Yes, I Cried While Watching, But...

My son and I watched the Michael Jackson Memorial today. Yes, I cried--but for different reasons.

My sweet, sensitive 13-year-old was at summer camp when MJ passed. I had forgotten, but some of the big jokes at summer camps for boys his age are Michael Jackson jokes. When the counselors told the boys that MJ died, my son got upset that they continued the jokes. He thought it was disrespectful. That's my son for you.

So I introduced my son to Michael Jackson's music. Took me back, I didn't realize how much I liked his music and how it has touched my life. I was a senior in high school when Thriller came out. I didn't buy many records, but I bought that.

Anyway, I was very sad today. Sad that a man so young, so talented passed away. However, today was sad for me because it was the 16th anniversary of my mom's passing.

She had a heart attack in front of me on the 4th of July, 1993. She lapsed into a coma and never awoke. Strangely, she was recovering from a quadruple bypass and when she passed out, I thought she was having a seizure or a diabetic seizure. It wasn' until the paramedics arrived that I realized what it was. My dad sat there holding hands watching in terror.

Mom's loss shook my world more than anything up to that point. I was devastated for a couple years, until my son was born.

Before her death, I was in the 170s weight wise and feeling very frustrated being so fat. Within weeks after her death, I shot up to the 220s. I never recovered with my weight. I did briefly make it to the 190s in 2001 when I did Weight Watchers, but stress set me off again and I ballooned up to 282.5.

It took many years to work through the guilt--had I only done CPR, maybe she could have been saved. I am at terms with it, and I know it was God's will, it was her time. I no longer have guilt over it.

The 4th of July celebrations are always difficult to me. Anniversaries get me, and to this day, I miss my mom.

Fast forward 15 years, last spring my dad had a heart attack in front of my son. It was identical to mom's. This time I knew what it was, and my brave son and I got him to the floor, and were just about to start CPR when the paramedics walked in. Dad lived a couple months, and passed away in May. I miss him tremendously.

When we cleaned out their home last summer, I realized that mom had been alive in my heart all these years because except for the dining room and messy kitchen, dad kept the house identical. He didn't change a thing. So when I went home, I was surrounded by mom in spirit.

Cleaning out the house was traumatic for me, as I had to say good-bye to both. It was so final.

I often wonder why, out of four children, I was the one that witnessed both heart attacks. My sister told me it was because she wasn't strong enough, and I was. I laugh at that, because I was not strong. The paramedics called the police after dad's heart attack. The doorbell rang, there stood an officer, and he walked in the house, had me sit on the couch, and he just talked with me. He told me the paramedics said I was so upset and distraught they knew I needed someone to be with me.

If I'm so damned strong, why did I develop an anxiety disorder after dad's heart attack. That's when I had my first massive panic attack, a couple days after dad's attack, I was in the hospital room two doors down thinking I was dying. Why do I close my eyes and see his heart attack, and his final weeks replaying like a movie, over and over. Why did this stir me so that I absolutely ached for my mom again.

Why do I today, a year and four months later, still have panic attacks. Nope, I'm not strong. It's just my warped way of coping. As Marlon Jackson said today at Michael's memorial, "I hurt." So do I, so do I.

So back to mom. I was 28 when she died. Today I'm 44. I've learned a lot in that time, I've grown, I've matured, I've gained wisdom. I know that she had a lot of issues, I know she was plagued by depression and other issues. I know my anxiety issues came from mom. I went 360 degrees with my feelings toward mom. At one point I was very angry with her, when I figured out how messed up she was. Now I'm back to the beginning. She was my mom. She was human, perfectly imperfect. She made mistakes. I forgave her. Now I miss her. No one loves you like your mother loves you.

I am loved deeply by my husband and son. The love from my mother was different, though, and irreplaceable. I miss that. I miss her.

I love you, mom.