Lady

And this comes, again, like a season out of order.
My mom may be dying-  and not in the "we’re all dying" way. I mean in the literal, medical condition way. From every speculation my sister has investigated, it sounds like the usual-
Cancer.
I remember when I was little and she was immortal and old, though not much older than I am now. She decorated the television tops at Christmas with small trees, wooden ornaments and lights that glowed while I slept on the couch. She kept ice cream in the freezer, my markers in order, my Halloween costumes glittered and pocketed for my inhaler. Her perfume is Opium, she wears white eyeshadow on her lids, her hair is auburn blonde and she loves bridge mix. I love how thorough she can be when Im sick. I love her lasagna, her silver bell bracelets, her Doublemint gum and the velvet high heels she wore on stage.
Today my Mom is crazy in the saddest way. She hangs on to the abilities she had before my Dad died, the power and intense matriarchal control. Now she lives with my sister and takes care of her grand-daughters. She taught my sister’s daughter to read and speak before other kids her age. She did that with me too. My Mom lives in the past and lies a little bit and makes you feel sorry for her even though she is well taken care of. I know that she is displaced- had to move out of our home, her only comfort, because she couldn’t get a job (health problems) and needed to depend on my sister. My sister, having had her third marriage come to an end, couldn’t afford it anymore and moved her daughter and my mom into a small townhouse. She is no longer in control. Her husband is dead and scattered over the state. She doesn’t see her youngest child as often as she’d like because her youngest left home a long, long time ago. Her youngest pushed her away from the time she could raise her arms, she rejected and argued and fought and demanded freedoms that her older siblings would come to envy. Her youngest fought battles never to be told, stayed strong when no one was looking and arched her back like a cat at family gatherings. Her youngest types this now, sickness spreading through her intestines, smelling her Mother’s perfume and wanting a ride to school.
I miss my Mom, I miss who she was when I was in elementary school. I miss being her baby and letting go and bringing her my messes to fix. I miss her insomnia when I lived across the hall, I miss how  stable she use to be. Now I know letting her go will mean closing the last little door to my past.
I want my Mom to come see my apartment in San Francisco someday. I want her to be at my wedding, I want so much more for her life. I keep realizing that I have to make all these somedays happen, everything ends so quickly.