It's Time

You'd want me to be stronger by now. But even after 5 years, the pain is still so strong. But it's time though. I promise you I will be stronger from this point forward. I love you and miss you every day.

4 Years

White coral bells upon a slender stalk,

Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk.

Oh, don’t you wish that you could hear them ring?

That will happen only when the fairies sing.

We sang in round, my sister, my aunt and cousins together in that hospital room. Though she lay there so still, the ventilator having been removed, I'm certain she could hear us. It was as though we were singing her home; letting her know it was okay to go. And so she did.

I miss you Ma. Today and every day.

Goodbye Diana (Could you send my love to Ma?)

This week the mother of a dear old friend of mine passed away after nearly 5 years of fighting leukemia.

She is at a place I remember all too well. The beginning of a journey no one wants to take. The beginning of the road of discovering who you are, alone – without your mother. Perhaps losing a parent is when we truly grow up. Or, really, when we’re forced to grow up.

Some days I still can’t figure out how I’m going to get through it all without her. The fact that I can’t pick up the phone to share an observation, a joy, a sorrow, a dilemma, a milestone… it makes me feel… – Shit! I don’t know what it makes me feel like. I can’t find the right word. But, dammit, she’d be able to help me define this feeling! She’d help me talk it out and pull myself through. So, FUCK! Even more than 3 ½ years later I’m still floundering. Maybe not all the time, but, just… dammit. Just when I think I’ve got my shit together I feel myself falling off the edge again. Some days I shatter and can’t put the pieces back together, I can’t pull myself back and my throat tightens and… I find myself in a knot again. Poor, poor me. Like I’m the only one who ever lost their mother. This just sucks.


I wish Jenny didn’t have to start her journey now. Ever. Maybe she’ll get through it better than I have done so far… Maybe I can learn a lesson or two...

These Are My Mountains

I haven't been "home" for two years. The last time was for my brother's wedding. The time before that was for my mother's memorial in August of 2005.

The Adirondacks will always be home to me but really without my mother there it will never be the same.

Every time she came home after some time away, she would belt out "These are my mountains!" I sang it too, but it was always her song.

These were her mountains. These are her mountains.

I need to go home.

She's With Me Now

Pop brought me a few random things when they came to visit:

A prayer book that belonged to my rather unreligious mother.

A hand tatted lace cloth.

Files of my educational experiences.

My mother's ashes.

I'll put the book by my bed. Though I'm not very religious either I find it somewhat comforting.

I wish I could ask Ma about the cloth. It's simple and beautiful, just like she was.

I'm finding it very interesting to read what my teachers said about me in every class since Nursery School. I can't believe she kept all this. Ok, yes I can. Thank you Ma. I promise to do this for the boys too.

I put her ashes in the liquor cabinet next to the bourbon she left last time she was here. I think she'd be happy there.

I know I'm happy she's here.

Resentment

When she died, I knew my step father would be lost. He was. He barely knew how to run the washing machine let alone how to pay the bills. She took care of everything for him and suddenly he was alone. At 66 he had to learn how to cook and clean and all the other things she did.

Thankfully, my sister lives about 20 minutes away and she took up where Ma left off on a lot of things. He came to dinner. Often. He heartily drank whatever booze was at K's house in an attempt to drown his pain and emptiness. We all did that. My sister nursed him back to stability. She and her husband and children filled that void.

Beacause I live nearly 6 hours away all I could do was be an ear on the other end of the phone. He'd call me after he got home from K's all spicy and warm from the night's libation. He cried about how he missed my mother. How lost he felt. I cried too. I can't imagine his pain; so different from mine. But equally disabling.

It didn't take long for his phone to start ringing. He's always been a bit of a flirt - even when Ma was alive. How she tollerated it I'll never know. So now, under veiled excuses of offering sympathy, the divorcees and widows came to call. He bit - hook, line and sinker. He's one of that generation that can't stand to be alone. He went to dinner parties and other social gatherings; trying to find his way alone in this new world. He had his pick of beautiful, charming, interesting and often weathly women.

He chose to be with someone not even 10 years older than me. Her "issues" run deep. There's the needy son out west somewhere who she's constantly going to bail out of some mess; The Ex who she somehow can't let go. The sketchy skiing trips with the "friend".

My stepfather really doesn't have much to say about her but when he does he doesn't have much nice to say. "She's troubled" and "She has some things to work out". He spends all his money on her and then whines to me that he's broke. They actually got "engaged" last summer. He bought her a very expensive ring. They have since called it off - broke up and are now back together.

I still haven't met her.

And really, I don't want to. The day my sister met her the first thing she said was, "I'm sure you're wondering how old I am". Um. Yeah. No. My Aunt asked me if I was interested in meeting "her". I said no. Not especially. I'm kind of hoping she dries up and goes away. Aunt G, in her wonderfully sarcastic tone agreed and said, "Yes. She seems utterly uninteresting." Indeed.

Deep down, I want him to be happy. I do. Really. I just hate the fact that this woman is sleeping in my mother's bed and taking advantage of his generosity. It would be one thing if she was "good" for him (will anyone be good enough for him? No one can replace my mother). But I think she's a cancer that's slowly eating him alive. This is not a healthy relationship for him.

I'm tired of his empty promises to come visit. Every time I talk to him now he says he's planning a trip to see us. It's been 18 months since we've seen eachother. I sent him a picture of the boys for his birthday and he was astounded how big they've gotten. Hmm. Imagine that. These kids. They actually grow!

Even though he is "only" my step-father, he's been so much more than that in my life. I'm blessed that our relationship has been so strong and close. But now it seems hollow. I miss him.

The Origins of The Green Rug and Other Unanswerable Questions

Why didn't I have the forsight to ask her when I had the chance?

I'm sure it's been around for a long time. Its simple green and gold design is reminiscent of an earlier era. I can't remember where it was before she helped me move it to my bedroom in 1973. It lay on my floor until the summer of my freshman year in college when we rolled it up and packed it in to my car and I drove it to my first apartment. I moved that rug 9 times before I rolled it up in 2001 and stored it in the basement of my current home.

Last night I rolled it out again in the spare room we have been renovating for a few weeks now. I think she'd be happy to know that it's been given a new home; that everytime I look at it I think of her; that every time I think of her I smile. One day, I will pass this rug on. Hopefully one of my sons will love it as much as I do.

I just wish I knew it's history. I love having family artifacts: Grandpa McAllen's "Griffin" table. Granny Hun's wine goblets. Gaga's trunk. These things come alive when I think of who touched them and where they have been.

Thankfully my mother documented quite a few of the things that were passed down. And as much as I do know about these objects, there are so many questions I wish I could ask her now.

I can hear her. It's faint, but I can hear her.

"Hooray! Hooray! The first of May..."

God how I miss her still...