Wasted Inspiration

Two years. It has been a grueling two years of having to come to terms with the loss of my mother. I could be doing mindless tasks and will occasionally still seeing her hunched over figure shuffling its way to the kitchen. Even just the sound replaying in my brain sends a shiver down my spine. That sound only meant one thing. The one thing I loathed most.

She walks into the kitchen for one purpose. An empty beer can is tucked inside her cardigan, sitting at the bottom of her oversized pocket. Wadded up tissues sit on top, concealing it. I can see the outline through the pocket, and the smell of her breath mixed with cheap cigarette smoke, gives away her so-called secrets. Her tattered slippers hardly lift from the never before mopped tiles as she quickens her pace, heading towards the pantry.

A collection of brown paper bags that are stuffed to the brim with old newspapers, cover the floor of the small pantry space. A barely visible path between bags, leads to a door that opens to a rotting back deck. An ice chest sits against the wall beside it, under yet another stack of newspapers. She replaces the empty can with a full one, not knowing I am watching the entire thing over my shoulder, from the kitchen counter. I pretend to spread grape jelly onto a slice of heavily buttered and lightly toasted white bread. It's not like I needed to turn around to get a good look. The images are as fresh in my mind as an adult as they were when I was a child.

She adjusts her cardigan before turning to face the kitchen. She notices I can see her when I our eyes make contact. Her blue eyes are beginning to gloss over, as they widen in surprise. "It's fricken cold" she says, pretending to shiver. She is trying to distract me. Raising her shoulders up and down in such an exaggeration, it's hard not to laugh, as she pulls the cardigan tight. I nod my head in agreement, the words "I know" being all that I can muster. Not wanting to have any sort of awkward conversations.

The sound of her feet shuffling resumes, as she hurries past. It was just after four in the afternoon, and her daily talk show queen was already beginning its opening number. I hear the hissing of a can, the flick of her lighter, and I know this is where I will be able to find her for the rest of the evening. Moving between the kitchen and the couch, a new beer collected each trip, with the occasional visit to the bathroom. The same bathroom she would have a heart attack in a month later, taking her final gasp of a breath as I hold her hand loosely in my grasp.

My mother was an inspiration, and it has taken me two years to see it. I've always wanted to be a mother, but I didn't want to be my mother. Though she was quiet, and probably the most patient person on earth, and by all outward appearances, she appeared to be a doting mother and wife. The reality was she spent her days sleeping until noon and drinking Coors light until midnight.

What began as a fear, slowly became a key motivator to bettering myself entirely. I was so fearful that I would end up like my mother, that I didn't see the beauty in the gift her addiction gave to me. As I watched her wither away, my own life seemed to be suddenly fleeting, slipping through my grasp.

I've had children, raised an entire family, twice. However, I've never held a career, just like my mother. Staying home and raising my kids was my career, just like my mother.

My mother inspired me to take life and run with it. Enjoy every minute, even the painful ones. She gave up, and I refuse to let my kids see me do the same. I'm inspired every day when I see an inherited habit of my mother's slip through my own body. Reminding myself, I am not her, and I will be better.

Inspirational women don't have to be scholars, or a sweet little grandmother with a fantastic pie recipe. Sometimes, the hardest people to love, are the biggest inspiration. Inspiring us every single day of our lives to become better versions of ourselves, and that alone is one of the most powerful and inspirational messages out there.

Having a front row seat to a wasted life, inspires me to live fully with mine.