Looking Back

So here I am now. It's been four years since my mom passed away. I feel like things are easier to handle now, but of course I have my good and bad days. I still have so many questions. So many "what ifs". I still carry so much guilt for her death...I mentioned before that she used to beg me to stay home and spend time with her, and I explained that the reason why I didn't was because I hated seeing her suffer. I look back now and realize how it must have looked from her point of view.

She spent every waking moment in that bedroom. Mind you, it was a small bedroom. She was constantly overwhelmed with endless pain and nausea. My dad was usually home, but there was only so much he could say or do to comfort her. All she wanted was a little extra attention. Just to know that I cared and that I wanted to be with her.

I see now that if I had maybe spent more time with her, even if we couldn't do much, it would have relieved her of some of the pain, in a way. Maybe if I had, she would have been happier, and would have had more motivation to eat right so she could get better faster. Maybe if that was case, her body would have been just a little stronger. Strong enough to handle what should have been a simple surgery. I blame myself so much for not checking on her sooner as well. She had just had surgery! Why didn't I go check on her first thing when I woke up that Sunday morning. Why didn't I think to find out if I could get her anything. Why didn't I just make sure she was sleeping comfortably? All I cared about was stupid Myspace......I hate myself for it. Maybe if I had found her hours earlier, there could have been a chance to save her. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But what good do maybe's do?

All I know is that now I do everything I can to not make the same mistakes with my dad that I made with my mom. My dad is all that I have left. I can't live with him, but I have to make sure that he is taken care of. I'm always nagging him about his health. I try to spend time at his apartment. I try to call him every day, even if it's just to tell him I love him and that I'll see him soon. Something tells me that these things do make a difference. You always hear about how people don't realize what they have, what they could have done, or how they could have showed a loved one that they cared, until it's too late. It was too late with my mom. But I'm closer with my dad now than I have been since I was a little girl. I can help him. I can make sure he knows that I care. And someday, I'll be able to show my mom again too. Someday, maybe I'll forgive myself. Maybe.