A couple of days ago, January 18th, marked four years since my mother passed on to the nether-land. FOUR YEARS! It’s really like I blinked and four years fluttered past w/out my barely knowing it. These days I can barely remember where I set my keys. (They’re supposed be attached to the front of my purse, but ALAS, I manage to find all sorts of OTHER crazy places they work well, yet later I manage to forget, upon whence I automatically go to the supposed-to-be-here-clipped-to-the-front-of-my-purse location, where more oft than naught I throw my fist in the air, curse all that is holy when it comes to Saint Andrew or Saint Peter or whatever Saint it is that is supposed to be helping me find such lost items, while I rip my house or office or said location apart at that time, in search of my blasted keys) and yet, I suddenly remember my mother’s passing as if it were this morning. Vivid details. And of course, so many lovely, and some not-so-lovely memories, of my mom, come flooding back to me. Suddenly I find myself feeling melancholy and a little more empty. I am not sure if it is the same for everyone. This obviously has to do with how close to the parents we all are, or are not. For me, it is sad. I can’t say that out of all my siblings (like I have so many – NOT), I was the closest to my parents. Really, I think that has always been my sister. But I do feel I have always been close to them in my own way. Sometimes in ways that I wish we had NOT been so close. Like the time they called my boyfriend, unbeknownst to me, to ask him what he was doing with ME and my life. That was a little too close for my taste.
I really felt more of an adult closeness to my parents, and especially my mom, just over the last several years before she passed on. She was only 65. As I stare abysmally at the calendar creeping ever-closer to the magic 50 mark for me (50!?!?!?! How did THAT happen!?) 65 does not seem so old anymore to me. She is missed in so many ways, and was gone way too early.
For one, I REALLY REALLY miss dropping in at my parent’s house on my drive home after work, to say hello, have a glass of wine, and chat about whatever events are happening at the time. There were many days and many bottles gone by, when I vented over the pending outcome of my divorce, over all the frustration and annoyances, grief and guilt, happiness, sadness, relief, worry, and the many other emotions of that time. A glass of wine always made it better. Once when I stopped by for the usual fare of vino and conversation, I happened upon my parents having a blood-pressure-check party. Well, it wasn’t really a party, per se, until I showed up, of course. But they were having a glass of wine whilst checking my mother’s blood pressure, because she was having issues with higher-than-her-normal-high readings, and was all worried. My dad and I decided to jump in and take ours as well and MAKE it a party. WooHoo. I suddenly realized I was old.
In the end, I won the dangerously high, might stroke out at any moment Prize for high blood pressure of the day, probably more like the month, and this ensued with calls to my doctor’s on-call nurse, my brother-in-law who was a paramedic at the time, and eventually doctor’s office visits, where yes indeedy, I had an issue of high blood pressure as well, and being that it was most likely inherited (Thanks Mom! You owed me many bottles of wine for that one) I am now on medication, probably for life. Didn’t correct my high blood pressure, but the wine softened the blow and made it more interesting, to say the least.
Losing parents is difficult. We know it will happen. We just do our best to avoid the thought of when it might happen and suddenly, four years have passed since a burial, and we are left wondering where did that time go. Life has changed so much, in so many ways, since her passing. My dad re-married unexpectedly quickly. Or at least, quickly for our family – his kids and grandkids. He packed up and cleared out all of her belongings much faster than we were prepared to do. He sold the house that was to be their retirement home. (He retired and she passed suddenly a few months after his retirement). Suddenly he was traveling and enjoying life with his new wife and at times we don’t see him as much as we used to. Yet, good things have happened also. He spends much more time with his grandkids than when my mom was alive, oddly enough. That has been an awesome blessing. And I must say, it’s nice to see him happy again, traveling and enjoying his retirement the way it should be.
Mostly, I miss all the silly things about my mom that made her unique. Some of those things:
~ I miss the smell of their home. I know that sounds weird. Because honestly, I swear I don’t think my kids will ever say to me, “Mom, I always loved the smell of your home.” I am a domestic cleaning goddess (or freak, depending on my mood of the day). Currently it seems my house is always smelling of cleaning solutions, sometimes food being cooked, sometimes cat pee or some other disgusting form of smell cats can leave (though it’s just in one area of my house, it drives me nuts & I am counting the days until these old cats go on to the nether-land as well, truth be told); sometimes it smells like fresh, clean sheets. Sometimes it smells like any number of delicious scents that Bath & Body Works puts out (my secret heroin), and most recently, the addition of a more explicit smell of freshly smoked POT wafts through the house, thanks in part to the newly passed law in the state of CA making pot LEGAL, and thanks to my lovely new neighbors that I think are GROWING the stuff by the fields in their home. Some days I wonder how we are all not HIGH off their fumes. A glass of wine would be handy at these times, I must admit. My grandparents always had a comforting smell to their homes that always welcomed me as a kid. My father’s parents’ home smelled of cedar, fresh timber, old Swedish furniture and antiques, and bonfires. My mother’s parents’ home usually smelled like a fresh burning fireplace, fresh-cut grass, and southern home-cooked meals. And sometimes like a dark damp basement, but it was a smell I liked. And just the same, my parents always had a smell about their home that made me feel good, and it was comfortable. I can’t really describe that smell. It was just a SMELL. It was clean and fresh and somehow inviting. It always screamed to me as I walked in at any given notice Entering Parent’s House! You’re HOME! Welcome! Sit Down and Have a Glass of Wine! We’ve Missed You!
~ I miss my mom’s taste in music (mostly). She always had some sort of smooth-jazz, new-agey music playing over the speakers when I breezed in. I do have to say, that has carried over into me BIG TIME. My kids will most definitely, someday, talk about the crazy music I tortured them with listening to over the years. The music has evolved into Soundscape music, classical music, and even soundtrack music, ranging anything sounding like Kenny G, to Jazz Artists of any sort, to Flamenco Guitar, to Piano Music, to the sound score from the movie “Inception”, or the strange and lovely music from the Pure Moods soundtracks of the ‘90’s, just to name a few. My offspring already make comments. I was watching a movie just recently over the holiday break, and the music soundtrack was all too familiar to my 22 yr old first born. She has made fun of one particular song much over the years, calling it the Hot Pocket Song. (Apparently the melodious verses sounded like they were singing “Hot Pocket” to my two girls at a very young age, which upon they would giggle, and this has carried into their young adulthood). Hot Pocket Song was wafting through the house, the theme song to the movie I had always wanted to see, and finally took time to actually watch. She emerged from her room and came down the stairs with wide eyes, exclaiming “NOOOO WAAAAAY!!! I’m Dying!!!! How on earth did you find this in a movie, for God’s sake!?!?!” We both laughed hysterically as she rolled her eyes and walked back upstairs to her lair.
~ I miss our family gatherings of the particular foods my mom would cook for the family. My mom was not big into cooking. No, that position was held by my kid’s father’s mother. That’s another discussion for another day, the topic of an Italian Grandmother and her cooking. No, my mom rather liked to make quick healthy meals that took no effort, or she went out to dinner. So when family gatherings occurred which required a meal to be involved, it was a big deal to her, a lot of time and effort, and she liked to have foods that my kids loved. Those dishes have become staples in our family holiday gatherings. Her creamy mashed potatoes are to-die-for. No one makes them like she did, though I know a few of her friends have the same recipe (as do we). She also made this delicious broccoli/cheese casserole thingy that my 2nd Born craves, like a an addict craves crack. She always always always asks someone to make it for whatever family holiday dinners, and if she doesn’t mention it and we actually still produce it on the table, she goes NUTS and then proceeds to hog the entire dish to herself. Interestingly enough, when my mother passed on, and we inherited my mom’s shit-pile of organized recipes, this one recipe was NO WHERE to be found. It was a sad state of affairs in our home that Thanksgiving when we could not produce the broccoli/cheese casserole thingy for the menu. I tore through all of the recipes. I believe my sister tore thru her own inherited shit-pile of recipes also (our mom had several recipe boxes in which she stuffed, and I mean STUFFED, years of clipped and collected recipes, into these two very small boxes). It was nowhere. I even scoured the internet to try to find it, having a fairly good idea of most of the ingredients. Couldn’t find it. We tearfully said a sad, mental good-bye to that recipe and thought it was gone for good. Then last year, I was going through a very old cookbook that was my grandmother’s, and low and behold: the recipe of the magical broccoli/cheese casserole thingy slipped out onto the floor. It had been between two pages and had never been noticed. We were ecstatic, and once again it became part of our family/holiday gatherings menu.
~ I miss how my mom could be so quiet, yet so observant, with words of wisdom spilling from her mouth at surprising moments. She was never one to ever have a mean thing to say about anyone, EVER. Even when she was dealing with the worst neighbor in the universe, she still always tried to show mercy and kindness and tried hard to not have a nasty thing to say about the crazy lady next door. Mostly she was just quiet. And then once in a while she would have these stories, or these wisdoms, that she would randomly throw out during discussions, from her own life and her own experiences, and I would come away with much thought on what she had had to say. This mostly happened as I was older. And I always wanted to know more. I found out things about my mom I had NEVER know in all my years, just in those last few years she was alive. She gave me surprising insight to her childhood and to who this quiet woman was, that I never knew existed. It is something I wish I could have more of today.
~ I miss how impeccably dressed my mother always was. She never left the house unkempt. NEVER. EVER. Never would anyone have ever seen her hopping into the car in her jammies and slippers to head to Walmart on a Thursday night to grab whatever she desperately needed at that time. Oh NO. Never did she just throw some sweats on, slab on a dash of lipstick, and call it a day. Heck NO. My mom was always well put together from head to toe: clothes perfect, makeup like a cover girl, jewelry on, looking amazing as always. And she smelled good, always. No hard day’s labor of sweat and B.O. on that woman, not a once. I don’t know how she did it. I am NOT my mother’s daughter, in this arena. I’m not one to go to Walmart in my slippers and jammies, but at the same time, I’m perfectly happy in sweats and swab of lipstick, headed out into the public to do whatever errands need to be done on a given day.
~ I miss shopping with my mom.
WHOA.
Hang On.
If you know me, you also KNOW that statement can’t possibly be true. I HATE shopping. Not just hate, but H8, HATE, Haaaaaaate shopping. With a passion. I dread the malls. Hate to grocery shop (it is so unfortunate that people in my house have to actually eat to survive), just don’t like doing any of it. That’s something to dwell on another day. But when I was a kid, my mom used to draaaaaaaaag me to the mall with her, or to Target (I think it was called “Air-Way” at that time) or to Kmart, or whever other place she was headed to so spend my dad’s hard earned money on, and she would proceed to find outfits and then draaaaaaag me to the dressing room to try them on. This always followed with about an hour of “So which one do you thinks looks better?” and she would go back and forth FOREVERRRRRR as to which outfit was best. And usually when I picked one, nine out of ten times she emerged with the OTHER one to ultimately purchase and ruin my day. That used to annoy the hell out of me. I began to loathe the shopping outings. But as an adult, we never really did much of this. And now that she is gone, I miss just the opportunity to have another moment to loathe shopping with her. I would truly give anything for one more crappy shopping moment with my mom.
For all of you who still have your mom, and or still have a parent, hug them. Tell them how much you love them, and or how much you hate shopping with them, but still love them. Because we definitely don’t say it enough to our loved ones, but for most of us our parents are special and getting older and they need to hear it. It’s weird that one day you are joking on the phone with them and another day they are gone.
I hear a glass of wine calling my name. Maybe my 22 yr old will sit and have a glass with me and reflect on her grandma, and how much I hate shopping.
Lemme Just Say... 