She Would Have Loved Roller Coasters

Today it has been 23 years since my mom died. I was trying to think of a nice way to put that. You know...she"left this world," "went into the arms of the Lord," "went on to a better place," and so on. And I believe all that too, but just saying she died is probably enough. How do you put that nicely?

I never get the chance to talk about her. It's hard to just bring that subject up out of the blue. The people that are close to me that can talk about her, don't want to. And that's okay. I understand all the "why's" to that. It's just you know, she was my mom and I miss her. I have that need to talk about her once in a while. She deserves to be talked about.

She was a pretty sick woman. All my childhood revolved around a sick mother. She was a beautiful, wonderful, loving, sweet mother. She did her best. But she was sick. We went to the doctor a lot. Dialysis. She was in bed. A lot. When she wasn't though, she was with my sister and I. We didn't do much, but hang around the house a lot. She was completely blind, so there were no soccer games, no dance recitals, no trips to the mall. We did go to church though. It was pretty much about all we did. She had the big faith. That is a huge thing I remember about her. I can see her in church. Eyes closed, hands raised, singing, praising. She took it all in.

One thing she did a lot was make tapes. She always had a tape recorder in hand. Instead of writing letters, she would make tapes and send them to the family back east. She would record everything, share our life--much like I do with this blog and my own family. Sometimes she would record my sister and I playing without us knowing it. Those were always good--I was usually bossing my sister around--something my sister is no doubt grateful to have evidence for. She would record us singing, putting on shows, opening presents at Christmas, birthdays. Or she would just get on and talk and talk. And laugh. I have forgotten a lot about her, but I've never forgotten the sound of her laugh. She kind of cackled. I remember her belly laughing a lot. My family back east is good about this--her people. It's like the laughter has been bottled up and all of a sudden it just explodes. That fall down, out of control laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you cry. That kind of laugh. It was wonderful. I love when that kind of laugh happens. When she died, most of the family that she sent these tapes to, gave them back to me. I have boxes of them. Treasures.

She had an accent too. An east coast accent that all my Maryland family have. It's almost southern. A little drawn out. I love it. I hate that I don't have it. I love that she had it. I can hear that too.

She loved music. She played the guitar. Even taught lessons. I remember a lot of Christopher Cross. Michael McDonald. And a lot of old country music. Think Loretta Lyn. Very twangy. Heartbreaking music. I can't name any other examples, but it's that kind of music that when I come across it (which is very rare), it immediately takes me back...to her.

A memory that stands out, is when she went to California to get a guide dog. It was the first time she had ever been away from us. She went to California blind and alone (back in a time when it was still a big deal for a blind person to go anywhere alone--or at least, that's what I remember). She went to this school to learn how to use her guide dog. She brought "Nicky" home with her. This beautiful yellow lab. My mom's new eyes. I remember seeing pictures of her away at this school with a couple friends she had met there--also getting guide dogs. I remember her looking young and beautiful, happy and free. I remember being proud of her.

My mom died in Maryland. My sister and I were living with my dad in Arizona at the time. I was 12. She was 36. My dad didn't think it was a good idea for my sister and I to go to the funeral. So we didn't. That messed me up pretty bad for a good few years. We needed to be there in a big way. It took years of faith, writing, therapy and just plain growing up, for me to come to an "okay" place about this. I can't be angry forever. I can't keep that in. It's bad for you. My love for my dad is much greater than that. As a parent myself, I can almost understand it. Maybe not understand it, but accept it. But I wish I had been there. I just wish I had been there period. But that's what divorce and being too young to do anything about it does to you. It is what it is.

A couple of years ago, I sat down with my aunt--my mother's sister--and we talked about The Day she died. My mom was in a sort of hospice. She needed 24-hour care. Despite that, her dying was kind of sudden for everyone. No one was expecting her to die. So they were surprised when her doctor called them to tell them they all needed to come in, that she wasn't doing well. So everyone went in. When they got there, she was chatty...seemed surprisingly okay. My mom actually told them to go get breakfast. I guess she had reassured them that it would be okay to do that. While they were at breakfast, she passed away. The doctors and nurses hadn't even realized she passed. My aunt said that my mom was smiling. Like she was sleeping with a smile on her face. I don't know if my aunt just said that, to sort of "add a little bow at the end" for me, but my mom smiling as she passed away does make perfect sense to me. That is totally what she would do. She knew where she was going.

I like to imagine things though. Like, I love to imagine her in my life right now. Experiencing this. My girls. My husband. She would have loved it all. She would have loved and completely understood our love of the Wiggles and the 35+ Wiggle concerts we've been to--she would have made a point to go with us. She would have had a favorite Wiggle too. She would have been cat calling from the audience at my daughters' dance recitals. She was that way. Every time music came on, she would grab my girls' hands and dance with them--no matter where we were. She would have thought I was an amazing cook. She would have laughed her arse off at my hubby, and constantly tell me how handsome he was. She would have loved my church. She would have loved Coldplay. Roller coasters. My dog. Swimming with my little mermaids. The Fourth of July. Camping. S'mores. Snow. Laying out in the sun. My daughters' noise. Sitting on my front porch. She would have loved it all. And sometimes, I think she does.

**Please no bad comments about my dad. He is everything to me. Tip top of my list.