I expected that this year, the anniversary of the day my mom passed would be a little easier. Because I have been writing and you have been reading, my January has been easier. You have been holding my hand and I have felt comforted. But the night before the day, I started to feel anxious. And on the day, yesterday, I just felt very blue, sort of low to the ground and hunched over. Although I am sure to everyone else I looked fine.
I did end up putting pictures of my mom out. There is a painting I have that my dad painted of her when he was in college at The School of Visual Arts. It is faded and old and I love it. It hangs in my dining room above our record player. I lit a candle and put pictures of her all over the record player beneath her portrait.
We had a bouquet of flowers on the table and I put those there for her too. I felt sad as I did it. I did it without ceremony, without fanfare. On my way from the shower to go get dressed, wet hair, in my bathrobe, just stopped along the way. Didn't talk about it or mention it to anyone. I thought maybe when our friends came over for dinner they might look at them, but no-one did.
Joseph was extra sweet with me, burying his face in my neck a number times during the day and hugging me a lot. He took Desmond out to play in the snow so I could bake a pie. I think reading these pages has made it clearer for him what the day means to me.
He left the lap top in the kitchen with a music website up, playing songs. I had asked him to put in Cat Stevens's name. After he and Desmond had gone outside, I sat down in front of the lap top for a minute. I wanted to listen to music my mother loved, that makes me think of her. I typed in Phoebe Snow. As soon as the first song started, before she had even begun to sing, I started to cry. I don't think I could ever hear Phoebe Snow and not think of my mom. She loved her. And Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, Tuck and Patti, that was her kind of music. She would listen to music, records! or tapes, while she cooked in the kitchen. Her kitchen that she had painted pink. She would dance around and sing. And because I thought I was supposed to, especially if my sister was around, we'd make fun of her dancing. Not because she wasn't a good dancer. She went to dancing school, the School of Performing Arts High School. Remember the T.V. show, Fame? That was the high school she went to. I would give my right arm to be able to dance with my mother now. Literally. I would not hesitate. It would be a bargain.
So I cried for a minute and then got back to making my pie, with Phoebe singing. I heard a loud bang at the back door and it startled me. It was only one of the boys outside, banging a shovel or a sled.
At 4:44, for the third time since I started this blog, the alarm clock in Desmond's room went off. The lap top music had stopped. I heard music upstairs. The other time I heard the alarm go off, it was the loud beeping and it would not stop. I went upstairs to turn it off. The second time, Joseph was the one who heard it and turned it off. This time, I heard the radio. It was between stations, there was a little music, a little talking, a little static. I went upstairs and into Desmond's room. This time it felt eerie. Something about the staticy radio felt different than the beeping. I could barely make out the song Do The Hustle. Do the hustle? Was this some sort of message? I could not imagine what it would mean. I turned the radio to the closest station that came in and listened to a couple of songs. The first was a song I didn't know but it was a sad sort of love song and I stood there and cried again for a minute. Then I packed up the tent that was out in Desmond's room, putting it back in it's bag and under his crib.
Her ashes are right next to the alarm clock in his room. I turned off the clock and made sure the alarm was off again. I brought her ashes downstairs and put them beside her pictures on the record player.
I called my sister yesterday. We didn't mention what day it was. I just said hello and that I love her. Not much to say. What we didn't say was, "Remember when mom died? Yeah, that sucked." There's no reason to say it.
I sent an email to my mom's family. Her two brothers, her sister and her dad. I have never done that before. I had been thinking that what felt hard about the day was the lack of something to do. The lack of connection with the other people who were there or the people still here that miss her. Ideally I thought it would be nice to have everyone together for a big dinner. All at a big table. Or milling around a living room with paper plates of food like when we sat shiva, talking, laughing, remembering her. But we don't talk about her. The people from my "old life" don't talk about her. The people in my "new life" never knew her. It felt good to reach out in that small way. I just wrote that I was thinking of them all and that it was a sad day. I heard back from her two brothers, my uncles with nice emails.
Maureen and Howie called and I spoke with them. The two of them on the line, talking to me about that time and how hard it was for me and encouraging me to keep writing. So glad that someone calls me.
Some friends came for dinner and Joseph made pizzas and we all ate a lot. We had apple pie and ice cream. My girl friends did ask about the day and how I had been doing. I was relieved they asked. It is a funny thing. I don't know if people know what to say or when to say anything. I have friends who have left comments on this blog but when I see them in person, they don't mention it. It's okay. It is what it is. I don't know how to bring it up either. I feel better talking about it though. I think that is part of this writing that is helpful. It is a way of "bringing it up".
My friend Kelli who was here said she had noticed a heads up coin on her front stoop and that she had been stepping over it for days, thinking of me and my mom every time she saw it. She decided she would bring it over and give it to me but could not find it in the snow. I told her the thought was as good as the actually coin. I am glad she told me. To me it sort of felt like my mom saying hello to Kelli or maybe letting me know she likes Kelli. Or maybe it was just a heads up coin on Kelli's stoop.
When my mom died, everyone went back to their lives and no-one talked about her. I think people were afraid to mention her to me, maybe they thought it would upset me. But I desperately wanted people to ask me how I was with it all, to talk to me about what happened or about her. Instead I followed everyone else's lead and didn't mention her either.
Eventually, years down the road, if someone brought her up, it was too painful to talk about. My eyes would immediately get hot and I would feel tears welling up, the me in my head running around flipping all the switches on the mother-board, shutting down the water supply so that I didn't embarrass whoever I was talking to. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
It has been strange to move away from where I grew up. Where people knew her. No-one here knew her. Sometimes I feel as though I made her up.
When we got to the gym, I went around to get Desmond out of the car and right at his car door on the ground was a shiny heads up penny.
I did end up putting pictures of my mom out. There is a painting I have that my dad painted of her when he was in college at The School of Visual Arts. It is faded and old and I love it. It hangs in my dining room above our record player. I lit a candle and put pictures of her all over the record player beneath her portrait.
We had a bouquet of flowers on the table and I put those there for her too. I felt sad as I did it. I did it without ceremony, without fanfare. On my way from the shower to go get dressed, wet hair, in my bathrobe, just stopped along the way. Didn't talk about it or mention it to anyone. I thought maybe when our friends came over for dinner they might look at them, but no-one did.
Joseph was extra sweet with me, burying his face in my neck a number times during the day and hugging me a lot. He took Desmond out to play in the snow so I could bake a pie. I think reading these pages has made it clearer for him what the day means to me.
He left the lap top in the kitchen with a music website up, playing songs. I had asked him to put in Cat Stevens's name. After he and Desmond had gone outside, I sat down in front of the lap top for a minute. I wanted to listen to music my mother loved, that makes me think of her. I typed in Phoebe Snow. As soon as the first song started, before she had even begun to sing, I started to cry. I don't think I could ever hear Phoebe Snow and not think of my mom. She loved her. And Ray Charles, Willie Nelson, Tuck and Patti, that was her kind of music. She would listen to music, records! or tapes, while she cooked in the kitchen. Her kitchen that she had painted pink. She would dance around and sing. And because I thought I was supposed to, especially if my sister was around, we'd make fun of her dancing. Not because she wasn't a good dancer. She went to dancing school, the School of Performing Arts High School. Remember the T.V. show, Fame? That was the high school she went to. I would give my right arm to be able to dance with my mother now. Literally. I would not hesitate. It would be a bargain.
So I cried for a minute and then got back to making my pie, with Phoebe singing. I heard a loud bang at the back door and it startled me. It was only one of the boys outside, banging a shovel or a sled.
At 4:44, for the third time since I started this blog, the alarm clock in Desmond's room went off. The lap top music had stopped. I heard music upstairs. The other time I heard the alarm go off, it was the loud beeping and it would not stop. I went upstairs to turn it off. The second time, Joseph was the one who heard it and turned it off. This time, I heard the radio. It was between stations, there was a little music, a little talking, a little static. I went upstairs and into Desmond's room. This time it felt eerie. Something about the staticy radio felt different than the beeping. I could barely make out the song Do The Hustle. Do the hustle? Was this some sort of message? I could not imagine what it would mean. I turned the radio to the closest station that came in and listened to a couple of songs. The first was a song I didn't know but it was a sad sort of love song and I stood there and cried again for a minute. Then I packed up the tent that was out in Desmond's room, putting it back in it's bag and under his crib.
Her ashes are right next to the alarm clock in his room. I turned off the clock and made sure the alarm was off again. I brought her ashes downstairs and put them beside her pictures on the record player.
I called my sister yesterday. We didn't mention what day it was. I just said hello and that I love her. Not much to say. What we didn't say was, "Remember when mom died? Yeah, that sucked." There's no reason to say it.
I sent an email to my mom's family. Her two brothers, her sister and her dad. I have never done that before. I had been thinking that what felt hard about the day was the lack of something to do. The lack of connection with the other people who were there or the people still here that miss her. Ideally I thought it would be nice to have everyone together for a big dinner. All at a big table. Or milling around a living room with paper plates of food like when we sat shiva, talking, laughing, remembering her. But we don't talk about her. The people from my "old life" don't talk about her. The people in my "new life" never knew her. It felt good to reach out in that small way. I just wrote that I was thinking of them all and that it was a sad day. I heard back from her two brothers, my uncles with nice emails.
Maureen and Howie called and I spoke with them. The two of them on the line, talking to me about that time and how hard it was for me and encouraging me to keep writing. So glad that someone calls me.
Some friends came for dinner and Joseph made pizzas and we all ate a lot. We had apple pie and ice cream. My girl friends did ask about the day and how I had been doing. I was relieved they asked. It is a funny thing. I don't know if people know what to say or when to say anything. I have friends who have left comments on this blog but when I see them in person, they don't mention it. It's okay. It is what it is. I don't know how to bring it up either. I feel better talking about it though. I think that is part of this writing that is helpful. It is a way of "bringing it up".
My friend Kelli who was here said she had noticed a heads up coin on her front stoop and that she had been stepping over it for days, thinking of me and my mom every time she saw it. She decided she would bring it over and give it to me but could not find it in the snow. I told her the thought was as good as the actually coin. I am glad she told me. To me it sort of felt like my mom saying hello to Kelli or maybe letting me know she likes Kelli. Or maybe it was just a heads up coin on Kelli's stoop.
When my mom died, everyone went back to their lives and no-one talked about her. I think people were afraid to mention her to me, maybe they thought it would upset me. But I desperately wanted people to ask me how I was with it all, to talk to me about what happened or about her. Instead I followed everyone else's lead and didn't mention her either.
Eventually, years down the road, if someone brought her up, it was too painful to talk about. My eyes would immediately get hot and I would feel tears welling up, the me in my head running around flipping all the switches on the mother-board, shutting down the water supply so that I didn't embarrass whoever I was talking to. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
It has been strange to move away from where I grew up. Where people knew her. No-one here knew her. Sometimes I feel as though I made her up.
This morning Desmond and I went upstairs because he asked to go upstairs to play and we needed to get ready to go to the gym. We went into his room and I picked out some clothes for him to wear. I thought maybe if I put on the radio (which I rarely do) it would distract him from me taking off his pajamas and putting on clean clothes which seems to trigger a tantrum nine times out of ten. I hit the power button on his radio and guess who is singing? Yes, Phoebe Snow. An Aretha Franklin song, Do Right Woman.
"Take me to heart, and I'll always love you....." What are the chances? I had to smile and say, "Hello."When we got to the gym, I went around to get Desmond out of the car and right at his car door on the ground was a shiny heads up penny.
She is near you and yet she is everywhere! I miss her too. I am still slowly collecting her books!
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