One of my personal powerful moment of BlogHer came as an aside.
We were listening to Gwyneth Paltrow discuss her family. This was THE Keynote address so the ballroom was packed. If you were at BlogHer at all, you were at this lecture. It was a great lecture. Gwyneth was lovely and real. She seemed like someone I could hang out with--and that was the tone of the discussion. We were all "hanging out" with Gwyneth Paltrow.
She had just finished a heartwarming story about her father taking her to Paris. She finished it to applause and then the aside came.
"Yeah, and then the fucker had to go and die on me."
You could tell by the reaction in the room that no one had the slightest idea how to react to that. There were gasps! (She just said the F-word!)
A feeling of disbelief (She didn't mean to call her father that--did she?)
Slight giggles (She said the F-word)
I'm not sure of the other reactions. I'm sure of mine.
I grinned. Full out.
I applauded--even though few others did.
Because I get it.
This is how I feel about my mother. I could go on and on and on about how wonderful she was and that would be true. I could go on and on and on about how much I miss her and that would also be true.
I don't get to talk about how furious/angry/annoyed I feel on a regular basis. Not that other people have their mothers and I don't, though that certainly comes into it.
What I can't say is how angry I seem to get--at my mother. This is not cool-but it is real. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross had it in the five stages of grief, but most people think it is anger at the world. No it is focused. Damn fucking focused.
I am angry that she ever smoked. I give her credit for giving up a two pack a day habit cold turkey. But seriously I get angry that she smoked because maybe, maybe if she hadn't she'd still be here.
I am angry that she didn't fight harder to stay. This makes no sense since I know she fought and fought damn hard. But she's not here and my grief is.
I am angry that she didn't tell me _________. I had been a mother for less than a year when I lost her. I lost her advice before that as she succumbed to the pain and pain pills. I know nothing about being a mom. Maybe she felt she knew nothing too--but she was my mom and she knew me.
I am angry that the fucker had to go and die on me.
That sums it up.
Yes, I have wonderful memories. Yes, she was not young. She was in her 80s and I know I was lucky to have her.
But now I don't.
Because she had to go and die on me.