Tea with Mom

There are many things she misses, many things she would love to have back again. One of the ones that presses on her heart most, is a simple cup of tea.

Her mom took it as God made it, without sweetener. You knew the cup she used most because it was constantly stained with tea. No matter how much they washed it, it would never come fully clean. Now that all her cups are free of stains, she would give almost anything to see a tea stain again.

They would sit at the dining room table, a jigsaw puzzle between them, hot tea within arms reach and talk about everything.

“Well, I was still drugged,” the daughter laughs, “the name escaped me.” 

“Yes. Now it is the Golden Arches from now one. Even the boys call it that.” The mom says.

The boys, her boys. They had way to few cups of tea with their grandma.

“I should’ve come for the cake,” her son cries as they stand together by her hospital bed, “why didn’t I?”

Regrets. When your parent dies, you are full of them.

There are few times, thank you God, that they really argued. Never really had the typical mother/ daughter relationship. More friends, especially as the daughter grew older.

“It is positive. I’m pregnant.” Twenty and thinking herself grown, she proudly tells her mom she is to be a grandma. 

As always, she is supportive. They drink tea and discuss names, nursing, and diapers. She is by her side as her first son is born. They both weep at holding him. 

When her beloved child throws his first fit, they take turns holding him. When he doesn’t  fully outgrow the twos, they talk together, well into the night, about what could be wrong, even as she nurses his brother.

“You are a good mommy. It isn’t your fault.” Her mom reassures her.

ADHD, no bipolar. Through all his struggles, she is there. They raise him and his three brothers, together. 

Their father isn’t as reliable. 

“Thirteen!” they count them together, “thirteen W2’s. He has had thirteen jobs in a year.” She takes a sip of tea as she prepares to do his taxes. 

“Well,” her daughter offers, “at least he is working.” 

They laugh together.

Finally it is enough. She can take it no more so, within months of losing her grandma, she leaves him. 

As always, she is there. Even with her own new marriage ( and what was she thinking intruding on that?)

“You are my child. We will make it work.”

Again, they sit together over tea and puzzles talking about single parenthood ( something now they both have experience with.)

Other times, they sit at the same table, playing board games with the growing boys. Oh the lessons learned over games of monopoly and life. The conversations that happen, the things they learn about these young men they are raising.

“You will have to do your best to be both. It won’t be easy.” She tells her. 

It isn’t. Working, seeing to the house, seeing to the boys, homework, fights, doctor’s  appointments. She is everything to them, with their father moving in and out of their lives. She is thankful when he is around. More thankful that her mom stays ever present. The one person she can always count on.

Through it all, her mom is there. She is the one person she can cry and scream too. Not at, never that.

Three out of the house. On their own.  Her baby is close. That is when their life changes.

A lump, a biopsy, a diagnosis of breast cancer. A fight. For a while, she has a chance to be there for her in the way she was all her life. Holding her hand, talking to try to keep her mind off the effects of the chemo. Making soft bland foods and lots of hot tea, as it is the only thing she can attempt to keep down. 

Praying daily, hourly, minutely, for a relapse, an end to the horrible cancer.

Hospitalized once again. The effects of the cure are worse than the disease. 

“Please go get checked. Take the test for the gene.” The mom pleads to her child.

“I will mom, I promise. As soon as you are more stable.

Late one night, a phone call. An ICU nurse reports that her mom has had a stroke. 

“Get here as soon as you can.”

A horrible night as she waits to talk to the doctor. Her and her baby wait in the waiting room, sleeping as they can.

“It hit her brain stem. The EEG shows no brain activity. She is brain dead.”

Tears wet the doctor’s scrubs as she weeps in her arms. 

How do you handle the death of a parent? She has no frame of reference for this type of grief. Her biggest loss before that was several miscarriages and the death of grandparents and great aunts and uncles. This is totally different. 

It knocks her to her core. Death has a routine. They don't teach you about funeral homes, eulogies, and newspaper notices at school. She has made it to her mid- 40s, without having to deal with those types of things. Having to do it while drowning in grief is the hardest thing she has ever done.

Her mom, her best friend, is gone. Even knowing she will see her one day again, having hope of heaven, she feels like she is working her way through a heaviness that will never lift.

It does. Day by day it grows less. It will never be completely gone, not this side of eternity. She is thankful for the lessening, the lessons learned from the greatest loss she will ever feel.

Now she is the matriarch of her family. It is a huge role to feel. Her grandparents and parents are gone, leaving her the oldest woman in the lives of her children and grandchildren.

So she strives to be the role model they need. Recalling the lessons her mom taught her over puzzles and cup after cup of hot tea.