Emotional Collision

There are a few things I haven’t discussed along this journey.  Why haven’t I discussed them?  They are deep and personal and show raw emotions that I like to keep hold of.  The moment they’re brought up rewind the second I feel the topics coming that lump in my throat surfaces and my eyes well with tears, like now. 

It hit me yesterday, mack truck head on collision style.  I received a Pre Wedding Questionnaire I had to fill out for our photographers and a question read, “Are there any family situations we should know about; deaths divorces illnesses etc..”  There it was.  A conversation closed for discussion, shared on my schedule with people of my choice.  Now, with no choice I have to share. 

I stared at the screen while tears fell down my face.  And because this has become therapeutic for me I am gonna start here, and let it all out.  So here it goes…

This planning journey is a shared experience with Goose, him only.  Don’t get me wrong it's all peaches-n-cream and some girls would luuuurve it this way, for me it’s different.  I want to know what it would be like to have my mom accompany me during appointments.  I want to listen to the questions she knows to ask and the mad negotiations she knows to begin.  I want to know if we would argue or fight, if we would write mean emails or not talk for a couple of days. I want to know if we would plan my dream day or hers (mine, she doesn’t have an ounce of selfishness in her body.) 

My mom is here.  Her assistance is not. 

It was 2001 summers end as mom and I trekked across the states playing active co-pilot.  We were cruising through the south enjoying sexy Tim McGraw during our ‘finale drive’ and the call came, “Siss, don’t make any facial expressions don’t cry and don’t get mad.  When you get to a hotel do not go online do not do any research.  We learned what mom has, mom has Huntington’s Chorea.”  Not a single word was processed; never have my eyes been so focused on the road ahead. 

A simple name for a simple person.  Chorea comes from choreographer which she has now become.  Unable to sit still, unable to walk a straight line, unable to control a smile.  My mom patiently accepts these movements as they increasingly become the controller of her state.  Her shoulders have rolled forward as they now face the ground. Her left arm drapes by her side while her right is subconsciously used for balance.  Each step is taken with much thought, there is no guarantee she will land properly avoiding the use of that right hand. 

As her daughter I know all answers are in a mother’s eye.  Watching from a distance is the ever visible pain of sadness.  Sadness she can’t assist. Sadness she isn’t able to offer more of her skills.  Sadness she can’t be a part of her “Pretty Little Siss’s” planning journey to the Chuppah.  But, when we talk about the day, her eyes glow and she comes alive.  All that she gives me on the day will take everything away I wanted during the planning. 

I get her presence.  She’ll cling to my arm and I’ll walk her pace down the aisle.  She will have no worries about the use of that right arm. She will radiate happiness and as she choreographed my life to the very day – she will pass me to Goose and we will begin choreographing our lives!

 1981, 22 months old w/ my mom

If weddings could be dedicated – I would dedicate my wedding to my mom.