One Year Ago ...

My mom dipping her toes in the Florida water during my parent’s trip in late February/early March 2019. I am so grateful she/they had this experience when they did.

A screenshot of our FaceTime with our mom on March 30, 2019.

One year ago on March 30, 2019, my sister’s and I had a “sister date,” which consisted of snacks and (for me) too much wine. At one point, we missed our mom so we FaceTimed her. She answered.

One year ago, I did not live in fear. I was in month eight of my 10-month master’s program at Penn. I was finally seeing the light. I could picture myself coming up for air.

One year ago, I was frustrated but hopeful. I finally began to feel like my body was working on our fertility journey and like we were moving in the right direction.

One year ago, I was tired. I was working a full-time job (which most times surpassed that 40-hour mark) and I was then coming home to do hours and hours of school work. I looked forward to times I could sleep.

One year ago, I missed my friends and family. I didn’t get out much because of school and work. Henry had to make sure I ate proper meals because I often forgot to take care of myself.

One year ago, my family was whole. I did not know what it was like to feel the type of pain that could ultimately break you. I did not know what it was like to truly grieve.

One year ago, my mom and I were planning a night out on the following Saturday, April 6. She convinced me to go because she told me “I needed a night out.” But really I wanted to go because I missed her and I wanted to hang out. I didn’t know at the time this wouldn’t happen.

One year ago, I talked to my mom. I vented to her about my anxiety about school and life. She calmed me down and offered words of perspective and insight like she always did.

One year ago, I had the option of hugging my mom. I had the option of hearing her voice. I regularly spent hours on the phone talking to her.

One year ago, I was not scared. I went running and traveled to the store and to work without the paranoia of getting sick or spreading a sickness to those around me, especially those I love or compromised individuals.

One year ago, things made sense. The world was not experiencing a pandemic. We could see our family members and friends when we wanted to. We could go outside. We did not fear death.

One year ago, people did not hoard out of survival instincts. People felt compassion. People were not only out to save themselves.

One year ago, the news did not only show the death toll of an illness that we have no control over.

One year ago, I was naive. I did not yet experience the gut-wrenching, life-stopping pain of losing the most important person of my life; the person who gave me life.

One year ago, my mom was healthy. She was the life of the party. Her smile lit up every room she walked through. She spread love, light, and compassion to everyone she met, even strangers.

My parents at Phillies Spring Training - a gift my sisters and I gave to my parents for Christmas 2018.

One year ago, my dad had just retired and looked forward to spending the rest of his days with his best friend. After just returning from their first vacation to Florida, he dreamed of all of the traveling they would do together now that they could.

One year ago, my sisters and I had our mom. My niece and nephew had their Cak Cak. My cousins had their Aunt Cathy. My uncles and aunts and her friends had their Cathy…..

One year ago, I thought things were bad.

One year ago, I had no idea. I had no idea that in just one week, my life as I knew it would be pulled out from underneath me.

One year ago…

Mom, I truly cannot believe that we are coming up on a year of this nightmare. I keep hoping that I will wake up. People tell you you just have to get through the first year but, if I am being honest, it still feels like the first day of having to live without you. Every day I wake up with a heaviness that makes it hard to breath or get out of bed. If this time of year wasn’t already impossibly hard, we now have to self-isolate from one another. During a time when our family needs each other the most, we are not able to come together. It’s awful and it breaks my heart that I can’t hug Daddy and Heather and Dana and Kate (even though my hugs would never be as good as yours!) I’ve been bugging Daddy on a daily basis though. I know he is probably sick of me but I told him I am going to call him every day anyway, haha. One of my biggest fears is that people will stop talking about you but I will never let that happen. It’s been so hard for me to write because it just validates that all of this is a reality but I know it is important to keep your legacy alive. I am the lucky one to have been able to call you my mom and to have been raised by such an incredible woman. The least I can do is to continue to share stories from my heart….something you always told me to do.

I love you infinity, Mom.

Love,

Your Sweetheart

xoxo

A Sweetheart's Survival Story

My mom gave me this Valentine’s Day bear when I was 16. Now, 16 years later, I still have this bear in my current home. He has traveled with me to every home and circumstance of my life.

My mom didn’t just know how to give love. She was love. This is likely why she loved Valentine’s Day so much. My mom called me her “sweetheart” so Valentine’s Day was a special holiday for us. Throughout my life, she always surprised me with little gifts. At the age of 16, I was going through a lot of things that I didn’t understand at the time. I was moody. I self-sabotaged. I obsessed over a number on a scale and I allowed that number to determine my worth. I withered down to sizes smaller than what looked healthy on my body, just to prove to myself that I could. The smaller I got, the more successful I felt. I felt pride in my baggy clothes and as my body got smaller, so did how I saw myself. I purposely jeopardized the relationships around me just to prove to everyone else what I saw in myself - nothing.

The text message I sent my mom last year on Valentine’s Day.

But the further I pushed my mom away, the stronger she held her grip. She stood nearby while I spiraled (for many years after this too), allowing me to learn these lessons on my own but also within reach to catch me if I fell too far. So, at 16, when Valentine’s Day rolled around, you can imagine the type of teenager I was dealing with my own sh*t.

”We accept the love we think we deserve” is a quote that sums up this phase of my life wonderfully. But my mom did not care about that. She was going to give it to me anyway, regardless if I accepted it or not. So after school on February 13, 2004, the day before Valentine’s Day, I came home to a giant stuffed bear with a huge heart on its chest. At some point, we named him Fred. Fred followed me to every dorm room and apartment I ever lived in, and now lives with Henry and I in our first house. Every year, on Valentine’s Day, I’d send my mom a text saying “Happy Valentine’s Day” with a picture of Fred. Some years, I’d send her flowers.

Valentine’s Day holds a special place in my heart but not because of the Hallmark version of this holiday. It’s because it reminds me of my mom who always gave the kind of unconditional love every person deserves, regardless of how they viewed themselves or the turmoil they may be in. I even wrote an article about this (and Fred) in The Fishtown Spirit in 2009. My mom was so proud of that article and told me it was the best writing I had ever done. Why? Because it was from the heart. I’m pretty sure she took every copy. As you can imagine, I’ve held Fred a lot over the past 10 months, wanting and desperately wishing for my mom to come through to me through him, hoping that that bear’s huge heart would begin to beat again just like my mom’s huge heart once did.

Mom, I wish you were here so I could thank you again for loving me even when I didn’t love myself. I wish I could send you a picture of Fred (who has really held up over the years!) Most of the time, I know you’re next to me but when I realize that physically, I’ll never hug you again or hear your wisdom or laugh with you or dance with you, it causes me to lose my breath. I forget how to breath without you in my life. But the one thing I know I’ll never forget how to do is love. And I don’t mean the type of superficial love that falls on the surface. I mean a deep, unconditional love that can only be felt from the depths of our hearts we never knew existed. I mean the love we give to strangers, simply because they are human. Thank you, Mom, for not only showing me the true meaning of love, but for being love. For being the love that lights up the awfully dark tunnel that is grief, and sadness, and depression, and even infertility. It is because of that love that I’m still here, fighting.

I love you infinity, Mom.

Love,
Your sweetheart

(Un)welcoming a New Year and Reaching for My Toes

I remember watching the ball drop in the living room. Counting down the seconds from 10 to one with such anticipation, like the whole world would be drastically different when the clock struck midnight. Daddy or Heather would grab the pots and pans and hand one to me. With eagerness we would wait until we could be obnoxiously loud on our block. We’d fight to see who could be the loudest. I remember that boundless feeling during those first few minutes of the new year. We’d hug. We’d kiss. A new year of possibilities ahead of us. And then, we’d go back inside and it would be a normal sound level again. You’d let me stay up for a little while longer because that’s just the type of mom you were.

2019 was definitely the hardest year of my life. It started off with loads of disappointment as Henry and I began our journey of wanting to be parents. I lost the most important person in my life - my mom - tragically and unexpectedly. My life was flipped upside down and shattered. I started therapy to initially help deal with the PTSD from that experience, but also simply because life did not feel worth it without my mom. Somehow, through all of this, I finished an intensive 10-month master’s program at Penn, while working a very-demanding full-time job as a nonprofit communications director. I’ve given more blood than I ever thought possible. I had surgery that left me with more questions. I’ve been stuck with needles on a weekly basis. I prayed more than I’ve ever prayed before…for answers, for healing, for survival, for a purpose again.

I honestly did not think I would make it to see 2020, but i did, and as the world counted down the days to a new decade, I was counting down the days until I could put the worst year of my life behind me. What I did not prepare for was the fact that I would be welcoming the first new year without my mom. We rang in 2019 with absolutely no warning that the year ahead of us would be the worst of our lives. I look back on a post I made in the beginning of 2019 and cringe at how naive I was. I was filled with hope and optimism, truly believing that the worst was behind me. Little did I know, it was just getting started.

It’s easy to fall down a hole of questioning why bad things happen to good people. It’s also easy to be upset at the people who you thought would be there, and weren’t. Simply put, life is not fair. I’ve always had a hard time accepting that. I always find myself disappointed by what “should” have happened or why things come so easily to other people but, for me, it’s a constant struggle. My mom used to tell us to reach for our toes for strength. That thought has crossed my mind almost every morning I wake up and dread facing another day without her. While there have been times I have quite literally reached for my toes, I know she meant that sometimes I’d have to pull my strength from a place I didn’t even know existed. She knew it existed, though, because she had to pull strength from that very place many times in her life.

Looking back on the worst year of my life is not easy but looking back on a decade of transformation puts my life in perspective. In the past ten years, I turned my life around. I met the man who would soon be my husband and partner in this beautiful and disastrous life. I changed careers when I did not feel fulfilled, regardless of my fear of failure or my ego telling me I needed to make more money. I faced more than a decade of disordered eating and focused, instead, on intuitive eating and improving my mental health. I went on an alcohol detox for 100 days and learned to stop using alcohol as a coping tool to numb the feelings of unworthiness and anxiety that has followed me my entire life. All of these experiences would lead me to the “worst year of my life” and I am grateful for the wisdom that came with that, as it saved me from an even further deep dive of self sabotage that would have been inevitable had I not had those experiences.

Mom, I feel your strength every day. I am constantly amazed at my ability to keep going, despite the agony and heartache I feel. I know that is you. You’d think by now, I would be unable to feel hope, but I sometimes do. I know that’s also you. I keep reminding myself that, despite your lack of physical presence, you’re still here with me, and that will never change. I’d love it if you could send me some more signs though. I’ve been missing those. I’ve been missing my best friend dearly. I miss your wisdom and your ability to make me feel better no matter what the circumstances. I definitely have needed that these past fourteen months of disappointment and counting. I hear you say “Bonnie, you just have to beeeeelieve,” and I smile because that’s all I can do. I have to believe that better things are coming because what’s the alternative? I know that I cannot give up. I am grateful for the way you raised me because I know that I will never give up. I’ll always keep reaching for my toes.

I love you infinity, Mom.

Love,

Your sweetheart

The Spirit of Christmas and Believing in Miracles

Christmas at my sister’s house in 2018.

I think I was eight years old when I stopped believing in Santa Claus. My best friend told me the “truth” and I came stomping into my house with tears in my eyes demanding the truth from my mom. My mom, very calmly, held her composure (as she always did when I was freaking out) and said, “Bonnie, he only exists if you believe. If you stop believing, he stops existing.”

I shouted, “He either exists or he doesn’t exist!”

My mom and dad, Christmas 2017.

My mom shook her head. “Miracles only happen when you believe.”

I thought about that statement often when my mom was in the hospital suddenly undergoing brain surgery. I had to believe it was true. I clutched the rosaries we found in her purse and said the Sacred Heart of Jesus prayer over and over. I begged my family to have faith that she would survive because there was power in numbers and if we all believed in miracles, it would come true. We held hands in a circle and prayed together. I was desperate for my mom to live but I was also just taking her advice.

We did not get our miracle and it forced me into a dark place, unable to accept that miracles happened to me or the people closest to me. We lived through an unthinkable tragedy that should have never happened and I lost faith.

Holy Innocents Church, Christmas Mass 2019

A conversation with a medium about a month or so after my mom died made me, again, start thinking about prayer. I continued to pray, mainly because my mom told me to. The pain was too large though. I felt numb. One day, as I sat in church by myself, it hit me that I wasn’t supposed to do this alone. Up until that point, I was avoiding going to church with my dad because I thought the pain of being back there after my mom’s funeral would be too much. I also knew I would go back to the house and be haunted by the memories of that day/night that my mom got sick. But, despite all of this, I went back. Above all else, I wanted to be there for my dad and I wanted us to be together.

“If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible for you”

Sure enough, the homily that day was about loss and dealing with loss. It was about others who tragically lost a family member and the struggle of moving on or having faith. Our priest referenced the book of Matthew. “If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, nothing will be impossible for you.”

Family picture at Christmas, 2016

After mass, my dad and I prayed to the Sacred Heart of Jesus statue that my mom always prayed to, and encouraged me to pray to because her mom believed strongly in that prayer. As we were about to walk out of church, our priest approached us and asked, “Did you like that gift?” I smiled.

Throughout the years, way into adulthood, my mom encouraged us to continue to believe in the miracles of Christmas. Every year, usually the day after Thanksgiving, we could expect a text message that asked us to send her our “lists to Santa.” Despite adult knowledge and responsibilities, my mom encouraged us to be innocent. In my wedding video, she even says, “I want her to have that happiness and innocence, good or bad….”

I dreaded my mom’s absence during the holidays this year. I took pictures of my parent’s house decorated wonderfully last year for reasons I don’t know. I just did. It was the first time I realized my mom still decorated the house from the top to the bottom (see photo gallery), despite none of the kids being there and despite us not celebrating at their house. I wonder still why she did it? For nostalgia? Out of routine commitment? Or because, even though she felt sadness around the holidays too, she believed in the spirit of Christmas.

While the house certainly did not look as magical as when my mom decorated, I still did my best to add some of that Christmas spirit to it to provide comfort to my dad, and to myself.

I began to hear my mom again. As I recovered from surgery this past Thanksgiving and struggled to believe that our prayers for a baby would ever be answered, I heard a voice in my head - my mom - who said, “Bonnie, you have to believe,” the same thing she always told me as a kid. While out shopping, I saw a decoration that said, “Believe in the Miracle of Christmas” and I had to buy it. I found comfort, for the first time in a long time, in the thought of believing.

Christmas at my sister’s house, 2017. My mom sitting in her “chair.”

Mom, I believe. I believe in Christmas miracles and I believe that you are here with us. I believe that you never left us and I hope you were proud of us this year as we struggled through grief and sadness, but also laughed and cried together. I felt your arms wrapped around me as I sat in your chair and watched from afar, just as you did, watching your family be together. That’s all you ever wanted - for us to simply be together. I pray so hard that Henry and I are blessed with what you were able to accomplish with Kate, Dana, Heather, and I. I hope I can be a mom so that I can pass on all of the amazing traits that you gave me, such as your unconditional love, warmth, compassion, strength, and kindness. You taught me how to find the good in all people and to recognize that every single person we meet is carrying a burden. You instilled in me the need to always give back to others. I plan on teaching my own children these values. I will teach them how to be a good person and how to be strong; how to survive despite tragedy and sadness. I will also urge them to always believe.

Mom, I will keep believing in miracles. I will keep praying the Sacred Heart of Jesus prayer. I will not lose faith.

I love you infinity.

Love,

Your Sweetheart

Thanksgiving With Mom

I’m not sure what year this is. Maybe early 80s? My mom loved the holidays. She was the epitome of holiday spirit.

As I sit here watching the Thanksgiving Parade, I am taken back to a time when we would all travel down to the Art Museum to check it out. My mom always made sure we had snacks and a big thermos of hot chocolate that my sister Heather and I would share (but really I drank all of it). My mom would always let us buy a toy. even though my dad gave her the “eye.” We weren’t allowed to leave until Santa came and I had the ability to shout out what I wanted. My sister Heather and I had recreated that tradition of going to the parade with my niece and nephew. I loved watching them have the same experience we had as kids.

And this was just the start of an amazing day. When we got back home, the television would flip on to a day of watching football. The turkey would already be in the oven offering an amazing smell throughout the house. Music would be playing in the kitchen as my mom got together the snacks which would “hold us over.” Those snacks always included my personal favorite - chippies. It felt so nice to have the entire family together. I’m not sure if it was because I am the youngest and my older sisters had moved out when I was little but I was always very excited to have our family under one roof.

Thanksgiving at Kate’s house in 2012

Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday. I liked the message of it. I liked to give thanks and express my gratitude for all that I had. I also really enjoyed my day after “Thanksgiving On a Rolls.” Not to mention, my mom made the BEST stuffing, which was a recipe from my grandmom - one that I wish I had now. When I finally bought my house, I was ecstatic about being able to host. I finally had a “thing” I could do. I finally could give back to my parents after all of the years they spent making sure we had a great holiday. Given my first Thanksgiving was right after Henry and I got married, I was even more excited to have both sides of the family. I imagined myself doing this for the next 30+ years. I pictured my children sitting on the couch watching football with my dad or sitting in the kitchen with me and mom as we chatted about everything and anything.

When I first hosted in 2017, I never expected to only have two years of this joy. I have been dreading this day for the past 7+ months (Mom, I can’t believe you’ve been gone that long). But I am grateful that I had those two years with my mom hosting in my house. We were very much a TV tray table type of family and I wanted to create that same casual environment like we had growing up. So of course I came home one day, a few days before Thanksgiving, to a package my mom sent me. You can probably guess what it was - TV tray tables! She would show up with a themed Thanksgiving kit, which included plates, utensils, cups and a cute table cloth to decorate the “food table.” Last year, she also showed up with a Turkey hat that we all had to wear, and some house goodies for me (candles, decorations, etc.) That’s who my mom was. She was just so darn thoughtful. If ever one of us was like, “I could use X, Y, or Z,” it was pretty much guaranteed it would be on our front step in two business days (thanks to Amazon Prime!)

I was scheduled to get laparoscopic surgery on Friday, November 15 but I got a call that pushed it back to Tuesday, November 26. At first I was angry and upset, but then I realized this meant I had a “reason” to avoid Thanksgiving all together. The surgery was semi-successful but I am still left with more questions than answers and I feel deflated. I am not sure why this past year has been so impossible. I am not sure why I am unable to receive the blessings that come so easily to other people. I really don’t know why this is my reality. Cheryl Strayed has a quote in her book Brave Enough that I look at often before I go to bed. She says, “You don't have a right to the cards you believe you should have been dealt. You have an obligation to play the hell out of the ones you're holding.”

I am having a hard time with this hand that I’ve been given. Today, I am going to lay on my couch, still healing from surgery, and feel lonely and unfortunately that just has to be okay right now. Because my mom is not here and I cannot pretend that she is, nor do I want to.

Please hold tight to your loved ones today because you never know if this might be the last holiday you spend with them.

Mom, I wish you were here to help me get through these obstacles that I’ve been facing. I wish you were here to just hold me in a long hug. I wish you were here with your infectious holiday spirit. I wish we didn’t have to live in this dreadful reality without you here for these major moments. I wish things were easier. I wish things weren’t so hard. I wish you were walking through my front door with Thanksgiving goodies and your undeniably delicious stuffing. The fam is all doing their own thing today, which I think is good as we are all trying to heal but nonetheless, it still makes me sad. Please send me a sign that this dark tunnel will soon have light because it has been dark for far too long.

Love you infinity, Mom.

Love,

Your sweetheart.

A Once-in-a-lifetime Kind of Love

“Just be best friends…forever.”

My mom and dad circa 1974?

My mom and dad lived a simple life. They began dating as teenagers - my dad two years older - and were married by the time my mom was 20. Their love endured some of the heaviest storms, including my mom’s mom dying suddenly when my mom was 34 and I was only one. Then, nine years later, her dad died.

They were different but the same. My mom grounded my dad and I think my dad lightened the air my mom walked through, particularly as she navigated the unbearable grief of losing her best friend, her mom - something I understand all too clearly now.

One of my favorite stories from my dad is about a time when they were teenagers and they got stuck in a bad storm. My mom, who had a strict curfew, was very late but somehow it turned out to be a magical night. For their first date, they went to the movies, I think, to see Oliver. My dad talks about how he used to drop my mom off so she could meet curfew. Though he was only two years older, 18 seemed so much older than 16 at the time.

A candid of my mom and dad slow dancing at my wedding. They had no idea the camera was on them. <3

My dad proposed to my mom on Christmas Eve - a story I love to hear because my husband Henry, without knowing, also proposed to me on Christmas. They were married at Regal Ballroom, which still stands. I inquired about getting married there (because how cool would it be to get married at the same spot as your parents!) but unfortunately our date was taken. My mom wore a gorgeous wedding gown that was so heavy she could barely walk around in it. The photos of my mom from my wedding looking in the mirror were inspired from her wedding album as I wanted to recreate the photos she had of her mom.

My mom and dad were truly each other’s best friend. They did everything together. If my mom wasn’t feeling up to something, my dad would stay back, regardless of how much he wanted to go, and vice versa. They were partners in life. They laughed. They had SO much fun together. But mostly, they loved fiercely through the good and the bad. Their marriage taught me loyalty and to never give up on those you love and who love you back.

One of the many spontaneous dance parties my mom and dad had up the mountains during our family vacations.

In our wedding video (starting at minute 13:10), my dad said, "Bonnie, I wish you the most happy and joyful life. Me and your mother, Bonnie, we’ve been together almost 48 years. I hope you have the same longevity.”

My mom follows up from that saying, ”I just want her to have that happiness and innocence and just loving each other, good or bad, and happily ever after. It’s..It’s just a beautiful thing…beautiful.”

Fifty years together, almost 46 years married. Two kids who lived around the corner from one another and hung out in the playgrounds of Juniata Park would soon go on to build a beautiful life, raising four daughters. This is such an incredible accomplishment but yet surely not long enough. It wasn’t the right time. My dad was not prepared. None of us were prepared. How could we be? We had so much more love to give our best friend.

I have been thinking often about what my mom said at our tea ceremony on October 6, 2017 when asked what advice she would give for a successful marriage. She said so simply yet so profoundly, “Just be best friends…forever.” To which Henry replied, “I think we can do that.”

My parents celebrating their 45th wedding anniversary on a wine tour for my sister Dana’s 40th birthday.

I think about those words often, not just to reflect on my mom and dad’s marriage but to reflect on my choice to marry Henry. She knew Henry was my best friend and she knew I would need him, not just to experience the good but in the really dark times. She knew this from experience. Now, as I navigate one of the darkest times of my life, I look at Henry with an immense amount of gratitude because, without him, I’m not sure I could keep moving forward. I am thankful I took my mom’s advice and married my best friend, just like she did.

Mom, you are missed beyond measure. We would have celebrated your wedding anniversary on Sunday, October 27th. I went to church and spent the day with dad so he wasn’t alone, so I wasn’t alone, and I have been doing that every Sunday. It is something I really enjoy doing to feel close to him and to you. I can’t seem to swallow the heartbroken feeling I have for you, for dad, for all of us. We are lost without you. Our unit is broken and I am not sure we’ll ever function again fully without you. You were my person. You were dad’s person, Kate’s person, Dana’s person, and Heather’s person. You were Addie and Joey’s favorite “Cak Cak.” There is no way to fill the void that was once your incredible love and warmth for us and for everyone you met. Life is so hard right now and I keep reaching for the phone to call you or text you, only to be slapped in the face that I can’t. You used to tell me that time heals all wounds but I think this is the exception. We need your love more than ever right now. We all need our best friend. We want our happily every after.

I love you infinity, Mom.

Love,

Your sweetheart

xoxo

My Biggest Fear Was Disappointing You

Photo by Love by Joe Mac.

I remember being in maybe third grade and coming home from school to my mom’s daily “welcome home” hug. As she was hugging me, I broke down in tears because I was so scared to share with her the bad news I had been carrying around for the most part of the day. I had to tell her that I, her perfect daughter, got a check on my calendar. A check in my Catholic grade school indicated you had done something disappointing. If you received something like ten checks, you got a demerit. If you received a lot of demerits you were one of the bad kids. I could barely breath as she hugged me because I knew I didn’t deserve her love and affection. I, Bonnie Anne Dugan, her little loving sweetheart daughter, was now a bad kid. I had disappointed her and I deserved the worst punishment she would give.

Except she didn’t punish me. When she pulled away from her loving embrace she cupped my face in her hands and and asked with a look of concern, “Bonnie, what’s wrong?” After crying for a good amount of time, I finally blurted out, “I got a check. I’m so sorry, Mom!” I kept my eyes closed as I waited for her to lay it on me. No TV, no playing outside…I deserved it. After a few moments of silence, I finally opened my eyes and looked at my mom who was smiling back at me.

“Why are you smiling?” I asked.

“Because you’re so hard on yourself, Bonnie. It’s just a check. It’s not the end of the world.”

“But, Mom. Only the bad kids get checks. This means I am a bad kid.”

“No, sweetheart, this means you’re human.”

My biggest fear has always been disappointing my mom. She was such a gentle and kind soul and she gave me so much love. I felt like I owed it to her to be the best kid possible. That was the least I could do, right? What I learned was that this would set me up for a series of disappointments throughout my lifetime because whether I liked it or not, I was human and I would make mistakes….many, many mistakes. I guess you could say I am a bit of a perfectionist and when one thing goes wrong, that means that I am wrong. For example, today I noticed a minor error on the cover of a publication I am working on and I have not stopped looking at it and critiquing it. My mind has wandered from It’s not even wrong to You are a complete failure. How could you let this happen?

My mom, on the other hand, was always waiting with open arms, regardless of my mistakes. In my mind, that unconditional love she gave me was not fair to her. She deserved the perfect daughter and me, being human and all, would never be able to deliver that. But, man, I really tried to come close. I tried so hard and I, always without failure, let myself down because I could never meet my own expectations of what I thought she deserved.

“Bonnie, you think too much. You try sooooooo hard.” This was a statement my mom used often. She liked to emphasize the “ooo’s” when she was making a point. In fact, just a week before the “nightmare” she was telling me that exact phrase because I had invited my sisters over for a “sister night” and I wasn’t sure if she and my dad would want to come over so I never said anything but then I felt bad and wound up inviting her the day of and apologized for it being so last minute (I know). I am beating myself up now for not having her over that night. It would have been the last time we ever hung out. It would have been the last dance party on my deck with her. One of the reasons I thought it was fine was because that following Saturday, I was supposed to hang out with her. My husband and I planned on going to a fundraiser with my mom and dad, along with my sister and her boyfriend, and we were all looking forward to it. My mom even texted me saying, “I am so excited you’re coming. You deserve a break!”

But that night took a turn quickly and I am still, six months later, trying to figure out what the hell happened? How is this nightmare still a reality? I am ready to wake up.

April 6, 2019 started off as a great day. I slept in later than usual with my husband Henry and texted my mom at 10:29am saying, “We’ll be there today! And I have a surprise for you. (I was giving my mom a cellphone) Did you guys want us to pick you up?”

My mom swiftly replied, “Hi great...glad your coming tonite…I think we’re okay to drive up…I’ll ask Daddy and get back to you…(kissing face emoji).”

Photo by Love by Joe Mac.

After this text, I went upstairs to my office - where I am sitting now to write this blog - to finish a paper for grad school. Afterwards, I went for a run. On my way back, I was feeling happy. I finished my paper and I was about to hang out with family. I called my mom at 3:30pm to let her know Henry and I were going to come over early to give her her surprise and that we would all drive together to the fundraiser. My mom didn’t answer so I left her a voicemail. About fifteen minutes later, as I was chugging water to quench the thirst from my run, my dad called me. This was strange. My dad rarely, if ever, called me. I answered.

“Hey Dad.”

“Hey sweetheart. Listen your mom got really sick. I’m not sure what happened but we are not going to make it tonight. You and Kate should still go though.”

“What? No. I was only going to see you guys. I was just texting mommy. She was fine. What happened?”

After a series of questions, I determined my mom either had food poisoning from a hot dog she ate the night before or she caught the stomach bug from my niece and nephew, who she also watched the night before.

My dad insisted that my sister Kate and I still go to this fundraiser. After much hesitation and push back, I reluctantly agreed and told him I would swing by to pick up the tickets. I felt a little more at ease, given my investigation, but I hung up the phone, still concerned, but mostly disappointed that I wasn’t going to get the chance to hang out with my mom. I sat on the couch and talked to Henry. “My dad sounded worried.”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he replied.

Since I wasn’t going to surprise my mom with her gift anymore, I decided to take my time getting ready and going over. I grabbed Vitamin Water and crackers as a “I hope you feel better” gift and Henry and I were on our way. We walked in the house and I put them on the kitchen table. My dad came walking down the steps and handed me the tickets.

“She’s finally resting.”

“Can I go upstairs to see her?”

“I don’t know. I finally got her to fall asleep.”

We walked outside so as not to wake her up.

“Okay, well tell mommy I hope she feels better. I left Vitamin Water and crackers on the table.”

During our last exchange, I felt an urge to go upstairs but ignored it because, like my dad said, I didn’t want to wake her up if she finally fell asleep. Knowing my dad was still concerned, I offered to take them to the hospital. I knew that this was a ludicrous offer given my mom disliked hospitals and, like we all agreed, she just had the stomach bug. She would be fine.

Two hours later, we would learn that my mom was not “fine.” My dad called my sister to say, “Something is wrong.”

We said our goodbyes to my uncle, my aunt, and my parent’s friends who sat at our table. She’s just dehydrated. We all agreed on this.

Henry and I were the first ones to pull up to the house. The car was still in movement when I jumped out. I ran in the house. “Dad!” I yelled.

“Up here.”

I ran up the stairs to my parents room. I called 911 immediately. The ambulance was there in minutes. They asked what was wrong. I told them I suspected she was dehydrated as she had been throwing up all day.

As they put her on the stretcher, my mom started seizing. That’s when we all knew this was much more serious, even though our instincts had already told us that. I volunteered to ride in the ambulance with my dad - something I am both grateful for and agonized about. The torturous visions from that ride will always haunt my mind.

A feeling of pure panic and desperation would accompany me for the next 60+ hours. I am instantly brought back to this feeling any time I think about it. Still hopeful that this was all “fixable,” I sat in disbelief as a doctor came into the family room, where my dad and I sat just minutes after entering the emergency room, and told us, with a grim look, that he suspected my mom had a “giant” aneurysm that burst. His tone indicated a lack of hope for a good outcome but I refused to believe this. What? There is literally no way this could be happening. My mom was just fine. We were supposed to be dancing and laughing. This is all a sick joke. The others in my family would soon get to the family room and I would sit there with the images of my mom in the ambulance and the news from the doctor, unable to tell them because, if I told them, it would make it true. Instead, I prayed furiously clutching the rosary we found in my mom’s purse as we waited the dreadful eight or nine hours she was in surgery. The doctor’s didn’t know if she would survive the surgery. She just needed to survive the surgery, I told myself.

She survived the surgery but, again, the doctors were not hopeful with the outcome. I did not care. She survived the surgery! She had made it through. I knew my mom was a fighter. The next 40 hours would be a roller coaster of emotions as we waited, with desperate hopefulness, for any slight signs of improvement. There were some but not enough. At around midnight on April 9, after just getting home from the hospital, we would get the call from my dad that told us to hurry back. This was it. Our mom’s heart was giving out and she was not going to make it.

Stunned. That’s the only way to describe the feeling that would come next. I was utterly stunned. My mind, soul, and body could not process and accept what was happening in that hospital room.

I should have went upstairs to check on her. If I would have just went upstairs to check on her, I would have realized something was wrong and I could have saved her before this happened.

For the last six months, this thought has been on repeat. Though a part of me does believe, thanks to therapy and the constant reassurance from those I love, that this is not my fault, I still feel like that little girl who got a check on her calendar.

I am sorry for disappointing you, Mom. My biggest fear has come true. You, my “person,” my cheerleader, my advocate, and the one who loves me unconditionally despite all of my “flaws” is gone. I am disappointed that, even though we tried, I wasn’t able to give you a grandchild to be a “Cak Cak” to before you left. I am disappointed that holidays or any gathering will no longer be as fun without the life of the party there. I am disappointed that I won’t receive the “thinking of you texts” with the images of the motivational quotes because, somehow, you just knew I was feeling down. I am disappointed that I will no longer hear, “Bonnie you think too much. You try soooo hard.” I am disappointed that we can’t do our normal exchange of, “I love you. I love you more. I love you most. I love you infinity.” I am disappointed that I can no longer hear you call me your sweetheart. I am disappointed that I won’t have any more dance parties with you. I am disappointed I won’t see your smile or hear your laugh. I am disappointed every time I log onto Facebook or Instagram and see girls my age with their moms and children or hear people talk about their families with ease, without having to deal with such a tragedy. I am disappointed I will no longer feel your incredible loving embrace of a hug that could melt any problem away.

But, most of all, I am disappointed in myself that I couldn’t save you. I think blaming myself keeps me connected to your physical life on earth and prevents me from having to accept this excruciating new reality that none of us want.

I love you infinity, Mom, and I am sorry. I am sorry for being human.

Love,

Your Sweetheart.

Love you infinity, Mom.

A beautiful picture of my mom from my wedding in October 2017. (photography by the very talented and awesome LOVE by Joe Mac )

Dear Mom,

It’s impossible to believe it’s been four months. Four months without your laugh, your amazing hugs, your inspirational text messages, your encouragement, your compassion, and your all around wholehearted goodness. I find myself in utter disbelief that this could possibly be true but yet here I am, four months later, trying to make sense of it all.

I know how much you believed in me. You saw how much validation I received from writing and you understood, like I did, that there is power in words. I’m not sure if I ever thanked you for that…so thank you. I’m sorry that it took me so long to come back to this craft. I kind of lost this part of me this last decade of my life but I am here to take it back. You are my inspiration and while I am grieving the immense void that is now left without you physically here, I want to honor the incredible legacy you left behind with the one thing I still have, my words.

There is so much to say and I plan on saying as much as I can. This little corner of the internet is dedicated to you, Mom.

I love you infinity.

Love,

Your sweetheart.