mom

Sweet dreams

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Occasionally I dream of my mom.  I can no longer see her face but I can feel her presence.  I simply know it’s her.  Lately, when mom does come to visit in a dream it’s with the “she’s not really gone.  She didn’t die.  She was not as sick as we thought,” theme.  I get this hope inside me.  You know, like the hope Rafiki gives to Simba about Mufasa.  Simba chases after the aged simian and the audience thinks, “Oh, I hope Mufasa is really alive!”

I wake up as disappointed as Simba when he looks at his reflection in the pool of water.  Mom is gone.

When she does make an appearance in my dreams she usually talks to the family.  Or helps us out.  We tend to keep her pretty busy.  Some things never change.

I experienced a rather stressful weekend last week.  Not bad stress just busy stress.  I kept busy from quitting time on Friday to Sunday afternoon.  At times, I felt overwhelmed.  Sometimes inadequate.  I questioned if I am really cut out to do the job asked of me.  Thankfully, I was so busy I didn’t have much time to devote to self-doubt.

By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around I felt exhausted.  I gave my best and prayed it was good enough.  That night I had a momma-dream.  This time we just hugged.  It was a long embrace that lasted until I woke up.

It was enough.

I received the strength I needed to face my week.  Yeah, I got this.

I’m not superstitious…much

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calendarShe looked at me with wide eyes and an air of expectancy.  Normally, I would have agreed with her.  In fact, I had waited for over 20 years for an opportunity such as this.  But I couldn’t do it.  I could not side with my sister-in-law.

“RH,” my sister-in-law, CC, reiterated in case I didn’t hear her the first time, “will not flip a calendar early.”

Yeah, so?

She wanted me to join forces with her in an effort to mock my brother.  Of course she thought I would be an ally in her cause since I have led many efforts to mock my older brother ever since…well, forever.  It’s a little sister’s prerogative and responsibility and I always take my job seriously.  At least, this one.   Otherwise an older brother’s ego gets too huge and becomes too unbearable to even associate with.  It’s all in the Little Sister’s Handbook for Survival.  I can send you a copy if you’d like.

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Happy Birthday, Momma!

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Today would be my mom’s 71st birthday.  You may be aware we lost mom last December 2nd.   If you have followed my blog at all the past year, you may have seen numerous posts on grief (see the Sad Days Tab under categories) as I worked through my mourning period.  This particular post is not like those.  This post will be a reflection of what I learned from one good momma.  It’s a celebration of good memories of a good life.

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Googling Away

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I hate making decisions.  Life would be a lot easier for me and probably more enjoyable for other people if I didn’t have to make a choice.  Ever.  My decision making process is typically a three step process.  First, I agonize and worry about choosing wisely.  Second, after I make a decision I worry if I made the right choice.  This is almost always followed closely by the third step, wishing I chose differently.  Choices could very well be the death of me.  Okay, that’s a little dramatic.  Let’s just sum up, I really prefer not having to choose.

My friend Google is at the ready with any question I may have even if it’s just to settle idle curiosity.  For example, I’ve already googled Paul Hogan and Linda Kozlowski.  Yes, AMC is playing its Can’t Get Enough of…Crocodile Dundee I & II this week.  This means I have watched the same part of Crocodile Dundee II for the last three nights.  If I piqued your curiosity, Paul is about 20 years older than Linda and they have been married since 1990.

Trivial pursuits aside, Google has become a valuable tool for me to make informed (or misinformed) decisions.  Always at the ready, it’s a sophisticated 8-Ball.  It does its best to give me a plethora of options.  Although, sometimes I could do without the snooty attitude the way it corrects me.  “Did you mean…”  Is that really necessary?  If it’s smart enough to figure out an optional way of saying what I typed then couldn’t it be gracious enough to discreetly fix my error?  I should think so.

It is ever at the ready and with my iPhone easily accessed.  I can ask “What should I have for dinner?”   Sure, I still have to make a choice but it’s a matter of scanning through a page of options.  Let’s be honest, I’m easily swayed by the more alluring websites.  That cuts my decision making time by at least half. 

The other day I test drove a couple of vehicles.  I gave my phone to my niece and by the end of the drive we had an idea of the safety ratings and consumer comments.   I chose not to buy either vehicle – and I felt pretty good about it.

While planning my vacation I asked, “What is there to do in Cody?”  Before I even left for my trip I discovered the answer was, “Not a whole heck of a lot.”  It told me the route we should take and even how much I could expect to pay for gas.

“I need a job,” and “Where should I live?” are two recurring questions I like to ask.  At a moment of desperation, I even typed, “I need a life.”  No matter the question, there’s always a page of possible solutions.  And usually a correction – “Did you mean wife?”  (sigh) No, I meant life.

Google has become a verb.  Just like Xerox is synonymous with making copies, Google means researching online.  It doesn’t matter which search engine is used, “You can find anything you need by googling it.”  Too bad Bing wasn’t first because I’d rather say, “You can find anything you need by binging it.”  Oh well. 

The younger generation might pause one day and reflect, “How did the older generation ever find anything without Google?”  I had the original Google.  It was called, Mom.  My mom happened to be one the smartest people I’ve ever known.  Unfortunately, thanks to hereditary roulette, I received her temperament instead of her smarts.  Dang me!  At least with Google I now have a fighting chance in making decisions.  And pretending I’m smart.

a few thoughts regarding a closetful of clothes

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A closetful of clothes –

Hanging at attention.

Dresses

                Sweaters

                                Sweatshirts

                                                T-shirts

                                                                Pants.

A place for everything –

Was your motto.

Now a new place for

Everything.

Donations –

To the thrift store

You volunteered at.

I make it clear

These are your clothes

As if you were a one-name celebrity.

You were to me. 

I didn’t give everything –

I kept a few things for myself.

Sweaters for substitute hug tokens.

And other items,

                Just because they are cute.

A pair of shoes –

To run around in

and save my expensive pair.

Still in good shape.

Not a perfect fit –

                An indication of how swollen your feet became.

So they fit a little loose.

A reminder

                I can’t fill your shoes.

                I shouldn’t even try.

It’s not right –

It’s not expected –

                To wear 2 pairs of shoes

                At the same time.

We each have our own pair

To wear on our own path.

My shoes fit me just right.

But I’ll still borrow yours from

time to time,

And remember your path.

A Little Break from the Blog

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I’m taking a break from my normal blog entries.  Mainly because the well is currently dry.   So I’m just going to write what’s on my mind right now.  My mom died 48 days ago.  This may sound odd but this is the longest I’ve ever gone without some kind of contact from her.  When I served my mission I could count on not-quite weekly letters from her.  Even when I lived in a different state, she was always just a phone call away – for chatting or emergencies (I just (sob) ran over Santa Claus!).  

I’ve become a member of an exclusive club.  A league I really didn’t want to join but here I am.  Now what?  I breathe in and out.  I eat and sleep.  I laugh and cry.  In other words, the current of life is carrying me downstream. 

I’m not worried about mom’s welfare.  I look forward to the time when we will meet again.  Yes, I believe that.  I have to hope in it.  Otherwise, what’s the point in today if there is no grand tomorrow?  Every person who sent condolences offered the same comfort – despite all the different dogmas. They offered the belief that mom was at peace now.  It’s funny how a lot of people with different faiths all agree on that point.  No, I’m not worried about mom’s eternal well-being.    I just miss her today.

I have what I refer to as, an acquired taste in humor.  There are only three people who get me.  I’m one of them.  Mom was another.  Yes, my audience is dwindling. The hardest part is not being able to share funny stories that happen.  This has led me to talk to myself.  I tell my stories out loud hoping she can hear them.  I close my eyes and imagine her reaction.  Whenever thoughts of her pop into my mind, I raise my hand and pump my hand three times.  Three squeezes and love you to pieces.

I entered the angry phase of the grief cycle.  Mom was an artist and painted ceramics for many years.  I talked her into taking it up again – with me.  Because I’m not an artist so she was going to help me.  We never got the chance, though.  So yeah, I’m angry about that.  There are a lot of things she will miss out on.  A line from the Princess Bride has been running through my mind.  An edited version, of course.  I’m not sure who I’m speaking to; it just makes me feel better to put it “out there.”  “I want my [mother] back you [son-of-a biscuit eater]!”  (That was mom’s fill in for the swear word so I thought it appropriate to use).

By no means am I claiming she was a perfect person.  But she was a pretty darn good mom for me.  Don’t worry.  I’ll be all right.  Thankfully, there were no hurt feelings before she died.  So, I don’t have any extra baggage to carry.  I’m grateful for the pain I feel.  It’s a mark of her well-lived life.  I’m honored I call her mom.  And I miss her.

Only a Dream

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I had my first posthumous dream of my mom last night.  She looked circa 1988 – the same year my brother and sister-in-law were married.  In other words, 1988 was a photo op year for our family and we have plenty of pictures of even the most camera-shy of us.  Including mom.

All of her family formed a line and instead of hugging her, we bombarded her with questions.  Mom was always command central in our family and since she’s been gone, certain things have, well, kinda fallen to pot.  It started with not being able to find the prepaid funeral arrangements for her.  We found the paperwork finally.  She had put everything we needed in a file labeled, “Funeral Arrangements.”  Go figure. 

Since then, we have looked for titles to cars (found in a file labeled, Cars), bills, tithing checks, etc.  You name it, we’ve had to search for it.  Or so it seems.  So when she appeared in my dream last night, each of us had plenty of questions for her.  Mine had to do with a certain recipe that hasn’t worked out so well for me.  I never did get an answer – shucks.

I remember the look on her face after all the questions.   She seemed to say, “I came all the way back – for this?”  In my dream I thought, “This isn’t so bad.  I can still communicate with mom.”  But then I woke up.  As the day wore on and I realized it was just a dream, I sunk back into the reality of, “No, I can’t communicate with mom anymore.”  Dang me!  Hopefully, in my next dream I’ll have the presence of mind to ask fewer questions and give more hugs.