2025.02.07 A Daughter's Guilt

It’s been a long time since I’ve written. It’s not writer’s block. I think it’s more that I have so much to say to try to formulate it into some semblance of meaning. It’s all these thoughts swirling around in my head - along with family, and work, and friends, and dogs, and health, and grief, and work, and dogs, and friends, and working out, and clients, and fuck-all.

Since my mother’s passing on Christmas Eve 2022, I’ve been adrift. Adrift on the seas of grief and uncertainty and friendship (preserving some of my most precious ones, cultivating new ones, releasing ones that no longer serve me). It’s been difficult to be present and also protect my boundaries. My boundaries have become far more non-negotiable than they’ve been in the past. But even that feels like a struggle. How do you stand your ground when someone you’ve known for years is used to you acquiescing to their wants and needs? It’s not easy. And then I’m left feeling like the bitch - but yes, I know that’s on me. But is it? Are they really friends if they expect you to bow to their wants and needs over what’s therapeutic and healthy for you? I mean, how I feel is how I feel. I’m not going to blame anyone else for that. But it’s sort of like the “non-apology” apology: “I’m so sorry you feel that way.” That’s not an apology. That’s an excuse for treating someone else however you feel is acceptable to treat them without apologizing that you may be treating them like garbage without considering their feelings at all. Anywho, I digress.

It’s been two years, one month, and thirteen days since my mother died. I called/call it “grelief”. After ten+ years of caring for her through Alzheimer’s, I was relieved she was out of pain, but I wasn’t prepared for her not actually being here. What I never acknowledged was the guilt I felt - and I haven’t really been able to address it until now. I don't know why “now” is significant. Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s because I’m in the first stage show I’ve done in over 15 years (which has its own set of triggers and trauma). Maybe it’s just me and the weirdo that I am. 

I read “The Women” recently. It’s a story of the women who served in Vietnam (who constantly heard, “No women served in Vietnam.”). It follows one woman in particular, but this was a story of the women who served as nurses. They saw the worst of the worst and cared for the men who fought bravely for our country. And even the men got very little recognition when they returned home. What struck me when reading this book was the compassion with which this woman cared for her patients - and for her mother after she had a stroke and she went home. She rubbed lotion on her hands and feet. She brushed her hair, cut & filed her nails. She cared for her with such tenderness and love.

I didn’t do that. I didn’t do that for my mom - the woman who cared for me with such compassion and tenderness and love and creativity for my entire life. I steeled myself into someone I thought she needed me to be: a badass bitch who advocated for her at every roadblock that our bullshit government and absolute joke of “healthcare” demanded I be to fight for her. What I forgot - or pushed down - was that she was my mother. She needed my love. My compassion. My tenderness. My care. And I failed. Throw Covid into that and I was physically/legally unallowed to see her for over two years. I failed. 

If you weren’t at my mother’s memorial, here’s her eulogy. I wore a red-sequenced ballgown with stiletto platform combat boots. I delivered it with the two most amazing women and best friends I could ever ask for (Katie Blackwell & Joy Martucci) by my side - just in case I couldn’t get through it:

“Hi, I’m Elle Klein Garrison. For those of you wondering why I’m wearing what I am, I remember that my mom let me dress myself from a very young age. When I was maybe 5, she let me pick out a party outfit. I chose a red & white checkered sundress & black cowboy boots. I was clearly ahead of my time. I’ve stepped it up a notch, but this is my homage & thank you to my mom.

I think it’s no secret that I won the jackpot in the parent lottery. One of my friends said recently, “Your parents made EVERYTHING more fun.” And she wasn’t wrong. They hosted the best parties, always welcomed my friends, and even though they spoiled me, they taught me to be strong and independent. And self-sufficient…better late than never. 

My mom is the very definition of The Mom Who Mommed So Hard. She would wake me up with a glass of orange juice every morning (which I would drink and go immediately back to sleep). She would wake us with the smell of homemade beignets sprinkled with powdered sugar when I had friends spend the night. My tooth fairy Lorecita wrote the most elaborate letters (each letter a different color) anytime I lost a tooth. And she stayed up all night before one Christmas hand stitching me a giant puffy hot air balloon for my wall that had a basket on the bottom for my favorite stuffed animals.

My mom bandaged my cuts, kissed my bruises, and wiped my tears when a boy broke my heart. She taught me to cook, which I learned to love - though I will never eat another bite of chicken and mushroom casserole. And she made me laugh until I cried sometimes. Carol Klein was a “Jill of all trades” - never afraid to reinvent herself or switch directions. She was smart, beautiful, creative, and graceful (the graceful part I did not inherit). She was also stubborn & fiery - we butted heads a lot, but apparently the apple doesn’t fall far. 

She hated my tattoos. Sorry, Mom - I got one for dad, and I’ll get one for you, too.

Sitting at Hospice Austin’s Christopher House with one of her friends - who will remain unnamed - I was told the story of how she & her husband, my parents, and another couple went to a Willie Nelson concert in 1974. Apparently the joints were being passed down the row. My mother - who told me she never smoked a cigarette a day in her life (important distinction) - my dad, and their friends all got so high they couldn’t drive home. They let a guy with one eye drive them home. 

There’s simply not enough time for me to sum her up in a few paragraphs - my incredible mother who I was lucky enough to be her child.

I was her daughter, but I was also her friend, and in the end, her fiercest advocate and ally. After nearly ten years of suffering from Alzheimer’s, she passed on Christmas Eve, and just like she always did, gave us both the greatest gift she could have. It’s with unsurmounted gratitude that I know she’s finally at peace, has all her beautiful memories back, and is dancing again with my dad.

Godspeed, Mom, rest easy, and thank you for allowing me to be your daughter.”

I wish I had one more moment to brush her hair, paint her nails, and tell her just how much I love her.