what my mom couldN't do
Days before my son’s 20th death anniversary, I knew I wanted to get away – someplace away from the city with lots of trees, but the problem was, I didn’t have anyone to drive me.
I know how to drive, but I’ve always had a fear of doing it alone, especially to places I’ve never been. And it was one of those days where I desperately wanted to get away and see something new, so that was a bit of a dilemma.
On the day itself, the need to get away outweighed the fear of driving, as I suspected it would. I dropped my daughter off at school and made my way towards Antipolo, to a café that I found online searching “café’s with a view near me.” I know that approach pretty much leads you to the place that knows how to do SEO best… but I was not disappointed.
I’m pretty sure my mother had days like this, too, when she wished she could take off and look at trees. I mean, from the way she would yell at us to get our butts out of bed and into the car to go to school, I’m certain every ounce of her wanted to get away. But with four kids and her military husband out in the field, she dutifully dropped us off and went to work, and came back for us at the end of the day. The older I get, the more I wonder how my mother managed us and a challenging career almost single-handedly for most of our growing up years.
When I lost my son in 2006, I grieved a little but found myself back at work at a corporate job less than 3 months later. I guess that was the part of me that was my mother’s daughter – the mother whose motto must have been, “Rest is for the weak.” Little did I know then that I didn’t have my mother’s fortitude, that I should’ve given myself time to grieve. In the years to come, every challenge, every hurdle, every failure – even the small ones – felt heavier than they had to be, because my heart and my body were still trying to process the loss of my son.
In 2008, I finally left the corporate setting and tried to build a life away from a 9 to 5 job, because I am such a slave to freedom. So, I am grateful for days when I can take off with nothing but my thoughts and my laptop, like I did on Mio's 20th death anniversary. For a long time, I would feel guilty about getting "me-time" or even any time I wanted a few more hours in bed. I would think of my mother and hear her voice saying, “Get up, you have two other children that need you to work.”
Now that my children are older, I finally give myself permission to take my "me-time," especially on days I want to sit with my son.