It's ten-years, well more than 10-years since her last breath and still she's in my mind, and in my dreams – literally.

I make a cup of coffee and I am reminded of some deflationary comment she made.  Here's the story, as I like to repeat stories (apparently).  RIP – where and when and HOW???

I don't exactly remember the year, but it was before 2014 – or possibly the beginning of it (the worst year in my life to date).  I was in the car with my Mom and her sister, Aunt Jo (also deceased now).  They were chatting away as they always have – completely eliminating me from their conversations.  So I sat in the back of the car (Mom was driving) wondering what I could chip-in to the/their conversation, when I remembered ONE thing that was new and 'exciting' in my life: a NEW coffee!  

Now, this sounds menial, and it is, but that is the point.  There IS NOTHING in my life and being introduced to something new and exotic WAS a big deal to my mundane existence.

It all started on New Year's Day.  My 'best' friend, Eric invited me to come to Louisville to spend the day with him and his (parents, brother, friends) [I 'quote' best because later in life he tells me he "doesn't believe in best friends" - shocking since that's what I thought we were! Oh well.]

Eric is very good at finding unique restaurants and introducing me to new cuisines.  Today it's Vietnamese.  I'd never been to a Vietnamese restaurant, and so the adventure begins!

They bring out a coffee for his dad.  "Hmm.  Interesting.  I've never seen a coffee pot like this one before.  Can I have a sip?"  IT'S DELICIOUS.  Sweet, warm, rich ... I HAVE TO HAVE THIS.  I asked the waitress if she could write it down for me knowing I'd never be able to spell it and therefore never be able to hunt it down.  "Trung Nguyen".  See?

My hunt begins.  

First it's the Asian markets of Louisville.
Then it's the internet.

Lucky me, I find a site that literally sells ONLY Vietnamese coffee.  

I order exactly what the lady wrote down for me.  Culi Robusta #1.

Now my mornings are delicious, and exotic and EXCITING!!!

NOW I have something to contribute to my Mom and Aunt's conversation!

So I interject --- "I have something EXCITING to share ... I found a NEW coffee!!! (you know they didn't ASK me, 'and what about you, Nancy?' - 'cause they DIDN'T.) 

My balloon is now fully inflated!  Yippee.  I can share my new discovery and the work I put into getting this exotic flavor into my daily life!

Mom's response?

Was it "Wow, that sounds delicious, would you make me some?"

[INSERT BOISTEROUS LAUGHTER OF SARCASM HERE]

Of course not.

She said in her most dead voice way: "All coffee tastes the same."

End of sentence.

End of discussion.

No after questions.

No inquiry.

Just get the needle out and punch the air out of Nancy's balloon.  

Deflation complete.

It wasn't even, "All coffee tastes the same – TO ME."

Just a blanket statement covering ALL coffee EVERYWHERE.

Nothing more to add.

Conversation finished.


Fast forward over a decade later, I'm still drinking my exotic coffee.  In Mom's cup.

And every day when I make a pot, I think of her --- and her deflationary comment.

Sad.

Friday, October 1, 2021 – I went to EQUITANA USA at the Horse Park.  This isn't a review of that , it's about some “Mom” insight.

A man was doing a massage technique on a rescued Saddlebred, who was very alert and very fidgety.  I watched for a while and then went on to do other things. Later, on my walk through the shopping area, there he was again – the horse – and his rescuers. He was in a temp stall and other horses were also like that throughout the facility, and people were supposed to go up and pet or whatever, so that’s what I did … they opened the gate and the girl went inside and the mom did too so I stood at the door and the horse was curious about me and so I put my hand out for him to smell me - but the girl didn’t like that – she didn’t want anyone touching him near his face. I thought that was strange, so I said, “I’m letting him come to me”. (which he very obviously wanted to do – and not in an ‘I’m going to bite you manner, more of a ‘getting to know you’). Well, she didn’t like that either and it was 'no, no, no'. This would typically be a good time for me to get upset, take offense, and push the subject, but I wasn’t bothered. Frankly because Saddlebreds aren’t my favorite anyway. But it made me think: this is also a Wayne Dyer quote (and probably one that floats around the healing-sphere anyway, but it’s basically – She’s acting out of her own fears – this has nothing to do with you. She had no idea who I was, I could have been a Master Horse whisperer, or Monty Robert’s daughter, or something, but this was her fear and her issue, not mine.

Easy enough to just walk away and think “poor horse, I hope you get someone good to look after you some day”. Wish him well, and move on.

Which brings up MY MOTHER! (What doesn’t, right?) I wake up today thinking about that moment yesterday, and as one therapist said once, “It’s HER energy, not YOURS.” (a bit hippy-dippy for my liking, but probably true.).

I thought about how that interaction yesterday had nothing to do with me personally; this girl was acting out of her own fears, anxiety, and so forth. In her mind, she may have been hyped up because of the show environment, and all the activity, and SHE was worried the horse would bite someone. In a horse-people environment, you aren’t dealing with people who have never seen a horse and want to pet your pony, you are dealing with people who interact with horses on a daily basis, so you’re probably safe in that we visitors know when to pet, and who to pet, and how to pet. But this wasn’t about us, this was about her. And it’s easy for me to take this non-nonchalant position because it was just a walk-by – a brief encounter – and one where I will likely never see this person again. Compared to Mom, who I had to engage with daily, and was the side-car during so many of her fear-based outbursts (goodlord, too many to list here).

When Mom was alive and I had to deal with her constantly, I couldn’t see how ‘this is about her’ and not take on that energy; take offense to it, fight against it, (and get no where, as you do when fighting a rip tide). Experiencing her ‘energy’ caused me so much PAIN. All I wanted from her was a true, loving connection, and all I felt was her fear and anxiety, which came out as verbal strikes against me.

I remember one time when we were on this big family vacation going to Yellowstone and surrounding states. My mom and I were in a car driving behind my cousin and his family. I was driving us. We were in Idaho or Montana, some vast state on a two-lane interstate with a massive separation between our two lanes and the other side’s two lanes – couldn’t even see them at times. There was no one on the road with us – no one behind, no one in front, no one to the side. Well, after too many mind-numbing miles nose-to-tail driving behind my cousin, I pulled into the other lane just to SEE the views that lay ahead - and my Mom went BALLISTIC! She started talking to me like I was a 15-year old with a driver’s permit, not like the grown woman I was, who had already in her life driven cross-country by herself - ALONE in a U-haul for one of those trips! “You pull this car back in line or I am taking the keys and you will NEVER ‘be allowed to’ drive again on this trip!!!”. Went crazy on me so much that I went to push the walkie-talkie button so the other members of the family could hear how nuts she got. Typically, they only ever took her side of any story, and all of those put me bullseye as the perpetrator, and they believed her every word.

Now that I can look back without feeling the emotion of the moment, like “why are you belittling me?”, or going on the defensive with, “don’t you know I’ve driven close to 100K miles in my life already, I know what I’m doing?”, and citing evidence of how she is wrong. I can see her as I saw the girl yesterday, “This is her breakdown, and her fears, and it has literally nothing to do with me.” Of course, Mom is dead now, and it’s only the ghosts of her torment that live in my head, which makes dealing with it slightly easier. (It’s not easy all the time, yet.)

I think the trouble I had NOT being able to separate myself from her ….... well, I was going to write ‘her fears, her outbursts’ … something ... looking for the right word, but HER pretty much sums it up. I couldn’t separate myself from HER.

I was her daughter. Her only child. The therapists would describe us as ‘co-dependent’. When we would fly together we would link pinkies and I'd say, “Are you ready Louise?” - like we were Thelma & Louise going on a big adventure together. She was my ‘significant other’. I was her sidecar. Even as a child she would have me with her in adult situations, hanging out with her and her husband and their adult friends. Now that I’m ‘over 30’ I look back and wonder why? That was kind of strange to have me at a dinner with you two and your couple friends. I learned a lot, but it must have been weird for the other couple to sit there with this adolescent, or even adult daughter of their couple friend. But that’s how it was, neither of us could separate from the other. The umbilical cord was never cut. So now I can look back on the troubles we had and lighten up on myself. OF COURSE YOU COULDN'T HAVE SHRUGGED IT OFF, you were too close to it. Plus, her relationship to me MATTERED. The girl at the show’s attitude doesn’t need to phase me because she’s not an integral part of my life. Mom was (and some would say still is).

I don’t know if any of this is helpful to you. But maybe, if you are going through a complex relationship with someone - and like mine with Mom you feel trapped in a web of thorny weeds that you can’t unwind your way out of - you can take a moment of meditation, or reflection, and feel how their words and actions truly have NOTHING to do with you. Their words and actions will sting, just like a twisty spiky branch that grabs you when you are only trying to take a walk on a pretty day, but you are not the thorn.

This concept isn’t new to me. I’ve worked on it before. With yet another example of a ‘bad day’ with Mom. Geezzzus, it’s too long to get into again, but the shortest way of me describing it is to say; it started with me waking up on a gorgeous Sunday, calling her and asking if she’d like to get out and enjoy it with me, and after a 90-minute 'mediator at the UN negotiating a peace agreement' phone conversation, we finally agreed upon ‘taking a walk in a park’. Simple enough, right? Hell, they even use that phrase to describe something easy. Well, I forgot that nothing is ‘easy’ with dear ole mama. This ‘walk in the park’ ended with me in the car, getting a verbal beat-down like no other, and curling my hand into a fist in order to HIT MY MOTHER IN THE MOUTH TO SHUT HER UP! No kidding. PS – I have NEVER hit anyone, and never intend to. But today, she took my ‘let’s enjoy this gorgeous day together - you know, you and me, mother and daughter, best friends, all that crap - and just destroyed it - and me. FOR NO REASON that I could see – just her inner insanity at work again.

So, after she died, I went BACK into therapy and tried yet again to heal from so many wounds, this being a biggie. And the ‘it’s her energy, not yours’ comment was brought to me. So in order to re-write the story – and the pain a bit – I went back to said park, and did the walk all over again, but made it happy, the way it was supposed to have been – and like all the other people who were there that day were doing, just enjoying a walk in the park on a gorgeous day. And you know what happened? I got to finally see this as a separate entity, just an observer, not a reactor. And what I saw made me sad (not angry, as I have been for so long) – sad. How sad for Mom that she COULDN’T even ‘take a walk in the park’ with her daughter WITHOUT causing turmoil. What that must feel like walking around with that much anxiety, fear, or whatever nastiness in her mind and body. How sad for HER. And what a pity we couldn’t share something that simple together. I felt empathy for her suffering. A state of being that was so skewed that the simplest gesture sent her spinning in chaos.

Boy! How everything still goes right back to MOM.

But, at least I’m trying. I’m still trying to heal.

Thanks for reading.

~N.
​October 2, 2021
​

My first blog entry on the subject of Healing (and lets be honest, its mostly healing from 5-decades with Mom) was about experiencing the Apex of how bad a day can get with her, and how confusing it is when My intention was nothing like how the day went—with her. In it I mentioned a technique recommended by therapists, that sadly did not work for me when the paper I wrote her hurtful words on WOULDN’T BURN! So – I will try this again, but a bit differently.

Here are a few of my Mom’s favorite words and sayings.

“I don’t want to be an imposition.” I’ve never in my life heard another human being use the word “imposition”. I have no idea where she picked it up, but I imagine it’s something one of her abusive relatives said to her. This factored into our navigations a lot, like on MOTHER’S DAY when she wouldn’t let me buy her brunch. It was very awkward and embarrassing not only for me, but for the waiter who hadn’t a clue how to handle us.

“Well, Shit.” This one is funny. It must be a Southern thing since Leslie Jordan also was a fan of that phrase. Works in a lot of places!

“You should”. As in telling me how whatever it is I am doing isn’t the way SHE would do it.

“Most people” Another way of letting me know whatever I’m doing is out of acceptance to the rest of the world – and she should know! I had to ask her repeatedly, “Have you done a mass audience poll to get these facts?” No? Then stop saying it.

“Belligerent” Another word I never heard another human say. But it was a favorite part of her ‘rounds.

“I just wish you would GROW UP”

“Why can’t you BE NORMAL”

"You are an UNGRATEFUL daughter."

"What's WRONG with YOU?"

"You sound HATEFUL." This one really threw me off. What did I do that was so horrible? I called her on the phone first thing just after I woke up and was having my coffee. I guess I had “trucker voice” that day, but to her it sounded “hateful”. She kept me confused and off-balance on a daily basis.

"You have a CHIP on your shoulder."
I wonder why? [rolls eyes and shakes head]

"You act like you are mad at the world."

"You are RUINING my marriage."

"You are too sensitive."

"You take things the wrong way."

"Why can't you just let it go/roll off you, etc."

And if she couldn’t slander me, she tried slandering my pets:

"I don't want to eat your food because there might be a cat hair in it."
Besides being hurtful, she contradicted herself on this one when she would go to my cousin’s house and BEG their dog to SIT IN HER LAP, and with the dog running all through the kitchen had no issue whatsoever about eating their food. She would praise them all and glow about how great a cook he was. Until one day ……. All this time I thought her slander was only directed at me. But after their divorce, we were still asked over to the house (now the wife’s house) and we ate a glorious meal, that she seemed to devour with glee. Then we got in the car for me to drive her home and before we even got off their driveway she attacked his wife’s cooking! I couldn't believe it. This woman graciously invited you into her home – COOKED FOR YOU – and you slander her on her own property, you couldn’t even wait until we got home??? Unreal.


"No man will want you with all those cats."

Ah, the MEN slanders! Exactly what a young woman who HAS had ‘man problems’ needs to hear from her Mommie.

"If you would cut your hair maybe you could find a man."

"I hope you can meet a man that won't BEAT you."


And what she would say publicly to people:

"There will never be a man good enough for her. She wants George Clooney."
I guess she was embarrassed that I never “found a man”. I didn’t do what “most people” do; leave home at 18 for university; meet someone; marry after college; set up a house; have 2 children, a boy and a girl. So my failing to ‘get a man’ was answered by her idea that none of them were good enough for me. Well, she wasn’t half-wrong! -LOL. I went into the dating pool and came out with a very good joke, and it would make a great Country song: “It’s like fishin’ for bass in a catfish pond”!!!


Food slanders anyone???

"All coffee tastes the same."
This was during a drive to the Mall with both her and my Aunt (her sister). My life had been so boring that the only exciting thing I could think of to add to their conversations was of a new coffee I had tried. Actually, I was very proud of myself. I had joined a friend and his family in Louisville for a New Year’s Day lunch at a Vietnamese café where they served a coffee I had never seen before. It was delicious, so I asked them to write it down knowing I’d never remember or be able to pronounce it correctly. “Trung Nguyen Creative 1 Culi Robusta”. Yep, glad that’s on paper now! So I went on the hunt and found it! Sadly, THAT was my BIG NEWS of the New Year and the only thing I had to share with ‘the group’ of Mom and Aunt Jo, so I did. I sort of was expecting some enthusiasm from at least ONE of them, but no. All Mom did was burst my balloon with “All coffee tastes the same.” She didn’t add “to me”, or “to me, but I’m glad you found one you like”. No here comes the blanket statement that covers the entire world, and of course, SHE’S RIGHT. Well, Ma. Actually YOU AREN’T RIGHT. In fact “most” coffee tastes so different that there are coffee sommeliers that taste the differences just like in wine! And I could have gone on about how coffee DOES differ all over the world, but I wasn’t going to make that argument with her that day. EXHAUSTING.


“WHY are you shaking the milk? Don’t shake my milk.”
“ugh”. exasperated sigh.
The answer to your question, Mother, is that I drink plant milk and it SAYS ON THE BOTTLE to shake well. So when I come to your house and drink your crappy WalMart 2% cow’s milk, I still shake it in case there is separation. What I never got to ask her is “WHY IS THIS SO IMPORTANT TO YOU THAT YOU MUST INSIST I STOP???”  Just another thing to pick on. It never ends.


“YOU RUINED MY DOOR”
This little ditty was on Christmas Eve, when I, instead of staying at work to sell Gift Certificates, I did as my Mother commanded and came to her home so we could be together the night before Christmas. Was I welcomed with “My Beloved Daughter, so glad you put aside your needs for mine and came to my home!” No. First thing, she’s at me. Mind you she smoked so her house reeked of that smell. So I go to my old room down the hall and put my luggage into the closet hopefully to hide my belongings from her tar and nicotine sludge (it didn’t work). It’s a bi-fold door. It has always come off the railings, as bi-fold doors will do. Mine at home does the same thing. This one in particular has done this for years. Nothing new to anyone who lived there. But for this day, this Christmas Eve day, it wasn’t a simple act of putting the door back on it’s rail, no, it was cause for RUINING her house: A DESTRUCTION OF EPIC PROPORTIONS, right? Not exactly the warm Hallmark welcome, is it.


"Why don't you want to be a part of this family?"
We covered this one last time!

This will need to be it’s own Blog entry! I did nothing but try ‘to be a part of this family’--HER family. A family I later realized never wanted me in it.

“Family” was her sister and her sister’s family: husband, son, and later wife and two kids.

MY FAMILY was My Mommie and my dear Granny. That’s it. The rest was a fabrication of my mother’s imagination. And one I’m still trying to heal from. But, I think I’m getting better at it. Sent the ghosts back to where they came from. Ta.


THE GHOSTS.
I wish these memories would go away. I wish I could fill my head and heart ONLY of ‘the good times’ – and there were good times, but there were so many more chaotic ones that the good ones get buried under the weight.

I’ll be in the kitchen – making coffee – and will get a flash, a memory of some ‘trauma’ (ok, a strong word. But in the house of bricks that each comment makes, they do add up to ‘trauma’), something she said that either hurt my “too sensitive” feelings, or was completely out of place, bursting my joy balloon, or just spun me off my center, keeping me unbalanced. Just the act of making coffee brings up TWO such memories. Now, I try to laugh at them. What else can I do? I’ve spent so much time ON HER--trying to understand her better so I could heal from it.


My equestrian friend does a ‘meditation’ every year where she sets one word for that year’s goals. Maybe one year it’s LEARNING so she is reminded to keep learning, studying, or taking examples from her life as a learning moments. Each year is a different word. So for 2022 my word is APPLAUSE. I use it in my healing process like this: When I am in my kitchen, Mom long since deceased, and one of her derogatory comments flashes through my soul again, I stop and give myself applause for whatever it was she was trying to deflate.

“I AM happy for myself for being introduced to a NEW taste in coffee. What a fun new adventure this is. Coffees from around the world, all available to me in my kitchen! And I LIKE shaking my milk! For one, it says to shake well on the bottle, and two, it creates a lovely foam like I’m having a European cappuccino! Yay for me and my exploratory nature! Keep seeking new things and enjoy them!!!”

Yeah, it’s A LOT of work creating the words they “should” of said. But someone’s gotta do it!
​That current of criticism runs deep.

~N.


NOVEMBER 26, 2022

DECEMBER 30, 2022 – We are closing up this year getting ready for the next one two three!

As this year draws to a close, I can reflect back on my WORD of the Year – Applause – and administer some to MYSELF!

It has taken me a LONG TIME to get this far in my grief and dealing with life after Mom.
So APPLAUSE to ME for that! [insert hands clapping – MY hands clapping for me!]

The day before yesterday I had the car to myself (no dog in it) after having cleaned it out and filled up with hay, straw, and shavings prepping for the next bout of cold winter. So I figured, while the weather is calm and dry why not go over to W. (aka The GHOST Town) and remove the four wreaths from the graves and put them, not in MY office where I was going to but decided I didn’t want that reminder every time I went over there, but to Mom’s office instead. Simple enough, right? Wrong.

I did fine DOING it. Felt good about myself. Chatted to my dead relatives. Kissed Daddy and Mommie. Checked on Sue and O., who apparently never got any flowers or anything for Christmas, and I thought that was sad. But it was getting darker, so I didn’t go by Robbie & Dewey’s this time.

I was doing ok, so I took the interstate to the office and unloaded them … then hugged my Mommie’s coat – the same coat she wore during her doctor and hospital visits – the coat hangs on her chair at her office in the same spot where she commanded her world – and mine, too, I suppose. 

Kissed her ‘Lancôme’ cheek, and said ‘Good-night’. AGAIN. 

Did I take a swig of tequila whilst there? You bet I did.

And then I drove home thinking of how W. was HER town. Never mine. She and Ralph were part of that town. I was just the side-piece. Or find a better word. The side-car to her cycle.  I was only there because SHE was there. My experiences, by and large, were HER experiences. Where ‘we’ lived - all her decision. HER houses. What ‘we’ ate, her decisions. Where and when we ate, her decisions. The Jackson House – her place (with me along for the ride, and I did love it there. The chocolate pies! They were little custard-sized pies and I still remember how delicious they were! We would sit at the counter and eat together as Mom happily chatted with the people who worked there, or came in a customers – she knew everybody in town!).

I told you I had a happy CHILDHOOD. It was only after our move to 21E and her marriage to Ralph when my happiness changed.

So there it is now, a town FULL of memories. Ghosts. The PAST.

Mom’s not coming back to work. Even though I could tell you exactly how her day would have gone had she been alive that day. She would have gotten up and already had her coffee made the night before – or rather she would set the timer so it would be ready for when she woke up.

She would put on her nylon nightgown robe [are you going to cry again typing this story out? Seems like it.] – it matches the nightgown she slept in, and was likely a Christmas present – one she picked out for us to go get for her! -lol. Step into her slippers and … I can hear that sound of her slippers on the carpet coming down the hallway … swhoosh, swhoosh, swhoosh … then pour herself a cup of coffee into either her blue and white Corelle cup or later the white larger mug she bought at WalMart which I am drinking from now – literally now. I also have coffee first thing in the morning. I think her brand was regular Folgers. I’m now into Nespresso! (A George Clooney company!)

She (also like me) tried to limit her sugar, so went through a fake sugar phase of whatever was on the market then. Splenda? Sweet-N-Low. Different ones as the markets changed. Ralph was big into those as sweeteners, too. So maybe she only bought them for him. She always kept a little Corelle sugar jar with a teeny spoon that I guess came with one of those sweeteners, “because you only need a little bit”.

Later down the road she would just skip the sweetener altogether. But she would put some milk in her coffee – a 2% WalMart milk – that I found disgusting. Still do. I remember the conversations she would have with various people, Aunt Jo in particular, where she would debate whether your milk should be 1%, 2%, or whole. They both agreed that whole milk was gross, but I think Aunt Jo preferred 1% and Mom would tell her she’s wrong because “1% just tastes like water to me”. Funny.

And, don’t forget, THE CIGARETTES. Ever present. And, yes, that was part of her morning routine, too. Bleck. Pukifying. Cigarettes and coffee.

Then maybe a slice of toast. One of her (and my) favorite breakfasts, that we had for decades until the manufacturer took it off the market – was toast and honeybutter! Man did we eat a lot of toast and honeybutter! First we put margarine on the bread, then honeybutter over that. It was yummy! She would typically get just the regular one, but sometimes come home with the cinnamon flavored one. And knowing what I know about food now, I bet it was some kind of fake lab cinnamon, but it was still tasty!

After breakfast she would take a shower and “get ready for work”. She would spend a lot of time doing her hair. (If you ever wondered where I got my inspiration for my career, this is where!). Aunt Jo spent a lot of time on her hair, too. Must be a generational thing. Hairdos were super important in the 1950’s, so I suppose they kept that going. (PS – as I’m writing this, I swear I can SMELL cinnamon honeybutter on toast!).

She had TONS of hair implements. Really. When I cleaned out her house (you know the thing it took me YEARS to accomplish by myself) I kept finding more and more of them. Hair curling irons of all sizes and textures. Anything sold by QVC as a miracle to hair! Anything she saw at WalMart. Just a collection of them. I’ll never get around to doing my Cosmetology Museum, but they need to go in one!

So, she’s dressed in her later style of jeans, turtleneck, and cable-knit sweater uniform, white sneakers in the oddest size of like a 10AAAA – that’s a Quad A – Long & NARROW – shoe. Hair done, and ready to exit into the world into her favorite car – The Cadillac! Later in life she started preferring a beige Lexus RX 350. She would buy a new one that looked exactly like the ‘old’ one and no one would know for months! I don’t know why she wanted to keep that a secret, but she apparently did. Maybe she told Aunt Jo or Jeff, but she never told me “I bought a new car!”. I don’t know why.

Thinking of her last years, after Ralph, when her daily life got VERY routine – she would get the mail, go to the bank, go to work, work for a bit, then possibly play golf with Patty E. (who is also deceased, sadly, too young – but at least managed to die AFTER Mom so Mom didn’t have to suffer another best friend death like her first one that happened right after DADDY’s death).

Or she and Aunt Jo would meet for lunch. Maybe at the W. Country Club, where Mom and Ralph were members – and she kept it going after he died. Or possibly G. – a place with the best sandwiches in town. Or Applebees. That was decent for a while. Until the night when she ordered French Onion Soup and they didn’t have any! This pissed me right off. We knew Mom was terminal at that point and if she wanted French Onion Soup YOU GIVE HER FRENCH ONION SOUP, DAMN IT! Restaurants need to think about that. This might be someone’s last meal request. KEEP YOUR FUCKING INVENTORY IN STOCK! Running out of soup is unforgivable. You’ll never see me in another Applebees ever again. (Plus, their food sucks, but that’s a different story.)

Or she would  get a manicure or even a mani/pedi. CAJUN SHRIMP from OPI. Always remember the Cajun Shrimp nail polish!

Then – before dark – she would come home. So let’s say on this day, a winter day, it would be getting dark after 5:00, so as I was leaving her office I could imagine her back at home, TV on, cigarettes nearby with many ashes and stumps in her ashtray on the table by her chair or on the breakfast table, and she’s in the kitchen pouring her first of “two” (ha!) cheap-ass Chardonnays. Maybe eating a snack of crackers and cheese. Basic white saltines with also basic American cheese slices.

I’d call to check on her and we’d talk about nothing.

I miss those calls.
I miss my Mommie.
Still.


HOW DO YOU EVER ‘GET OVER’ THIS?

Eight years now. EIGHT years.

…. So, back to ME. Applause to me for getting this far. Applause to me for getting her house cleaned out, and getting it sold. Applause to me for managing this all on my own. No help from her ‘family’ (insert laughter here). None whatsoever. Not even a thank you when I gifted the hot sauces to my former cousin. NOTHING. But that’s too much to go into now. But, also something I’ve had to ‘process’ and ‘get over’. HA. What a joke. In so many ways. And not a good joke, either.

So while I am doing my task of honoring my father and mother (and Grandmother and Aunt and Uncle and so on) I think I’m holding up emotionally. Then I come home. I’m more irritable than usual – which is a lot because I’m highly irritable most days anyway. I’m screaming at traffic. I’m losing any patience I have left (and there’s not much left). Then ‘the voice says unto me’: “It’s because you were over there yesterday.” “It affects you like this every time you go there.” Is it the seeing my Mother’s GRAVE that does it? You betcha. Is it going into HER office and kissing HER coat and remembering her greasy Lancôme    cheek that I would kiss goodnight when I slept over at her house. Yes. Yes, it is.

It rips me to shreds.

So. I’ve had to think about what I’m doing.

If putting wreaths on the graves of my dead relatives – the ones who made up my entire life so far – causes THIS MUCH torture in me, then WHY am I continuing to do it? Sure, I have the best intentions. I WANT to ‘do the right thing’. I am sad when I see graves without any remembrance flowers or wreaths, but would my mother want me to suffer like this? I don’t think so.

I got a bout of shingles again the day after I put the wreaths up. And the day after bringing them down I’m crying such deep painful tears … this isn’t good for me. At some point I have to stand up for myself and say “Sorry, I can’t do this anymore.”.

So what I’ve thought about doing is instead of an annual torturous trip to the cemetery in a town where I have too many bad memories, and all I get out of it is pain and suffering, even when I pretend I’m doing okay, I think I will write up a lovely note and have it engraved and put it by her grave as a perpetual plaque of remembrance. I will always love you. This is your Mother’s day bouquet and your Christmas wreath. I simply can’t torture myself anymore. She’s not there. I talk to her in spirit – not as a decaying body in a box.

Now I have to go take some lysine and shingles Rx so nothing breaks out again. Oh, and some cortisol calming stuff, too.

There has to be an ending to this story. Living the rest of my life in grief and the past isn’t healthy.
Help get me outta here.

~N.
December 30, 2022
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