Category Archives: mother

anniversaries

Posted in grief, happiness, mother by

this was the year of firsts.

first wedding anniversary.

followed shortly by first anniversary of my mother’s passing.

[all of which preceded by the first anniversary of my grandfather's passing and my mother's first un-celebrated birthday... the ides of march from posts before... and the first motherless mother's day].

for our first wedding anniversary and the honeymoon we were unable to take, we took a nice two weeks to visit seattle and british columbia and take  an alaskan cruise.  it was a trip we desperately needed, especially to decompress from all the previous job put me [us] through.  we had a great time reconnecting with each other, with nature, with the universe.  it was amazing and wonderful.

the first anniversary of my mother’s passing did not go as well.  we flew to michigan to look for houses on the anniversary.  the obligatory flight delays put us in  town later than i’d hoped, as i wanted to go visit her grave, but it would turn out to be the least of my worries that evening.  at the car rental, we got into our first vehicle and found it smelled of smoke, so we unloaded the bags and got a new one.  as we pulled the bags out of the car at the hotel, i noticed that i didn’t have  my backpack. my backpack containing the last pictures my mom would ever take. the pictures of the silly camo hat i bought her in the hospital, on her last “shopping” trip.  the pics from our recent honeymoon.  the pics from all the days between.  not to mention my ipad.  my mind flashed back to the first car, where the bag was in the backseat. tried calling the car rental company all night, with no answer.

happy passing of my mother to me.

first thing the next morning, the husband and i were up and at the car rental before they were open.  a long discussion revealed the car had been detailed and rented out again the previous night. the detailers “didn’t see the bag” and it was too early to call the renter to find out if it was still in the car.  so i waited.  manager called later to say that more questions to the detailers resulted in nothing and there was no answer from the renter.  i called apple, verizon, etc all in a hopes of tracking my goods, but some quirk kept the theft-retrieval from working.

i was certain there was no hope.  detailers working at a job in detroit where money was scarce were likely to see this as a jackpot. so was the renter if it had made it that far.  i had a modicum of faith, but not much more so i filed a police report and spent days talking with detectives.  and all of the time spent trying to retrieve my goods prevented me from visiting my mother’s grave.

[something i still haven't done, since she passed.  i know.  but before you judge, note that i live 13 hours from there [until next month].  besides, that’s not where she is now.  that’s where her body rests, but not her soul.  i can “visit” her anywhere.]

Beware of the Ides of March

Posted in grief, mother by

20120314-221111.jpg

Today, my mother was born. She would have been 56 this year. 56. The first birthday she didn’t live to see.

And, a year ago today, on my mother’s last birthday, my Grandfather [her father] passed away.

The Ides of March will forever require a warning from now on.

…

I wish I could say more, but maybe that is all there really is to say.

That and I miss them, both, terribly.

Guardian Angels

Posted in mother, travel by

Have you ever had a person show up just when you need them?

A person who offers advice, assistance, or support in ways that you knew [or didn't know] you needed.

One of those people crossed my path today.

All day, I had not eaten. All I had was a small cup of coffee. My husband lectured me about how I needed to eat [as if I didn't know that, especially at 2pm].

I kept driving and driving, but not finding anywhere to eat on my trek from Boston to VT. Finally, I find this small sign indicating an exit had food. I didn’t even know what state I was in.

I drove and drove, but couldn’t find anything to eat. I started to think I chose the wrong exit. But then, there were my two choices. The Everyday Cafe and the Covered Bridge Restaurant. I went with the Everyday Cafe because it told me I was in Contoocook, NH.

I walked in behind an older gentleman in a bright green shirt. As I approached the counter he asked if I was Irish. I didn’t quite hear him, so I asked him to repeat himself. I told him I was. He said he wasn’t but that’s why he wore the shirt he was in [I "read" it but did not comprehend it at the time].

I went about ordering and eating my lunch, but something compelled me to talk to him. He told me of marrying his wife, of driving off in his hot sports car [something in the "Model-Somethingorother" Variety] to their honeymoon, about his children, and his daughter coming home when his wife got ill [and passed away, something he didn't say, but I gathered].

All of which struck a chord.

But, not as much as:

“The day is a as good as you let it be.”

“I loved coming to work every day. You should love your work, every day.”

It was as if he has been in my head, or privy to my life and conversations, over the past week. No, since June. Was he there with me on Friday?

No, but the Universe was.

It was another, innocent, perspective.

And I was not so ignorant to miss the OBVIOUS. Thanks Universe.

Plus, he ended it with, “I have just one last thing to say to you before I go. Has anyone told you today how beautiful you are?”

Me, “No.”

Him, “Do you work with blind people?”

Seriously.

Don’t think that the Universe is not always at work.

another year’s gone, here comes a new one…

Posted in grief, happiness, life, marriage, mother, present by

 last year was a fiasco
a real disaster
so full of sorrow
[--Loudon Wainwright III]

but not completely sorrow-filled.

it was the first full year in our new house.

though it was not a surprise, brian asked me to marry him.  i accepted.  i mean, who turns down the offer to spend the rest his or her life with a person who is a completely perfect mate?   i called my mother on the ride home, to announce the news to my mother and she said “congratulations… i think that’s what you’re supposed to say.  i am not really versed in these sort of things.  are you happy?”  that is my family, quintessentially.  [and the answer was and is, yes.  very.]  i got to speak a little about it with my grandfather, though our phone conversation was strained by his failing health.  he said he was happy for me and how much he thought of brian.  he said he hoped to make it there.   [it was planned to take place three months post-engagement to try and allow him and my mother to attend].

he did not.  he passed away in march, on my mother’s birthday, finally succumbing to the lymphoma that ravaged his body.  we said goodbye to him in the small michigan town that he grew up in.  finally, coming home to his family.  the service would have had him rolling over in his grave, had he been buried yet.  with a pastor who opened by calling all his siblings deceased, though some remain living and were in attendance at the very service and despite the funeral director correcting that error to the crowd in front of the pastor.  the pastor then went on to misquote life details and repeat how “great” he was so often anyone drinking to the word would have passed out.  my uncle [his son] had to step up and interrupt the guy, taking over the botched eulogy.  in some ways, before that point, it was so bad it was humorous.  but my grandfather did not have a sense of humor, so maybe the universe was trying one last effort to help him let go.

there was another, more private, loss.

i planned a wedding in michigan and visits with my mother through her treatments from virginia.  i tried my best to keep my cool, but often lost it [though, considering all of that, i did reasonably well].

my horse got sick.  suffering form unknown soreness/lameness that at one point was thought to be neurologic [and still not ruled out].  i have and continue to treat her and hope to get her back to riding shape, but it remains to be seen how it will all play out.

i got married to the man of my dreams in a ceremony that was just perfect.  and my mother attended.  we did not take a honeymoon for financial reasons, but found that to be a blessing as it allowed me to be there as my mother passed away in the days that followed my wedding.

i watched my mother pass away.  heard her pleas.  tried my best to support and love her through it all.  tried to stop the clock because she wasn’t ready.  believed it wasn’t so close.  and realized it was.

i buried my mother.  my only parent.  and found that even when you know it is possible, if not probable, there is no way to prepare for such a loss. and it is not something you get over, you try your best to move through it, though it is never far away.

i cleaned out my childhood home.  removing all the pieces of the life i knew.  though it was not the life i lead now nor the life i wanted, amazingly it was a tremendous part of me that i cherished in ways i never understood.  and maybe still, am yet to understand.

i supported my husband with his mother’s health situation.  from thoughts of meningitis to confirmation of infections and heart disease.  to the culmination of in his mother’s open-heart surgery in reno, with very tenuous results.  in addition to the surgery turmoil,  it was the first time back in a hospital to visit an intensely ill person since all that happened with my mother.  and saw a man pass away in his room down the hall.  traumatic to say the least.  ultimately, she pulled through and has since made almost a full recovery.

i got a new boss [two, actually] at work.  got ‘replaced’ but not replaced. found [and still find myself] in an unbearable situation.  trapped in a ‘hostile’ and delusional work environment.  hating every day requiring my presence at the office.  working hard to get out.

i found out my husband would not be allowed to stay in the area and would have his next tour somewhere else in the country [or japan].  freaked out at the implications to my career and had to turn down two job offers [my lifeboats out of my current, unbearable workplace] because of the new direction.   made peace with the change of direction and began to see it for the possibilities it offered, while remaining scared of the uncertainties.

i lost myself. in all of it, i was living but not quite alive.  not quite accessible.  and i could not see it until i caused almost irreparable damage.  but i do now.  the light is back on and it is as if i can reach myself again.  something i have been unable to do for sometime. though i did not know it.  it is as if i am actually living again.  or actually trying to.  without the experience, i am sure it is hard for someone else to understand what i mean, but it is what it is.  i am so grateful for this awakening.

so as i try to put a moniker on 2011, i find myself at a loss.  it was full of many different, major life changes.  and it is hard to paint one of them as more important than all others.  because one was not, each was its own entity, with its owns celebrations or trials and tribulations.  i guess it could be best summed up as a year of extremes.

what is in store for 2012 [besides the end of the mayan calendar]?

the last christmas gift from my mother

Posted in grief, mother by

i was cleaning out my mother’s closet after she passed and i found an unopened christmas gift addressed to me.   a present that bought and wrapped years ago.  i recalled the wrapping paper from years ago, but couldn’t place the date.

when i saw it, my first instinct was to open it.  to unwrap the mystery present, long forgotten, to see what my mother had chosen for me.  to see the last gift she would ever give me.   but then i decided it was best saved for christmas.  when it was originally intended to be opened.

in an effort to clean some things up before visitors came, i put the present [along with a bunch of my mother's other things] into a closet in the guest room.  i told myself i would remember it was there.  only i didn’t.  christmas came and went and though i did receive one other present from beyond the grave [two dollar bills from my grandfather, via my uncle].  it was not until last night that i remembered my mother’s present to me.

only, i did not remember it from grand epiphany.  no, i was reminded of it when my mother’s things, which had been stacked peacefully for a month or two, came crashing down.

my aunt [her sister] is staying in that room and was getting ready for dinner in the en-suite bathroom.  brian and i were downstairs waiting.  suddenly there was this tremendously loud crash.  i called for my aunt, but she did not reply.  i thought something happened to her, like a dresser falling and crushing her.

i rushed up to see what happened and found her fine, but with the three plastic boxes i stacked in the closet all over.  as i went to pick up the boxes.  there it was.  my mother’s christmas present to me.

–

believer or not in this sort of thing, but i believe it was her there who did that.  who knocked down the boxes.  not sure if it was for me to find the present or for her to make her presence known, but either way it was her way of reaching out.

[or maybe that's something of my own imagination].

–

i took the present into my room and opened it.

pastels.

while i wasn’t sure what to expect and i didn’t have high expectations, as i reflect on it, the pastels were fitting.

my mother loved to paint.  she was an incredible artist.  she drew and painted throughout her life.  most of it, i remember from childhood, but the cases of paint and the artwork i found [even on manila folders] showed she never completely stopped.  she even helped me with some crafts the days before my wedding.

i, unfortunately, was never gifted with her talent.  even though i took art classes, i never had the ability she possessed naturally.  however, since her death i have felt compelled to paint, to create.  i have day dreamed of it.  it has come into my dreams at night.  it has hovered over me, which is quite unusual.

so maybe this gift of pastels will be the inspiration.

–

it’s hard to think that this is the last gift she will give me.  physically, anyway.   that this christmas she was not here.  that i will never celebrate another christmas, another birthday, another holiday of any kind with her.  that my last opportunity was wrapped up in that present.  that she is just gone.

it’s hard to believe, even when you know that is the course of life.  it’s just hard to have it happen so soon.

firsts… lasts

Posted in grief, life, mother, present by

a year ago today.

driving home from work my mother wished me happy birthday.  it was a day early, but she didn’t want to miss it.  she wasn’t feeling well, but wanted to make sure she wished me happy birthday.  she promised to still give me a gift, though she wasn’t able to at the time.  i was appreciative of it all, but i was unconcerned.  she had been sick for a month or two.  lots of pain in her back.  difficulty breathing.  just struggling.  i just wanted to hear from her.

she never did give me that gift.  [it *really* doesn't matter].

—

year later, no word.  no wishes.  nothing.  she’s gone.

—

it’s my first year.  my first birthday alone. not yet thirty and no call from my mother.  no card.  nothing.  never more.  never will be.  my first birthday without my mother.

–

also, my first birthday married.  first birthday with a husband.  first birthday where he plans it.

—

it’s the season of firsts.  this is one of many more to come.  i wish i knew better how i felt.

–

all, in all, the last year of my twenties.  between this and that which came before, it’s heavy.  not sure how to feel.  guess time will tell.

 

cards

Posted in grief, mother by

as i went through the house and all the things, i came across many un-sent or unused cards.  cards i can remember buying and/or writing with a purpose to tell the person i loved and cared for them, but that for one reason or another went un-sent.

most of those were for my mother or my grandfather.

two people lost to me now.

my grandfather always sent cards.  for even the most mundane holiday, he sent a card.  and his cards were always elaborate displays of affection.  you know those cards that have two page long sappy words of love or wisdom.  those were the types he sent.  apparently, in the later years i learned, those were the types he liked to receive.

as i got older i tried to keep up the pace and the un-sent cards i had for him scattered through my belongings were somewhat a tribute to that.  same as ones for my mother.

as i was shopping the other day, i noticed the halloween cards.  while never a particularly sentimental day, it struck me how i would never send them another card.  write them another sentiment.  never buy a card and forget to send it, as i had with so many others.

but i started to browse through them anyway.  first looking for a sentimental card, with effusive prose about love or something akin to that for my grandfather.  it being halloween, it was a bit more difficult, but i found something short but sweet [as sweet as halloween cards get].

for my mother i picked out a pug in a costume [she loved animals and we had a peke, close enough], with a message just for her.

a card i couldn’t forget to send.  a message, hopefully received.

lost and found

Posted in grief, happiness, mother, things i got from my mother by

[lost]
in the days leading up to my mother’s passing, she wanted nothing more than to go home.  to get her things in order.  she wanted to find the incan stamp she found while on a family vacation, back in the days you could still take archaeological artifacts from the sites.  she mentioned it before, before her passing was so imminent, but i never saw the stamp.  the day after passing, i went through her things in search of this stamp.  and i quickly found it.

it was nothing i imagined.  it was small.  it was shaped like a stamp pencil topper i had in my youth [a circle that necked down to a pencil topper].  it was grey.  it was stone or some other material.

it was perfect.

i put it with things of hers i wanted immediately.

but now, that her things are out of her house and in mine, i cannot find it.  i’m holding out hope that it is here.  that i have yet to find it.  that since i have yet to go through all things, that it will appear.  but in the back of my mind i’m afraid it is gone.  like her.  that the one, most prized possession she had, i lost.  even writing this makes it too real.

–

[found]

getting ready in the mirror, hair pulled back in a towel post shower, i am applying make-up.  unexpectedly examining my reflection in the mirror.

and there it is.

your nose.  or “the [family surname]‘ nose as i have dubbed it.

the nose, i’ve hated.  with its flat bottom, it’s all too steep slope.  the way if photographed incorrectly, makes me look like a pig.

your nose.

instead, today, as if seeing it for the first time.  i treasure it.  you, staring at me, in the mirror.  as if you’re always here.  as if you never left.

[sorry, mom, for posting a crappy phone camera version of this photo, when i think there is a non-damaged version upstairs in the box of photos...]

living, the affront to death

Posted in grief, mother by

living, all of it, seems it’s an affront to my mother’s death.  someone lives.  someone survives.  it begs the question why.  why did they live?  why did she die?  why?

it seems like each breath. each moment of happiness.  each and every single thing is a moment that seems such a contrast to my mother’s death.  she is gone.  but others continue on. it kills me.

closing the door…

Posted in grief, life, mother by

 

 

we cleaned out my mother’s house this weekend.  the final big push.  i had been there before organizing, packing, purging, saving, preparing.  nothing really prepares you though.  how do you prepare to empty a house?  a life.  my childhood.  her adulthood.  how do you prepare to reduce it all to: 1) keep, 2) donate, 3) trash? how could she be gone?

i started in the basement, sorting through the last remaining areas requiring review.  there were so many things.  new things.  things to be done.  things to be used.  things that were her life.  paint to be applied in the kitchen.  light fixtures to be changed outside.  towel racks and curtain fixtures to be hung. rooms to be remodeled.  all left unused, not done.

then there were the other unused items.  tools.  kitchen utensils.  small appliances/gadgets.  other supplies.  more than i ever noticed.  more than i imagined.  in some way it was as if she was buying them for me.  leaving them behind, unused for us to start our life together.  the ultimate wedding gift?

i would rather have her just a little longer.

so we packed.  we donated.  we trashed.  a [big] dumpster full.  until we were done.  until the house was empty.  and we closed the door.

**

my room was finally cleaned and cleared out like she always asked me to do when i came home.

**

now we are left with a decision about whether to make no changes and sell the house as distressed or to do some remodeling before selling.

decisions for which i am unprepared.  i am still wondering how could i have left her there alone?  to live with so little.  to live with so much.  emptiness. loneliness.  a life with more than she knew and less than she needed.