A Summer to Remember

Cheers, remember me well if it please you!

The hour when I was to leave Kansas for at least the foreseeable future was less than a week away. One might think that this time would be filled with heart-felt sentiments and carefully scrutinized interactions to ensure that the period prior to my departure was a positive occasion for everyone. Yet with stress running high due to approaching inevitable good-byes, multiple 13-hour overnights shifts and an unluckily-timed female cycle, my Mother and I had one of the most idiotic and hurtful fights since her arrival a year ago; over wet fucking dog food. I was about to head to work when I noticed that Mom had put some of Sarge's wet food in with Charlie's dry food.  Something inside me snapped and I became irrationally upset, yelling that my dog was going to get fat (a death sentence for a Corgi). Mom immediately reacted by stating that she did nothing right in my eyes, that I always blamed her for everything and all I did was yell and bitch at her.  This hurt me significantly as I had worked very hard over the last year to repair that aspect of our relationship; to hear that I had made absolutely no headway during what could be one of our last interactions was more than my emotions could handle. I left for work feeling extremely injured.

Now, I was more than willing to take my share of the responsibility for the mishap. My addiction to control was comprehensively uprooted by this interaction, which served as the basis for my discomfort and injury. I can't control what Mom feeds Charlie after I'm gone, nor if he stays at a healthy weight. Once I was at work, however, the real crux of the ordeal hit me and I realized that what upset me beyond anything was that I can not control how people remember me once I leave. The uneasiness I felt upon this epiphany was profound, and it took me all night to even begin to process those emotions.

Long contemplation, along with some treadmill therapy, led me to a harsh truth for a control addict: All I can do is stay true to myself, be the person I want to be faults and all, and accept that people will remember me in accordance with their own perception of me, independent of how I felt I acted. I'll likely be remembered in ways that I would not have anticipated; brave, spontaneous, bitchy, sad, outspoken, vulgar (Ok, I get the last two), active, lazy, kind, and many other qualities I do not often assign to myself. I cried while admitting to my dear friend and Supervisor that my greatest fear is that my Mother will remember me only as an ungrateful bitch, never thinking of how much I loved her and how much I will miss her every second of every day, never know how much living with her throughout the last year has meant to me. Additionally, it sickens me to think that many of my friends and acquaintances will remember me only as a diet/exercise obsessed basket-case who always brought salad to potlucks, and eyed desserts with a combination of longing and disgust.

Emotionally drained, I left a simple note for my Mom on the counter the next morning. It said something to the effect of "Words spoken in hast and anger do not matter. The only thing that matters is that you know I love you." To that point, during the actual farewell nothing about that trifling affair mattered, or was even remembered. The good-bye was kept brief, each pretending to be as strong as the other, but I began to cry during the second hug and kiss. While sitting at the gate waiting for my flight, fresh tears lingering in my eyes, I was left contemplating how one fits 30 years of love into one look, one hug, one kiss. It's simply impossible, my best hope is that my loved ones know how much I care about them and will remember me in whichever way brings them the most peace and joy.