Locked Door

The boys were sitting still and watching some cartoon with furry animals from a make believe world. I hated these shows. I struggled with my desire for perfection and finally making it past the finish line. Did these shows help me be a better mom? And what is the finish line? I always wanted to be a wife and mother. I found my husband late in life, when it felt as if everyone was married, raising school age children, and surviving milestones. After many Hail Mary's, solitude, and surrender, I found some grace that could be summoned for healing and direction. Back then, after a year of little miracles to erase old scars and doors that I imagined had been slammed shut in my face, I grew to recognize now that in my own doing, I made choices to run from fear and imagined loss. I prayed for change and made it a habit that took over my exercise schedule. Perhaps my old devotional to Divine Mercy to rescue the world from the hurt of crime, kept my husband safe for the seven years prior to us meeting, and perhaps the 9 days of devotion to the Jesus Prayer, prior to us meeting face to face, was when I knew for sure heaven had been protecting our converging paths this whole time. The next two years after being married, I gave birth to our two beautiful boys. I thought it would make me happy or fulfilled, but the race never finished, and I combed through new compromises as my new Hail Mary. Once the wedding happened, I realized I just landed into the grown up world with no breaks, and the only excitement was the news and announcements we would share as a family, but those were only the initial intrigues of big changes and novelties followed by losses of self and wonderment. I had always avoided an artist's life to create what I thought was a stable life to market myself to other singles as prime and ready. With each new beginning, I found that life's canvas page in front of me would take more effort than idealized. Most of all, I wanted to visit my mom. Between career, and making it home in time to prep dinner for my gourmet seeking husband, the dark rush hour of 10 stop lights between my mother and I, would simply have to win and my loosing streak for spending time with my mom would be my stats in marriage. So, then my final compromise happened; to become a stay at home mom so I could focus on family only.

My main excuse for visiting my mom was to bring her late morning breakfast. I can't remember what I got ready that day, except that my boys were happy and helpful that day while I got us ready for our visit with Lola, and a voice kept reminding me to be patient and to not bother my mom. I wanted to wake her up at 8 am, but all I heard was her cranky, weary voice saying not to call her too early, not to bother her too early, since she likes to sleep, take her time making her rounds for the cat's food, the dog's potty outside, take a sip of water, eat a fried egg, use the restroom, then tell me my children are too noisy. Her body was growing old and slow, and her foot shuffle was at it's fastest by noon. Each hour I paused and paced myself not to bother her. Maybe I made mini muffins for her. Something easily consumed by the children and easily cleaned up on my mom's floor. For a few months I had been bringing over baked goods that could sit contained on her counter for a few days. One batch she kept over a week, and I told her she couldn't do that because it gets moldy after 3 days. She joyfully said this one was still good and she was going to keep it a few more days. So, I dumped it in the trash and said I would bring her something new.  

The past 2 months, I opened my heart to honoring her requests as small as they were. I wanted to be a good daughter. I wanted us to have peaceful memories. I wanted to be a good role model in front of my boys or at least give my mom what I was able to give my boys. Most of all, I wanted to believe in her independence, but at 9 am again her nagging words stopped me with her secret mom powers. "Why are you here? Eh, don't you know I'm busy. I'm not lazy like all the other people, traveling Europe, going shopping, they never took care of their children and now look at them. They don't do anything with their lives. My whole life I worked and I don't fantasize and make love wherever I go. Not like the other ladies, opening their legs, leaving their children to do the same thing." Her words always echoed and sat heavy on my heart. The number of times she repeated herself, obviously meant the words needed to be more real than the world around her. These words were from my childhood and became my meaning in life now that my mind was on standby with a foreign silence signaling I must be forgetting something or I must be late.

She turned 80 on Saturday with a surprise party with all her nieces and nephews traveling in from the Bay Area. It was a perfect sunny day, and all the children splashed around in the pool shaded by giant pine trees. She was born on a perfect day, right in the middle of May. And she never wanted a birthday party, and now we were giving her one with two birthday cakes. One from the Bay Area and one from a local bakery. The day before, she said she wasn't going to go to her birthday party. She suspected we had bigger ideas for that day. So, finally my sister caved to stop my mother's curiosity or difficultness and said it will be a birthday party but only a small one. Mom called me that Thursday to tell me, and I listened as if I was hearing this invitation for the first time. She never wanted attention or a birthday party, and here she was, perfectly born on a sunny day with no major attacks from winter weather as would have been ironically destined for her three daughters and two grandsons. Even my husband was born in January like our youngest son.

By 10:30, I called mom. It rang and went to voicemail. Oh no, my worst fear. I tried it twice more and left a message the third time so she wouldn't need to rush getting to the phone, because I would be showing up soon anyways. I texted my sisters regarding my failed attempts, hoping they would tell me they just talked to her. I told the boys to "line up," meaning their socks and shoes had to be on, and this was their head start to get in and buckle up in the car. Between giggles and feet squeezed into shoes with many miles, and piles of things in my tote and two arms, it looked as if our 3 hour cruise was going to become a 3 decade stay. I knew every request between my children and my mom. I knew when I got there, the boys were going crash into her sofa, run their hands into her little Shit Zhu's hair, my mom was going to have their learning cartoon shows all ready on, and when my mom sat down in between my boys on the sofa with her blankets, that each boy would be in their perfect little nook and cranny where they fit in my mom's arms, custom made since birth. She loved being a grandmother, and because of my boys she finally got her little boys.

Before I was married, my mom didn't know grandmothers could be happy. She didn't even know mother-in-laws could be happy. But when I met my husband, was when she saw something that made sense. There was no tug of war, secrets, odd trials of desperation, and she said just like my dad everything was there and ready for good wife to settle in and make his life complete. It was just like daddy she said, except I said my story was going to be different. It was going to be better, and more romantic, and my mom was going to live with us, and my mom was going to make my vegetarian dinners, and my life that was good was never going to change. It was going to get better.

The ten stop lights on the way to my mother's house seemed long and dull like a force field of clouds made me float through the distance with a buffer to protect me from my lack of focus. She had been living alone at my sister's house since the start of the year when my sister got married. I would joke that it had always been like my mom had been living alone since my sister has always lived a busy life with career and vacation trips. I thought my mom's life would be more peaceful without the clamor of my bossy sister coming home at the end of the day, after she ran a school, then rushed through checking on my mom's progress on tasks before leaving again to teach a spin class or train for a marathon.

When I parked in front of mom's house, everything was so quiet. Her little dog didn't poke her head through the curtains by the door. She didn't bark like crazy. It was just a sunny day with a clear sky. I told my boys to go ring the door bell. It was a tradition I started to alert my mom to her little boys, and today it was going to pierce this odd silence with my predictable boy entourage. I took a deep breath and waited. I pretended the air around me was no different than yesterday's or like the one on Saturday when my mom had her birthday party.  

I rang knocked on the door and called out to my mom that we were here. I told my boys to wait in the car and helped them hide in the back row of my SUV where they had room to play with some toys I kept handy there. I wanted them to be distracted as I made some phone calls. They appeared calm, but my eldest was a bit giggly perhaps nervous from this uncertain irregularity. He had ability to understand more than I wanted him to right now. He used to stand at my mom's side, placing his hands on top of mom's. He must have seen something like this from a scene from his favorite pet doctor cartoon. Although I felt like giant angels had their arms around me, a pang tugged at my heart. I told myself thanksgiving for the past ten years I came over for lunch. I made my pregnancies an excuse to be near her despite during my busy work week of meetings and traveling. Food was bonding moment. And no one compared to mom. Then something strange happened from our secret love of greasy comfort and satiation. It was almost another secret on top of secret that needed to be stopped as age beckoned us forward. It was maybe two weeks ago that she stopped me from ordering some Filipino food to bring to her. She gave no reason, and I didn't want to know her reasoning or ask while she walked so slowly to lay down on the sofa and close her eyes.

Only my sister had the keys to the front screen gate and doors. I called her up before I dialed 911. It would take her 30 minutes to travel here through town. Her voice was calm. I told myself that means I'm worried over nothing. I turned around to peak at my boys, I made curious facial expressions. I didn't want them to remember this day. I told them we were playing a game, and they have to look up in the sky for dinosaurs. My eldest son, saw some in the clouds. He asked me what happens when he find them all. I said we will have a cupcake and movie. He said yay as if it was a prize he never heard of. I told them if they are super quiet, they can hear the dinosaurs.  

By 25 after, the firemen arrived. I said I have no keys to the house, and the owner is on her way. Why did my family have to be so disorganized? My husband's family has an emergency plan for every given unknown. And I don't. Not today. Not now. They pried the side door open like a peanut butter sandwich with contents of interest. There were four men and a lady. They all towered over my short, stout figure. I felt so small and helpless, and they looked like giants to the rescue. I held my breath waiting and pretending this was nothing, because I told myself my boys were not going to remember this day or any details. The last thing I wanted was for them to see this. I was age 12 when I saw my grandmother whisked away in an ambulance. My boys were only ages 5 and 4. A strange sensation to laugh at myself, undug itself out but couldn't reveal my stupidity and worry over my mother. She wanted to be young and independent, and I wasn't going to stop her big feelings of life she let go of for marriage and motherhood. She had been asking even for a corset and cute linen dresses she missed from youth. I pretended it was some stage of aging my husband would say happens, because I wanted to believe that death was introduced by some long drawn out stage.

I stood on the sidewalk, and my hidden dread combusted into remorse and frustration over what could have been controllable loss.  If only mom lived with me. None of this would have happened. Why did she have to be so stubborn and independent?  The next door neighbor approached me all of a sudden. He introduced himself to me, and we exchanged the facts of the moment. He was about the same age as my mom. He was also living alone, and shared that his daughter is afraid of this happening to him as well. I responded that no one wants to be babysat by their children.

The youngest fireman medic appeared out through the front door and said they couldn't find my mom. I said that was not possible. He said there was a car parked in the garage. He began to ask more but then another medic said they found her in the shower. The next door neighbor stayed by my boys who promised me they would finish counting the dinosaurs in the sky. I finally walked in through the front door. The home was small and modest, but appeared even more tiny with all these men here in my mom's dwelling. My sister walked in to handle all the questions I could not handle in my numbness.

Mom spent the next ten days in the hospital. I explained to my boys that right now, what we can do is pray for lots of happy Jesus love to keep Lola safe. Some days were good, but mostly to the end she got worse in unresponsiveness. Grasping her upper chest and gesturing to her upper stomach, one of her last words or indications was that she was in pain due to her aspiration of vomit from when she fell in the shower. My husband took the boys to the cabin for a few days so I could focus on just my mom with my sisters.  I stopped pretending to be talking to her, waiting for her to wake up. I rested my head next to her as I held her hand, singing Divine Mercy so that all that mattered was her soul's yearning for Heaven's gates.  When my husband came back into town, he dropped the kids off at his parents' house, and we all prepared for our last goodbyes and quiet moments, praying for mommy to be safe in Jesus' arms and love. I held her hand to the end. I felt her pulse slowly disappear with the last fall of her chest. Just as she requested, she was buried in her wedding dress in the space next to our deceased father who also was laid to rest in his grooms tuxedo. And when friends and family hugged me with condolences, my heart began to feel unbroken again when they acknowledged it was good I came to check on my mom on that last morning.