It’s Been A Year Since My Mom Transitioned

We all die, right?

I mean, we all know that eventually, we all die. We do not leave here alive. We are born, we live, and then, we die. Or in my dad’s favorite words, “we perish.” I don’t like perish by the way. We’re not fruits.

As of the typing of this post, it’s a few days to the anniversary of my mom’s transition. I’m sitting in a booth in Panera Bread, people-watching and thinking. There was a little white boy in the booth in front of me. I’d peg him to be about a year and a half old. He has been staring at me and waving. His waving is distracting me from the sadness I want to allow myself to feel.

To my left, in another booth, there’s a slim white lady with long, flowy brunette hair. She has on dark blue leggings, bright pink sneakers, a light grey sweatshirt, and a denim baseball cap. Her laptop is propped open in front of her, and she also has her cell phone docked into an external keyboard. I’ve caught her typing into it several times. It’s pretty neat. For someone like me who does a lot of typing, I think it’s a great accessory. I’m wondering if I should ask her about it. Her cell phone has a protective case on it. It’s pink and lavender, and the back of it has the words, ‘SEEEK FIRST THE KINGDOM’ inscribed on it in capital letters.

Based on the ring on her ring finger, she’s married. Earlier, she was talking very loudly on her phone, disputing (or explaining) some credit card transactions. I do not like making calls inside Panera Bread. You have to speak loudly for the person on the other end of the phone to be able to hear you above the noise, and everyone ends up hearing your conversation. She is now writing in a notebook, and she has different colors of pens. Or maybe they’re highlighters. The first one was fluorescent green, and the one she’s using now is dark purple. I’m tempted to take a picture of her. I won’t.

It smells like freshly baked bread in here.

I have not forgotten that this is supposed to be about my mom. It still is. But this is how I [try to] distract myself when thoughts of her flood my mind. I think of her every single day. Every day. There is no day that passes that I do not think of my mom. Whether I want to or not, something will always make me think of her. Some days, I laugh. Most days, I cry. On other days, I work very hard at thinking about something else. Like today. The success rate of thinking about something else is about thirty-seventy with thirty percent being the rate of success. I wonder if I’m not being too generous with the thirty.

The lady is now writing with a pink pen or highlighter, and I have just noticed that she has a ziplock bag of them. I also know that Ziplock is the brand, not the general name. But if I say, ‘She has a storage bag full of them,’ it won’t be as visually or aurally appealing, right?

Every now and then, I think my body forgets that my mom has already transitioned. You know that panic, fear, and anxiety you feel when you imagine losing someone dear? Well, my body feels it sometimes when my mind thinks about my mom, and then, my heart comes in to remind the rest of me that it has already been broken on account of this loss. My heart, although it’s the one delivering the news, begins to race. It feels like I’m hearing about the loss for the first time again.

I am not yet over the loss, and I know I will never be over it. How can one ever be over such a loss? I avoid my mom’s pictures because I still cannot fathom how someone so beautiful – inside and out – is no longer here with me. Yes, I know, they say our loved ones are never really gone, that they live inside of us. That’s great, but I want to see her sitting across from me and laughing and choking on her laughter as she always does. There’s so much I want. Knowing that I will never experience these moments with her again and knowing that I will never get to create new moments with her, it’s an agony and a cruelty that wish I could make disappear.

I think what I previously described as pens are definitely highlighters because now, she’s holding what is obviously a pen. It’s turquoise blue and white. The little boy who was waving is gone. He was here with his grandma, older sibling, and heavily pregnant mom. His grandma gave him lots of kisses before they finally left. Watching her do that has, as always, reminded me of my mom. She should be here to give Ada Verastic lots of kisses. I have turned my attention back to the lady. She is a good distraction. She is now holding a royal blue highlighter. Or maybe a marker? I’m a bit peeved that I do not know for sure what she has: a pen, highlighter, or marker. 

I could not have asked for a better mom, and I wish that this consoled me better than it does. It does not console me at all. Still, there are very few moments when I feel and truly believe that she is happy where she is. I don’t know who is responsible for making me feel this way: my mind or God. I choose to believe it’s God because it makes me feel better. I dream of her a lot, and in every dream, she’s just her normal self. She is not unalive. She is her usual self. In one dream, we were in Lagos and I did not have cash, but my precious mommy pulled me aside and gave me some cash. This was during the cash crunch in Nigeria. Funny dream, considering I do not live in Nigeria.

I couldn’t take it anymore, so I approached the lady. She had only good things to say about the keyboard. Apparently, it’s a bluetooth keyboard from Logitech, and she loves it. She does a lot of texting for her job, and she hates texting. Her friend gifted her this keyboard, and she is not herself without it. She works in the prison ministry and travels often for ministry. She has been to Nigeria, too. I forgot to ask her what part of Nigeria. She gave her life to Christ four years ago. The pens/highlighters are markers. Yes, of course, I asked. She was coloring while listening to a training. Coloring is one of her hobbies. We exchanged numbers. And guess what? She’s my neighbor.

I did the Lord’s work, and I went on Amazon to find the keyboard for you. You can pair it with up to three devices. Here’s the link. You’re welcome.

So, yeah, I love my mommy, and I miss her. I will always try my best to only smile when I think of her. Maybe it will get better with time. Or maybe not. Either way, this is my reality now, and I have to live with it. There is no avoiding it or postponing it. 

The good news is that it has not been all gloomy around here. There has been good news, too, and I will be back to share that later. But first, let me order myself a keyboard.

 UPDATE:

The actual day ended up not being so bad after all. My family came over to spend the day with me. I was as worried about them as they were about me, so we combined our worries together. We did not talk about the reason why we came together, but we prayed, ate, and laughed. Aunty Chinelo slept off after eating my scrumptious jollof rice, and my grandma accused me of putting medicine in the food and swearing not to be caught by it. It was a good day. I think my mommy was proud.