The other day, as I was driving through the tunnels and caught the most perfect view of the city of Pittsburgh, I realized that I've finally forgiven this city for breaking my heart.
It was here, at UPMC, that my world shattered like glass underneath me as we learned the results and the outlook of my mom's brain tumor biopsy. It was a sunny day in Pittsburgh as my mom wrapped her arms around me and my brother as we walked out of the Hilman cancer center and promised us that with whatever time she had left, she was going to make sure she told us and showed us over and over again how much she loved us. She apologized that day for what we had to go through, as only a mother would do after she was just diagnosed with terminal cancer.
It was her old neighborhood and the house she grew up in that my dad took her to see, shortly after her diagnosis, to remind her where she came from. She'd still have her moments where she couldn't remember what she'd just told us and we had to remind her to take her pills, but she was lucid enough to remember that house and tell us stories about living there. I didn't realize at the time that my dad probably did that just as much for us as he did for her.
It was that skyline that we'd see from the window as we got closer and closer to the hospital for every doctor's appointment. I remember thinking about how this city that was always home to me, no matter where I lived, was going to be so different after all was said and done. It was always going to be the place where I started to watch my mom fade away.
It was on her sister's front porch that we sat outside and I asked my mom if she remembered where I worked. She told me she was pretty sure I was a waitress. I laughed as my heart silently broke, realizing my own mom didn't remember such a huge part of my life. I told her I worked at SeaWorld, and her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas, in awe of how "cool" that must be.
It was in North Park where we'd walk with her best friend Mary Ann, as they'd been doing for years before that, and they'd recount stories of their childhood. My mom remembered them and contributed to them less and less as the time went on, but she'd always go along with it. I still remember the last story time, on her brother's deck, when my mom was too weak to even respond. But she still mustered a smile and a head nod.
And it was in her brother's dining room that we set up a hospital bed for her, and would feed her and bathe her lay with her and talk to her, even when she was too tired to respond. It was in that room that we all said our goodbyes and thanked her for everything she was as she slipped away from us. I remember my aunt asking if it would be too difficult for us to be back in that room in their house after that. I often find Radar laying in there on the couch, and I just assume she's in there with him, petting him and thanking him for being my heart bandaid. It's my favorite room to sit in.
After we lost my mom, Neal and I tried to keep up the tradition we'd started of going to the Grand Concourse for dinner around Christmas time. It didn't last as long as I would have liked, since her diagnosis came two years after we decided it should be a tradition. We went as a group with some cousins, aunts and uncles and my dad, the year before we lost him.
After losing my dad, I spent over a year away from Pennsylvania, and as much as I missed my family and talked about making a trip back up, avoiding coming back to all the difficult memories seemed easier than facing them head-on. So I put it off, and I put it off, and I put it off some more. I came back home for over a week around Christmas time with Radar, and was reminded how much I miss being here, surrounded by people I love so much. It started to sink in that the place that I may have been avoiding is the place that I can best find pieces of my parents in all their friends and family when I'm missing them more than usual.
The beginning of the summer had me more miserable and homesick than I've ever felt before, and I realized that my years spent avoiding taking time for myself in all the chaos of sickness and loss and funeral planning had finally caught up to me. I had made it a point to jump right back into work the second the dust settled, but in doing so, I never gave myself a chance to just absorb it all. I didn't let myself feel the sad moments in the difficult places because it seemed easier to just stay away from them.
At the beginning of the summer, I took a flying leap out of my comfort zone and left my job to figure out what it was that was missing from my life. I've spent a little over two months, on and off, in Pittsburgh, spending much needed time with family and friends. It has reminded me that THIS is home, and always will be, and my Pittsburgh roots were only strengthened by the life-altering events that have happened here. The moments and landmarks I thought would be so difficult to face are among my favorites, because I've conquered them in a sense. I've been reminded that the people in this city trump any and all demons that I ever thought resided here.
Thank you to the people who have helped me to fall back in love with the city of Pittsburgh. We'll probably be making it Facebook official soon.
