Letter #1
I know that you're laughing out there -- watching and laughing at Mama and me -- not maliciously of course, just enjoying the discourse. Damn you, for going and dying on me and leaving me without anyone to talk to about these things. You're the only one who would understand. And I'm the only one who understood.
We both love Mama. Mama is terrific. She's strong and healthy and has a good heart - will do almost anything for anyone. But - she has her ways, things should be done a certain way and everyone should know that. You're the only one who doesn't know that this is the right way. Everyone else knows, but you. I hear this a lot. I call these, "Mama's Shoulds..."
Bill, You never let her do this to you - and because of this she didn't understand you. It kills Mama when she can't understand why a person does or doesn't do something. I try to tell her that we don't need to understand. That perhaps we weren't meant to understand. But it does no good. You actively told her to keep out of it - whatever it was. This hurt her. She was only trying to help - which of course we all knew, but that didn't keep it from driving you crazy.
Add to this the fact that you were a very independent private person and we have quite an impasse. Mama and her "shoulds"-- you should, he should, they should... etc. and you with your damn privacy. It's back to my personal philosophy - no one's wrong or right - just different. And I can't believe you left me alone to deal with this.
Oh, in many ways I'm enjoying having Mama to myself. Gail and you had her for so long. When we lived in different states, I use to wish she and I could sit and have coffee together sometime. Now we can. She can be lots of fun. I'm a firm believer in "and I'm that way too -- or will be one day" way of thinking. So I try not to be judgemental. I'll do the same things one day like as not - no matter how hard I tell myself that I won't. But I'm taking good notes.
God, Billy, it was so awful when you were sick. I haven't been able to talk about it -- even now it's hard. Sometimes I remember something that happened during that time and I immediately throw the memory away... block it out. We did what we had to do, didn't we? We did what we didn't want to do, didn't we?
We knew it was Cancer. We probably both knew before they told us. I promised you that you didn't have to have surgery if there was no hope, and although you didn't - the tests still caused you such pain. And we had to run the tests, because without the tests we didn't know for sure.... It seemed like you and I lost control. You wanted to leave the hospital and couldn't. I wanted to stay and couldn't.
I abandoned you... and I'm so-oo sorry. I should have been there - no matter what. There was no excuse for me leaving you in your time of need. Yes, Mama was there. Yes, she took good care of you. But I was suppose to be there. You needed me. And I wanted to be there... didn't I? Or was I such a coward that I let them talk me into staying away and having my own breast cancer surgery done right then? I could have said no. I didn't.
I think today is a milestone. Writing this now when I couldn't even think about it before - and it's been almost a year. I know this upset Mama too. She wanted to talk about those last few weeks. I couldn't. Maybe she needed to talk. Mama does have a need to talk... She talks constantly. I never noticed this before she moved in here. There's nothing wrong with it - except that for someone like myself who craves silence, it's difficult. But we have adjusted quite well.
Mama is funny. She talks to me when I'm on the phone. She talks to me when I'm in a conversation with someone else. She talks to me when I'm writing on the computer, reading a book or watching a movie. It's like she's totally unaware.... part of it is due to her hearing loss, I'm sure. She can't tell that these other things are going on. At least I think that's it.
But I picture you laughing at us... saying "better you than me". And actually that's kind of nice. You have/had such an infectious laugh. Remember all the times we'd laugh until we cried.
God, I miss you...
