Missing The Intangibles

Hi guys. It's me. Been a while, right?

No good excuse really. Just pure avoidance and procrastination. I've been battling the persona I seemed to have built for you all. The 'strong' and 'courageous' daughter. And lord knows I want to be that person. Badly. But I've decided that there's something to be said for finding strength and courage in honesty. I can't pretend that things are ok or that we're just working our way back to the old normal. I think the acceptance of the new normal is our goal. Accepting the harsh reality that she isn't Pam who just happens to be in a wheelchair with a shitty left arm and a wobbly left leg. She's witty in a wheelchair. She's driven in a wheelchair. She's whip-smart in a wheelchair. And although she's kept a lot, she's lost a lot too. Some of the missing pieces are tangible - things like attention span and impulse control (two things she already struggled with anyhow, so that's fairly manageable). But there is also the intangible, which is something that I don't know I can define. And that's the thing that I miss the most. It's the piece I cry about. The piece I can pretend is still there if I don't call for a few days ...The woman who gave me life 34 years ago and has given me unwavering amounts of love. The person who taught me how to be a woman, how to be a friend, how to be a wife, how to be a human. The giver of endless amounts of lessons. The person I strive to replicate. 

But I pay for that blissful ignorance because there are those moments, things like Mothers Day (a hard slap in the face). Or when she calls to ask me to use my two hands to find a phone number because she can't find it with her one. Or when she calls and then quickly and unceremoniously hangs up on me because her hand is too greasy from popcorn to hold the phone. Sometimes my dad and I laugh, because what else can you do? But it sure as shit isn't funny. It's infuriating. 

I/we should be happy, right? I mean, she wasn't supposed to live? And she surely wasn't supposed to have made it this far in recovery. And I AM happy. I'm thrilled that I still have my mom. And absolutely elated that my dad still has his wife. And over the moon that Dee has her sister and Rick has his cousin. At least I'm happier than I would be if she...you know. But here's the thing, being "happier than" isn't as good as being happy. Especially because as her daughter my happy was awesome. Something that I suppose I should be happy about. Damn.