I was raised as the only child to single mother. Yep, I was that spoiled brat. But before you jump into it, let me just tell you that my mother was a factory worker. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but it puts things into context about how things were hard sometimes and didn’t go quite the way we all wished. My mother was really my ride or die. It felt like we had been through so much together that we had to depend on each other. There was no one else.
Catherine Mae was born in 1959 into a family that would ultimately have a total of 13 children. To say times were tough for them was an everyday occurrence. But we never got to hear of those struggles and how they made it through. I can still hear stories of the crazy and horrible things that they did to each as kids growing up. But they had no choice but to entertain themselves and find a way to make it through.
I was born in 1983 as my mother was just 24. The news of the pregnancy ended that relationship and daddy dearest ran like this underwear were on fire. Maybe there will more about that one day. My mother worked hard. She worked full time at the factory along with bartending on the weekends. Did she like to work like that? Probably not, but she did it so that I could have the things that I wanted growing up. Looking back, I was a spoiled little bitch. I remember throwing tantrums when I couldn’t get what I wanted. That piece still comes out to play every once in awhile.
Fast forward to 2004. My mother was in pain and she was going in for neck surgery. All was fine but the recovery took longer than anticipated. During that time, my aunt, was helping take my mom back and forth to her appointments and check ups. Oh shit, did I miss that part. Yeah, my mother never drove. Kinda complicated things. I was a young whipper snapper of 21 at this time. So the bars and drinking pretty much consumed my early twenties. It was during the recovery of the neck surgery that my mom finally had a check up of her womanly parts since I was born. See were not big on going to the doctor. We kinda think everything will just work out and we will be fine. At 45 my mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 Cervical Cancer. I didn’t really know what was going on. It was like we got the test results back and the next day they were scooping it out. There was just a series of follow ups to ensure that they had gotten all of it. We never celebrated that victory. We should have. That’s not something you do everyday. Hell that’s not even something that everyone does.
I stayed home in my early twenties to help my mom recover after surgeries and basically, I didn’t have to pay rent. There’s that only child syndrome again, just worried about myself. Young and naive. I really didn’t have a care in the world.
In 2009 I finally took the leap and applied to culinary school. This meant moving 2 1/2 hours away from my mom. When I say it was hard, shit, it was hard. I thought life in the big city would be all Sex and the City like but it was like being constantly homesick. I would typically drive the 2 1/2 hours back home every weekend just to be back home. There’s a comfort there. It was my safe space. I could hang with mom until it was time to hit the bar scene, stumble home and two in the morning and have to wake her up and tell her about my night. She listen for a bit and say, now go to bed. You know your going to be sick tomorrow. As always, she was right. Hungover time and time again. Let’s just say, being hungover and having to drive 2 1/2 hours back to where you live. Rough to say the least.
We talked to each other daily. I call her and leave a message and then she would call me back. You know, because if you were out doing something or taking the dog for a walk, you couldn’t take a cell phone with. But we made things work. Some days it was talking about absolutely nothing at all, just how our days went. Maybe it was calling for a recipe for one of mom’s crave-able meals. She was a damn cook. Fuck. It just hit me. This is the first time I used the past tense on her. And now I’m crying on the airplane as I type this.
Flash forward to 2018. Mom’s back had been bothering her, so she finally went to the doctor. She had a herniated disc. A rather large one I remember the surgeon saying. A round of tests and images and we are set for surgery. They attempted surgery two times, but Mom had this cough that wouldn’t go away. Nebulizers, steroids, pain meds, honey and lemon water. You name it, we probably tried it. During some additional imaging the doctors found something. Trying to be there for my mom, still hold down my job, we decided that we would just keep this between us for right now. No one needed to know what was going on. Hell, at that time, we didn’t even know...
Comments