Just One More Hug

“Mom, Mom! I bet you can’t guess who one of my bus drivers is!”

“Who?”

“Your friend, Pam. Don’t tell her, but I like the other bus driver better.”

“Oh really, why’s that?”

“Cuz he lets us scream and shout as loud as we want. His name is Glen, and he even lets us stand up in the bus while he’s driving!”

“Wow, he sounds like a pretty fun bus driver. Did anything else exciting happen on your first day of second grade, Hun?”

I don’t remember being told that mom was sick. I guess, Tasha, my lil sister, and I were so young that we only remember her being that way. We understood that she was getting weaker and that some day we’d never see her again.

“Sixth grade is going to be way awesome, Mom! Mr. Casey is the coolest teacher ever! Today he chewed a big wad of bubble gum and then stuck it on the wall. He told us that if we chew gum in class that we’ll have to switch our gum with his wad on the wall and chew that for the rest of the day instead! Then the next person to do it would chew that person’s gum. Can you believe that!?”

“No I can’t dear, but I bet it’ll keep you little rug rats from chewing gum in class!”

One memory that will always be very vivid in my mind is the day my mom had her first seizure. Tasha and I were about four and six years old at the time. We had been told to do the dreaded task of cleaning our room, and had finally gotten her all done. We of course, wanted to show off our lovely work to both Grandma and Mom. (By this time Grandma was living with us so that she could help take care of our mom and the two of us.) While we were showing Mom and Grandma our newly cleaned room, Mom began to shake uncontrollably. I watched as her eyes rolled back in her head, and her legs gave way. Grandma grabbed her arm and shouted for help as our mom quickly collapsed to the floor still shaking. Tasha and I didn’t want to see any more of the terrifying scene and darted down the hallway as quickly as our little legs would carry us screaming at the top of our lungs. We both had thought Mom was dying right then and there.

“Are you worried about your first day of seventh grade, Dear?”

“Nah.”

“Being at the high school with all those other kids doesn’t make you nervous?”

“Well, maybe I’m a lil nervous. I mean, what if I get lost, or a senior picks on me?”

“You don’t need to be worried about any of that. The high school is pretty small and it’ll be easy for you to figure out. And for those seniors, they’re on a completely different schedule, so you don’t even have to worry about seeing them.”

We stayed with Aunt Carol and Uncle Gary in Cedar Rapids a lot while Mom was sick and staying in the hospital. Staying in Cedar Rapids was easier for my dad because he was at the hospital late most nights. The four of us kids didn’t mind too much because we wanted to be as close to Mom as we possibly could be anyway.

“My baby’s first day of high school! What am I ever going to do?”

“Oh, Mom, it’s not that big of a deal, and I need to finish my hair and make-up, so please, leave me alone.”

“Okay, okay, I love you.”

“Love ya too.”

Every time we visited Mom at the hospital, she came home, or went back to the hospital I wondered if that was going to be the last time. I hated going to school because I was petrified that when I came home she’d be back in the hospital or even worse, dead. I often pretended to be sick during kindergarten and first grade. I’m sure my mother could see right through the lies, but I’m also sure she understood why. That or maybe she feared the same thing that I did. That fear being that this might be the last time we get to hug one another and spend time together.

“Mom, will you take me out driving? Dad won’t and I’ve hardly driven at all. I don’t want to look like a fool next week in driver’s ed.”

“Sure, maybe we can catch up on some girl talk!”

“I’m not seeing anyone, Mom, and no, I don’t like the neighbor kid.”

“Who said that that’s what I wanted to talk about?”

At night I fell asleep to what became the comforting sounds of my mother’s oxygen machine. As long as I heard the humming of her machine I knew she was right in the other room. She wasn’t at the hospital and she was still alive. The only time the machine scared me was when I noticed that the knob had finally found its way to the highest setting. What was next? What if she needed more, and the machine wasn’t able to provide her with what she needed? Did this mean we were nearing the end? Was she going to die because she couldn’t breath any more? I didn’t want to think about it and tried as hard as my little mind could to shove the thought far away in a tiny box, a tiny box with a lock. I wanted to lock those thoughts up and throw away the key. I didn’t like crying myself to sleep at night. If I could only get rid of thoughts like that then I could be happy. I could stop secretly crying behind my door and be like the other kids my age.

“Mom! Where ya at?”

“Downstairs in the washroom, Hun. What do you need?”

“I’ve got to tell you about this guy I met last weekend.”

During the day Mom was often very tired and took several naps on the couch. Grandma took care of things around the house, including Tasha and me. We played outside most of the time. Sometimes mom would get up and come stand at the back window and watch us play, but most of the time she just lied there and rested with the oxygen tubing wrapped around her face and a bright neon green bandana covering her bald head..

“You look so beautiful!”

“Thank you, Mom. I guess I must have gotten the good looks from Dad, huh!?”

“Ha, ha, aren’t you the funny one!”

“You take good care of my daughter tonight.”

“Don’t worry. I always do.”

“Mom, isn’t he just the cutest and the sweetest!? Let’s go. I don’t want to be late for prom!”

It was a bright, sunny morning on June 23^rd, 1992. I woke up in my aunt and uncle’s room. Tasha and I always slept at the foot of their bed or with our cousins. As I walked down the hallway, everything seemed normal until I reached the kitchen. To my surprise there were about ten people sitting there, including my dad. Dad was always at the hospital when I went to sleep and when I woke up, so I found it a bit odd and felt a little nervous that he was not at the hospital that morning. The nervousness quickly went away as everyone seemed to carry on as normal.

A few hours later, Dad led Tasha and me down the hallway to our cousin, Myra’s room. By this time I was sure something was wrong. There we were standing next to Myra’s bed silently holding our daddy’s hand. Hearing my father say, “Mommy” was all that I needed to hear to know what he was going to say next. I think I knew from the moment I saw them all sitting at the kitchen table that morning. I don’t think I even heard the rest of what he told us. I knew that the time had come, and Mommy had passed away, she was gone. As soon as Dad stopped holding us close to him, Tasha and I ran down the hall and out the back door into the garage screaming. I was seven and Tasha was five.

“Now, now sweet heart, try to breath. It’ll all be okay.”

“No it won’t. It hurts so much.”

“I know, Hunny, I know. Your heart feels like its being torn into a million pieces and your world is crashing down upon you, but some day you’ll meet the guy of your dreams, someone who deserves you. You’ll get married, and live a long happy life together. He’ll be even better.”

All I remember doing that day is going out for scooter rides with Myra. We always enjoyed getting rides on her scooter, and I guess it was her way of saying sorry and that she loved us. I don’t remember whether or not we enjoyed the rides that day or not, but I’m sure they did aid as some sort of a distraction-at least for a short while.

“I’m so proud of you, Hunny.”

“Awe, Mom it’s just my high school graduation”

“That’s something to be proud of, and you’re my lil girl. My lil girl who’s graduating from high school and leaving for college in the fall.”

“Oh, Mom stop crying. You’re going to embarrass me in front of everyone. Oh, and please, don’t hoot and howler too much. Please?”

“Listen to you. Always the funny one.”

I didn’t cry at the funeral. I didn’t want any one to know how I felt. I carried on as if it was just another day. I was wishing that it was all just a bad dream, and at any minute I’d wake up in Mommy’s arms.

“Okay, Mom, what do you think about these invitations, with these colors, and perhaps one of these ribbons?

“….”

“Mom?”

“Huh, oh yes, Dear. Those invitations and colors are beautiful and I especially like that ribbon there.”

“Perfect!”

“Why don’t we finish this up and then tomorrow we’ll go do some dress shopping.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to try on the dresses and….”

I touched her cheek one last time, but quickly pulled back after feeling her skin. My mommy’s cheek now felt like a cold, hard, piece of rubber. Nothing seemed soft and warm any more. Everything had changed. My mommy was never going to hold me again or caress my face until I fell asleep. She was gone…

“Oh, Mom, stop crying. The ceremony hasn’t even started and you’re going to make me cry too.”

“I can’t help it. You make such a beautiful bride. It feels like just yesterday that your dad and I were bringing you home from the hospital.”

“You’ll ruin both of our make-up if you keep talking like this, and we still have family pictures to take.”

“You’re marrying such a wonderful man. The two of you go so well together.”

“I know. He’s more than I ever could have dreamed of. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Matthew Barger.”

“Everyone’s going to be in such awe when your father walks you down the aisle and they see what a beautiful bride you make. I love you so much, Tonya.”

“Oh, Mom, I love you too.”

They played her favorite song, at her request, at the funeral. It was “Celebration” by Kool and the Gang, We always had fun listening to that song. Usually, while we were cleaning, it would come on, and all of us would run to the living room with the excitement of a stampede of two-year-olds who just got a handful of candy and balloons. We would all dance and sing together until the next song came on.

Matt and I drove by the funeral home the other day. The same funeral home that once played “Celebration”, the same funeral home that I got piggy back and shoulder rides at, and the same funeral home that I got to see and touch my mom for the very last time.

A victim to this year’s record flooding. A giant orange “X” with the words “NO GO” was painted across the door. I guess yet another memory of my mom will soon be buried as well.

We buried her at a cemetery outside a small town called Shellsburg. Grandma, her mother, was also buried there a few years later. She too, had lost the battle against cancer.

I have grown up without my mother, and have been robbed of so many precious moments we should have shared together. She hasn’t been here since before I started second grade. Getting married without my mother was harder than I ever could have imagined. Some day Matt and I will have children and I fear that that will be equally as difficult to do without my mother. If only things could have been different… If only she had won the battle against cancer…

By Tonya Barger