I’ve spent many, many years reliving regret over mom’s death. I have always had tendency towards guilt, and mom’s death was no exception. Mom’s death probably defined and emphasized that tendency. But, until recently, I never really put things together completely.

I was riding in the car with Austin and the babies a few weeks ago. I was having a weird week in general and with Mother’s Day and mom’s would-have-been 52nd birthday approaching… it just kind of added to the funk. I’ve been taking Zoloft for a few months and it’s helped me tremendously. This particular week I had run out of pills and was on my 7th day of withdrawls when it all came to a head. Needless to say, I won’t let my prescription run out again anytime soon.

We were driving to town. The babies played quietly in the back seats and Austin was telling me a story about this girl he goes to school with. Her mother has cancer, is a single parent, and is trying to make up for some of her mistakes now that her daughter is a teenager and she is facing the possibility of death. The mother went on a field trip with the daughter recently. The daughter kept yelling at her mom to ‘Go Away’, obnoxiously trying to exclude her, and making her mother sit alone while the class went out for lunch. When I heard the story, my heart curdled. This child has no idea. She has no idea. And if I could let her see inside my mind for a few moments… She would know. You’ll only have one momma this time around. You had better hold tight to her.

As soon as Austin was done with the story, I started crying. I bawled outloud and started releasing a little secret that has crushing my spirit for so long… This tale of Susan’s last few days here with me… (you can start here if you’re a new reader)

Mom was usually pretty short on money. She was a single mother, so that says enough in itself. We took an annual trip in October to the mountains with her best friend (Helen), but this particular year (1988), mom was exceptionally tight on money. I remember hearing her talk on the phone to Helen and my grandmother, trying to make arrangements to borrow money from them so that we could go on this special vacation. I felt bad that she was struggling to get the money together. I know it must have been humbling for her to borrow money, especially for a vacation. But, being a self indulged 12 year old, I wanted her to borrow the money. I wanted the vacation.

The morning of October 15th, we woke up early and loaded the car for our trip. My mom called Helen and my grandmother one last time to make sure they didn’t mind lending the money. We hit the road around 8 am and were to arrive in the mountains somewhere right after lunch. When we first began our trip, mom started reminding me that she was borrowing the money to go on the trip and that meant that we probably wouldn’t be able to do the things we normally did on this vacation– such as Tweetsy Railroad. I immediately got angry because I couldn’t imagine going to the mountains and not doing things that cost money. I went on and on. I pitched a fit. Finally mom pulled off the interstate, stopped the car, turned it off, and looked at me…

“Stephanie. Let’s just go home. I have enough money that we could go out to eat and go see a movie. Let’s just go home, OK? We can have fun, we’ll do something together.”

I started crying, putting on my Stepherz drama, and guilting her into getting back on the road. Back on the road to a place that ended in her death. And if I wouldn’t have been so selfish, so self centered… She would be here now. There’s no other way to look at that. She stopped the car! She gave me the choice. She looked me in the eyes and practically pleaded with me not to be so stubborn and selfish. And my choice was the wrong choice. I’ll live with that for the rest of my days.

I know there was no way I could have known that Helen’s husband would kill them. Obviously if I would have known, I would have chosen differently. But what’s true is true. And the truth is that she might have been here today had I just said, “Ok, Mom. Let’s go home.”

That was a heavy burden to carry for the first few years after mom died. I was so ashamed that I didn’t tell anyone. It sat and festered. I’ve only recently even talked about it. It’s difficult to change how I interpret it now, I’ve carried it as guilt for so long. But I’m working on it. Ya know, I was just a kid. All kids are pretty selfish. There’s just a handful who have something like this as a result of that selfishness, to carry around on their backs for a lifetime. I have to forgive myself for it, because I know mom did.

So, I guess I wanted to share that little (BIG) secret. I always wonder what kind of things make a person who they are. What have they seen? What do they know? What happened in their childhoods that help define who they became as adults.

There’s another pinch of stuff in the Stepherz recipe…