I miss you mommy!

Well today is a weird day. Very bitter sweet for me. On this day 15 years ago, I lost the most amazing woman in the world. My mother, Martha Ann Burja Gerber, succumbed to her illness and left the planet to meet her Lord. Being the devout Catholic she was, I am sure it was a glorious return for her.

It was probably the worst day of my life. She was my everything. Literally. She clothed me, fed me, tucked me under the covers at night and everything else a mother is supposed to do. She was amazing. We were so very close. My parents didn’t have the greatest relationship and often fought in front of me. I would always tell my mom that I wanted to go with her every time she told my dad she was going to leave. I adored my mom. She was super crafty, she cooked, she baked, she sewed all my clothes…I just can’t say enough about her.

It has often been extremely hard for me over the years. I never knew how to deal with the loss. Maybe this will be a therapeutic release for me....

But I guess should start from the beginning. My mother was often sick with breathing issues when I was younger. When she was roughly my age, possibly younger, she was diagnosed with Alpha 1 Antitripsin Deficiency. It is a genetic disorder, the only kind of emphysema you can get without smoking. I obviously never thought much of it. It was normal for me to see my mom taking medication and breathing into a nebulizer full of medication. I often joined her on the nebulizer because of my own asthma. My mom was a nurse and worked as a nurse manager at OU Med Center (called Presbyterian back then) in the CCCU (cardiac critical care unit). She was loved by many and boy did she know a lot of people. I never knew how important my mother was to so many people.

I don’t remember any one point when my mom was drastically “sicker”, but I do remember the day she went into the hospital and never left. In the fall of 1994, my mother got pneumonia. She battled it with rigorous antibiotics and for all every one knew she was fine. We made it through all the holidays as a happy family. Then January/February came around. She had gotten a little sick and had to stay a few nights in the hospital. She came home on a portable oxygen machine. Back in those days, they were these monstrous machines. Massive, cumbersome, and noisy as all get out.

My dad and I were in the kitchen making my mom chocolate pudding, and suddenly we hear an alarm going off, coming from my parent’s bedroom. My dad took off and I followed suit. He was of course much quicker than I was, jumping over couches and flying to the room. I never made it into the room. He grabbed me and ran back to the kitchen and called 911. I was 9 years old.
The next thing I remember is my dad’s parents, who lived literally around the corner, came speeding up to our house, grabbed me in my blue cloud, flannel nightgown, and put me in the car as the ambulance came pulling up. They rushed my mom to the hospital and it was a couple of days before I saw her again.

When I saw her, she seemed just like my normal mommy. A little weaker and maybe pale, but mommy. She asked me to braid her hair, which was one of my favorite things to do, and I took the purple hair tie out of my hair, braided hers and put in the hair tie. It was getting late, so I went home with my grandparents. I lived with them for quite some time while my mom was in the hospital. My dad was supposedly staying there with her. Although I find that hard to believe now-a-days.

Finally, my grandma asked me one morning if I wanted to go see my mommy at the hospital. I was so excited! My mother was staying at Children’s Hospital in OKC because she was was on an EKMO/ECMO machine and the only 2 at the time we located there in the Pediatric ICU. This machine would take the blood from the body and put oxygen into it, basically giving the lungs a break and having the machine do the lungs job. So we get to the hospital and some lady comes out. I am guessing she was some sort of social worker, but I have no clue who she was, but I knew she wasn’t a nurse. She showed me some pictures of my mom and let me know what everything was.

My mom, as you can imagine, was hooked up to oodles of machines and tubes, and wires and IVs. It didn’t really scare me, I just wanted to see my mommy and talk to her. The lady told me that my mom was sleeping so I would not be able to talk to her. That day, where my grandma made me so happy by letting me see her, where some nice lady showed me weird pictures of my mommy, was April 12th 1995.

Turns out my mommy was too weak to fight off the raging case of pneumonia that had invade her lungs. Nothing was helping her at all. I of course still had no idea how sick she was and what all was going on. I walked into my mommy’s room and saw her for the first time in a couple of months. I don’t remember being scared, I don’t remember feeling anything actually. I walked over to her kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her. I noticed her hair was still braided and it had the hair tie in it that I had put into it. I was thrilled that it was still there.

The day was long and I just wanted to go outside with my mommy. I played puzzles and colored, watched tv and just about anything else I could find to do. The next thing I knew, we all went into this dark room, outside the doors to the PICU. There was my mom's dad from California, her best friend (my Aunt), her brother, my mom's mom from Tulsa, my dad and his parents and a couple of nurses from my mom's unit at Presby. I don't remember much, but seeing my Aunt and my Grampi (mom's dad) crying.

My dad and his dad took me outside and walked me across the street. It was a beautiful day outside, no clouds in the sky at all. It is amazing when your life changes like that, what details you can remember. I remember asking if mommy was dead. Although know I didn't exactly say those words, but it was something to that effect. That day was Wednesday, April 12th 1995.

She was buried on a Saturday, the day before Easter Sunday. She had a traditional Catholic mass at St. Joseph's Cathedral in Downtown OKC. It was amazing and standing room only. Another beautiful day just like she deserved.

I went to school the day after she died. My dad insisted we carry on like everything was fine. And looking back on it now, I needed some serious grief counseling. But there was nothing I could do about it. 10 months later my dad remarried my unfortunate gold digging step-mom and 6 months later she had my youngest sister. My dad uprooted us from my home town and all my friends in Midwest City and moved us to Norman because my step-mom couldn't bear to move her daughter (my step-sister) away from her friends. Ya, I know...pretty lame right?

All the years following her death when I lived with my dad, he never once mentioned her name. Asked me if I wanted to visit her grave. Nothing. He acted like she never even existed. I resent him so much for that along with so much more.

I sent flowers to my mom's mom today and when she called to thank me for them, I just lost it. I want to see her. I miss her so much. My mom has missed so much of my life. She missed me teenage years, teaching me to drive, helping me prom dress shop. She never met D, wasn't at my graduation or our wedding. I am sad she will never meet her grandchildren and she will never see me as their mom and all those things moms and daughters do together. How am I supposed to act with my daughters if I don't know what the mother/daughter relationship is all about?

I guess I will just add it to the list of life experiences that I have to live without her being here. I just hope she looks down on me often enough to see I am doing well and that I am making her proud. I miss you mommy and I love you so much!