under. I had an exciting beautiful life. Blessed beyond to have you as my daughter. I am so proud of you Corinne.I love your fun life. Laugh and be happy and love what you are doing.”

You’re Veronica’s kid. My fun Portugue.

Her last words to me.

I love you, stay strong. and VEGAS BABY.

Ching Ching