My Heart Hurts

Today, a very special woman died. I didn't know her very well, but she was very important to my sister, to my mother, and to many other people whose lives she touched. My sister knew her as "Auntie Joan". She was her favorite babysitter, and a woman she respected and loved. My mother knew her as "Mom". My mother's parents died when she was very young, so Joan became a surrogate mother to her.

I only met Joan a handful of times. She used to sell fruit on the side of the highway, and mom would take us on visits to see her. They would play crib, which was a favorite pastime of theirs. My mom never smiled as much as when she was with Joan.

Recently, Joan went into palliative care - she had bone cancer, and she knew that she wouldn't be able to beat it. She knew that it was her time, but she was never sad or depressed about it.

Mom got to visit her a few times before she died. It was hard for her, but she managed it. She never let herself cry in front of Joan, because she didn't want to make her feel bad; her tears were always saved for the hallway.

Joan had many visitors before she died. She was very well-loved. We went up to see her once more just before we went camping. She fed our foster kids Cheesies, chatted with mom, reminisced about good times, and took us on a tour of the hospital. Though she lacked the physical strength to stand, her mental and emotional strength was radiant. She gave the kids - whom she'd just met - lots of hugs, and let them ride on her lap in her wheelchair. She laughed and joked, even when she was in pain. Mom promised to come back and play crib with her.

We got back from our camping trip Sunday night, and mom spent most of Monday unpacking and cleaning. I'm sure a trip to Edmonton wasn't too far away, so she could see her 'Mom' again, and let her know how much she loved her.

Today, Tuesday morning, she got a call from Joan's husband. Joan died.

My mother almost never cries. In the last two years, I've seen her break down in tears only three times: When her Great Aunt, our "Grandma Lucy" died, when our cousin Jeff died, and now, when Auntie Joan died. I hate seeing her cry.

It's so easy to think of her as a strong, hardened woman. She hides her emotions very well, to the point where you can usually only see two: happy, and angry. I am very well-practiced at making her angry. Happy Mom I embrace. Angry Mom I can deal with. Sad Mom hurts my heart, because I can't fix her.

Why is the heart such a hard muscle to deal with? Why can't we heat it up, stretch it out, and rest it from time to time to take away the pain?

I had to take my books back to the library today, and I asked Mom if there was anything I could get her before I left. This was her response: "650 bottles of Whiskey. The secrets of the universe. Why good people have to die before their time is up."

Well, I don't drink, so the Whiskey was out. If I knew the secrets of the universe, I would gladly give them to her. As for the last bit, this is the only answer I have: "Life sucks." Sure, it can be wonderful, exciting, incredible, and fulfilling at times. But, when the people that you love die, life just sucks. It sucks because you can't join them. It sucks because all you have left is your memories of them, and memories are never enough.

August is a hard month. Yesterday was the 10th anniversary of the death of my first dog and best friend, George. After he died, my friend and mentor, Katie, told me that he'd never be gone, 'cause he would always be inside my heart. I would never be without him, as long as I never forgot him. People tell that to kids all the time to make them feel better. What I didn't say to her was this: "I'll never, ever forget him, but I'll never have him back, either. It's not the same - memories aren't the same. Memories are hollow, ghostly imitations of the real thing. You can‘t talk to a memory. You can‘t hug a memory. You can‘t rest your head on a memory‘s shoulder and cry until you feel better." My heart broke that day, and it's never really healed. It never will.

The thing about hearts, is that they get a little bit harder with every loss that we face. George, Sylvia, Jack, Auntie Marion, Uncle Frank, Grandma Lucy, Jeff, Ashlynn, Auntie Joan ... every time I lose someone, a little piece of my breaks, and eventually, that break has to be sealed over and hardened - if it weren't, I'd never be able to cope.

I can't begin to imagine how hard my mom's heart is. She had two parents who loved her, and they both died too young. I've told her once before that I would gladly let my dad trade places with hers, if she could have him back. I have no love left for my father, so getting my Grandpa Leiman back would seem like a pretty good trade. Sadly, the world doesn't work like that. We can wish and hope and pray (for those of you who believe in praying) that those we love will come back to us, or never leave in the first place.

I lost my faith when I was eleven years old. When George died, I couldn't bring myself to believe in a god that would let that happen. Over the years, I've rationalized that if there was a god, it wouldn't be his place to save or kill my dog. I don't blame "god" for my dog dying. But in these past ten years, I haven't seen anything to restore my faith, either. When Sylvia was sick, I didn't pray to "god" to keep her alive. When she died, I sent a plea up to my Baby George to take care of her, wherever they were. When Jack died, I sent a plea to the both of them to welcome him back and take care of him.

Today, when I came up the stairs, and Mom grabbed me and started crying, my first thought was, "Not Auntie Glad. Please don't let it be Auntie Glad." It wasn't, and I was relieved, but I was also sad. Sad for my mom. Sad for Joan's family. Sad for every person whose life she touched, who will have to go on without her now. Sad for all the hearts that just broke a little bit more.

I don't believe in god, but I do believe in Heaven. I do believe that when we die, we go to a better place. I hope that Joan is in that better place now. I hope that her pain is gone. I hope that George, Sylvia, Jack, Auntie Marion, Uncle Frank, Grandma Lucy, Jeff, and Ashlynn are taking very good care of her.

Someday it will get better. Someday, my mom's broken heart will seal over, and she'll be able to smile again. I hope that day will come soon, because I don't like it when she's sad. When she's sad, my heart hurts for her, and I need to be strong for her.

Rest in peace, Joan Murray - you are loved, and you will always be remembered.