Playing Hide and Not Go Seek

Gosh, I haven’t crawled into this space in a long time. It's like my hide and never seek spot. A place to lay the tears of my weeping heart and never look back.  It's a comfort zone I have avoided because it is filled with deep pain. Pain secured here, so that I may continue life's journey with a lightened since of grief.  I have a huge load to get rid of right now.

I was thinking of Mom yesterday morning, as if I don't think of her about a million times a minute, and the many new memories I have of her.
 
Mom and Pinoch, the oldest and the youngest. The two who were so much alike in attitude and ways and the way they interacted. The way they accepted and rejected each other. The constant "I'm not playing with you," followed by the shouts of pretend battle. The way Mom would poke him with her cane when he sat quiet (finally), and the game would continue.

I'm going to miss him gathering his "books to read to Granny," Kindle (to play games) and baby to lay on the bed while he kept Granny company as she watched TV in her room.

I sit in admiration at the way the three year old took it on as his duty, to stop whatever he was doing when he'd hear the tap of her cane coming from the other side of the house, and run to turn on the bathroom light. Then run back to grab her hand and walk with her to the bathroom. Or if she ventured out of her room without it,  he would run to get it for her.
I laugh at the memory of the occasions he would run ahead to hide inside claiming he had to go first.  Their verbal battle would always end in laughter and a poke from the cane when he gave in and let her go first.

I think sadly of the few times he would be napping and she would be peeking around the corner looking for his swiftness and asking "where is he?" Only for her face to fall at our answer. I'm going to miss that and so many other interactions between those two. As I'm sure he will, now I watch his face fall when he says, "I only want to talk to her. "

I'm not going to miss how her waning memory had bothered her so much she was beginning to call herself,  stupid.

I'm not going to miss the way she would bemoan the absence of her children.  Those, who she often told me, "Were busy with their jobs and life." I understand that mindset of self comfort. It's life,  people are busy, some can only deal with situations by keeping their minds full, and others are simply pure unadulterated, thieving, best forgotten, lying-assed, pieces of shit, who will not be thought of again. And yes, I do have a few anger issues. At least it's directed at one person.

I'm not going to miss watching her crumble when a Sunday has ended and the meal she cooked wasn't eaten by those she expected to visit or the phone didn’t ring because she didn't receive a call. I'm going to let that crap go, put it here and forget about it.

I'm also going to place the hurt, crushed part of my heart here. The part killed by words aimed to destroy a relationship. When a parent dies, siblings need to handle their own guilt without trying to hurt others.  Nothing will repair it and I don't want that memory.
I want to remember things like, how I was born to rise with the birds and would often go sit on the porch as a child and Mom would chew me out. Worried about me sitting out early in the morning without company and possibly being abducted or hurt. I love how she chose it as her time to leave. Now she will forever be, in my sunrise. Life never ends.

I'm going to miss my mom. Even though she could drive me crazy over who was the boss of whom,  what she could still accomplish,  whether or not she took her meds, and repeating childhood incidents better forgotten. I wouldn't trade the last seven months of being her companion,  whipping girl, and confidant, for anything.