My mom and I were having our weekly “Is Grace still alive?” call last Tuesday. Like always, we went through the basics:
Mom: “Hey! How’s school going?”
Me: “Fine, the usual. Difficult, but I’ll get through. How’s teaching? How are the animals?”
Mom: “Fine, the usual. ‘Animals are good. I’ve been collecting your tax documents ….’”
Right… tax season.
Over the past year, I have worked seven odd jobs. During the summer, I was bouncing around from four different restaurants throughout Kansas City, working 40-ish hours a week — and overtime, if I could sneak an extra hour or two on the clock. All that involved waitressing, hosting, washing dishes, busing tables and everything in between. Lots of tears, lots of burns and lots of Red Bull.
The school year rolled around, and I couldn’t sustain working the restaurant gig anymore. Besides, a college-educated girl needs a “college-cushy” job, so I wrote and edited for a few on-campus organizations. The work seemed above me, and I sometimes felt out of place — but a paycheck is a paycheck.
Anyway, tax season is always stressful for my mom and I. Work a lot of jobs, you got a lot of documents to get in order. But, in reality, that’s not why tax season is difficult for my mom and me.
Me: “Do you miss grandma? It was right around this time things started gettin’ bad.”
Mom: “Yeah… I think about her every day.”
April 15, 2019, my grandma — my mom’s mom — passed away. A few months prior, my mom and I moved into her house with my cousin. It had gotten to the point where she needed around-the-clock care, and we needed a place to stay. Life just works out that way sometimes.
My grandma had congestive heart failure. That was probably one of the most difficult times for my mom and me. Each day, my grandma would eat a little less, remember a little less. The emergency room was no stranger to my grandma, mom and me.
Watching someone slowly lose themself inside their own body, it’s hard.
Back on the phone, we laugh as my mom says: “Leave it to her to die on tax day.” Of course, she wasn’t going to stick around. That tough old bird hated “damn tax day.”
What else is there to do, besides joke? It’s been about six years, and neither of us seems ready to talk about it. I don’t know if we will be, really ever.
The most difficult part about going to school in Chicago was leaving my mom. Some days, I don’t know what to do without her. Most days, I don’t know what to do without my grandma.
My life has only continued because of strong, selfless women: Betsy, Dottie, Beata, Susie, Susan, Lexi, Leah, Kimberly, Erica, Micael, Amy, Martha and many more.
Somethin’ that isn’t talked about enough is the lingering taste some people leave in your mouth. Day in, day out, they stay with you. They’re not always at the forefront of your mind, but they’re there, maybe just waiting until you need them most.
Most, if not all, of those people have been women that have taken my hand, guided me along the way and made me feel at home. Some have just entered my life; others have been with me since the beginning. I appreciate them all, equally.
My mom is the most selfless woman around. It’s almost frustrating. Time and time again, she puts my needs above her own. I am an adult now and, without fail, she still always does.
Sometimes I think: “What did she give up to ensure my success? Where would she be if she didn’t become a mother? Who did she want to be when she was my age?”
The line of questioning continues to my grandma, then my great-great-grandma and my great-great-great-grandma. Hundreds of women have made sacrifices for me to be here today. They put their time, energy and faith into me, and I’m just some Kansas girl from the boonies.
Whether connected by blood or by chance, with all my heart and soul, I thank them for getting me here. I’ll do the best with this life that I can, I promise. And grandma, I miss you. I wish I could thank you in person. I wish I could give you one last hug. I wish you could see how far I’ve come.
Mom, the best of me comes from you, every single goddamn ounce of it. Don’t worry so much about me. I’ll be alright. I have a good head on my shoulders because of you. I’ll see you soon and remember, every night, “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
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