Mom and Dad

I’ve actually stooped to a new low.  I have had a conversation with my Dad about a boy.

When I went home to Australia at Christmas time my father (bless him) told me specifically he didn’t want to hear about boys.  So I kept my trap shut.

I’ve not been feeling so great about things in general for the last week.  I know that I have this fantastic opportunity coming in September when I start school but I’ve been feeling a bit anxious, a bit panicky.  This week I’ve been having mini panic attacks and stressing out.  I start to think about my future and my finances, I feel alone and then all I want to do is call my Mom, which of course I can’t do because, well, she’s dead.

Tonight I went to dinner with a friend and we sat near the water and talked and ate and laughed and shared.  And it was fantastic.  But I felt this uneasy feeling and I know what it is.  It’s the feeling I had at the end of last year, the one that saw me run home to Australia at Christmas time.  I am scared and I want to run away.  I want to run home to my childhood bedroom and hide under the covers with the dog.

So I phoned my Dad on the way home and we talked about my mortgage and about the weather and about the dog.  And I told him I was feeling anxious and that I wanted to come home and he, of course, didn’t understand what was wrong because my life should be so fantastic.

After I danced around the subject a bit I finally said to him “Dad, there’s this boy ...”.  And we went from there.

And he did so well!  If there is a score for how well my father took me telling him what I did I would give him an 8 out of 10, only an 8 because there’s always room for improvement.

I sat on the side of the road in my neighbourhood and I cried and shared with my Dad and he just cared for me in the best way he knew how.  And he asked questions about the boy and gave me suggestions on what I could do.  And even though the advice was things I already knew, somehow having a blubber down the phone to my Dad just made me feel better.

Ideally these are the things I would share with my Mother but even if she were alive I’m pretty sure she would have given me some tough love.  Mom was really hard when it came to those things.  She would have made me stop believing that a boy may have feelings for me because she would see that as making me weak and vulnerable and open to being hurt.

Mom and Dad weren’t really romantic people.  When I asked my Dad how he ‘got’ my Mom, he laughed and said it wasn’t like that.  He said that they ended up being the only 2 single people left in their group of friends so it just kind of happened.

To me, that’s THE MOST horrific story of all time.  And I’m angry at both of them for not being dreamier and creating a more romantic story (if only to be able to tell me).  But that’s Mom and Dad.  They’re very realistic people and they see things in black and white.

But the problem is that they ended up with a daughter who sees everything in multicolour.  Who daydreams when she’s at work and still makes up stories in her head.  Who could sit under a tree all day and stare at the sky and talk nonsense with her friends.  Who loves people she knows she shouldn’t and would give her last $10 to a stranger.

And it’s not that my parents aren’t generous.  My parents are awesome in their own way. 

When they got married they did it in a restaurant called ‘La Fondue’ ... Yes, my parents got married in a fondue restaurant.  And they didn’t have any family there because they were in other parts of the country and overseas.  And my Mom didn’t wear a traditional wedding dress, she wore this ugly (sorry Mom) dress with a hood on it, but it was a dress that she adored, a dress that we still have at home, a dress that doesn’t fit me but I still pull it out when I go home to look at it.

I think the thing is that all these changes are happening in my life, good and bad, and my Mom isn’t here.  And it sounds so bloody stereotypical but it’s true.  A lot of the time I don’t think about her because it’s really hard to do that, but sometimes the thought of her catches me off guard and it shocks me.  There’s still part of me that’s confused that she’s dead.  Part of me that doesn’t understand how someone so amazing is not here but instead waiting for me in heaven.  And that’s the thing that keeps me going, knowing that one day we’ll be together again.

It’s Mothers Day on Sunday and I miss my Mom.