Remembering My Daughter on Mother's Day

One of those unusual anniversaries, twenty years ago, on Mothers Day, I brought my first child, Alicia, home from the hospital. Never mind she was supposed to be born in April. She came to me on May 2, she was the first grandchild of my mom's, and happily named after my beloved grandmother. She was typically beautiful, and so perfect and healthy, I was in awe. 

Only later would we know the extent of her problems. After marveling in her genius, as she spoke to us in words beyond her years, by the 18th month, we started to wonder why she had difficulty walking across the room to for some things, but especially to hug her favorite aunt. At 21 months the truth was, there was something wrong. Not a truth most parents want to believe. She was eventually diagnosed with a brain tumor. Considering most thought her clumsiness was due to a possible ear infection, not at all what we were expecting.

This tumor took many years of treatment. The first option failed, and she needed to go to New York for a bone marrow transplant. I was fortunate to be in Warren and part of a family and the Warren Fire Department who raised money for me to be with her and not worry about my day to day expenses.

Even though this is many years past the day I brought her home, Mother's Day always has brought me back to my first, and bringing Alicia home. I still remember the now gone noon whistle and horn that bellowed as we introduced her to downtown Warren.

On Dec. 27, 2010, my beloved Alicia died in her sleep. This was not expected. Though she had lived longer than the medical world thought she would, she kept proving them wrong. So that snowy day when I walked in and realized she was gone, part of me died with her.

I thought Easter was difficult. I thought her birthday was unbearable. Then comes Mother's Day to whack you upside the head, and tell you, you ain't seen nothing yet.