Christmas

"Lake is frozen over. Trees are white with snow. And all
around reminders of you, are everywhere I go."

'Christmas is going to be a disaster this year. Maybe we should call it off', your brother says. You reassure him over and over again that it's going to be just fine. It's late at night on December 22nd, 2000. Your brother, who has flown in from Florida for Christmas, your Dad and you are discussing your mother's recent behavior. Your mother is asleep in her bedroom while the 3 of you have a few drinks in the kitchen. It's 2 days before Christmas Eve, a holiday your mother spends weeks getting ready for, you host it at your home, and not one thing has been done for the big night. The menu hasn't been finalized, food hasn't been purchased. Shopping still needs to be finished, presents yet to be wrapped. You vow to help her as much as you can to make your favorite night of the year a success.

"It's late and morning's in no hurry, but sleep won't set me free. I lie awake
and try to recall how your body felt beside me."

The next day you finish the grocery shopping. You tell your mother to finish the present shopping while you stay at home and clean. Christmas Eve day is spent wrapping the remaining presents and preparing the food. Your mother seems aloof.

"When silence gets too hard to handle and the night too long."

The rest of your family arrives Christmas Eve night. Everyone is in great spirits and happy it's Christmas. Your mother is in the kitchen preparing the coconut shrimp. She has burned every single one and thinks it's funny. She's singing Feliz Navidad at the top of her lungs, almost like she's drunk, but she has yet to drink a glass of wine. Everyone thinks it's funny. The remainder of the night is a success, despite the shrimp, you and your mom have pulled off another fabulous Christmas Eve. The following morning, Christmas Day, your mother is overly tired. You have breakfast, you open the gifts with your family, and your mother retires to bed in the early afternoon complaining of a backache.

"And this is how I see you, in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

The following month your mother is diagnosed with cancer of the lungs, kidneys, liver, and brain. She dies 10 months later. It's now understandable why Christmas was almost a disaster, her brain had been taken over with tumors. You wish you would have known that was going to be your last Christmas with her. You would have sung Feliz Navidad at the top of your lungs too and you would have laughed at how burnt the shrimp were.

"Oh how I miss you now...my Mom. Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas, Merry
Christmas, my Mom."

Christmas hasn't been the same since she died. As hard as you have tried, you just can't get the same Christmas spirit back as when she was alive. Yet something has changed slightly. This year is the 2nd year in a row your Dad has come to visit you for Christmas. It's becoming a tradition. Christmas Eve was spent at a family friend's home. It was not quite like the Christmas Eve's of old, but it was nice. For the 2nd year in a row you have made the same Christmas morning breakfast, 'Holiday French Toast', just like your mother used to make. And in the evening you host Christmas dinner. You can't expect the Christmas holidays to be the same as it was 20 years ago or even 10 years ago, especially after a loved one dies, but you are starting your own traditions and it's nice to have your father share in those traditions too.

"Sense of joy fills the air. I daydream and I stare up at the tree and I see
You're a star up there."

You think this might have been one of the best Christmases you have had in the past 8 years. You cry when you drop your Dad off at the airport. You feel sad for him for being alone. You call him a little later and he tells you he bought a few NY t-shirts at the airport to have souvenirs from the weekend. He said he wants something to remind him of how great this weekend was. You smile knowing he enjoyed himself. You pause remembering your mom's laughter while burning those shrimp. Your heart warms knowing she's smiling now at the relationship you have established with your father.

"And this is how I see you in the snow on Christmas morning. Love and happiness
surround you as you throw your arms up to the sky. I keep this moment by and
by."

(*Thank you to Sarah McLachlan for her song, "Wintersong". It gets me through each holiday season.)

I Remember 8 Years Ago

I remember being so excited for my best friend's wedding weekend. I had just left the DMV. I was an official resident of Ohio (as if that's better than living in Indiana). The weather was a gorgeous Fall October day and I was cruising across I-74 heading West to Batesville. The windows were slightly down, John Mellencamp's Peaceful World was blasting on my radio. Even though I wasn't the maid of honor, since my best friend had 2 sisters, I was going to be the best bridesmaid ever. Her whole family was at the reception hall decorating and I couldn't wait to get there and help. First, I wanted to make a quick stop at mom and dad's house to say hi to my mom, give her a kiss and then go decorate the hall with tacky tulle and lace.


I remember pulling into the driveway and seeing the hospice nurse's car. A little odd because she was usually gone by 10:00 am. She was sitting in the dining room with my dad, both of their faces looked somber. I asked "What's up?" Determined not to let anything ruin the weekend I had planned. "Your mother took a turn for the worse" my father said. Followed by the nurse, "She won't make it through the weekend. You should take the day and say your goodbyes. She won't respond, but she'll hear you." WHAT?!? She won't make it through the weekend?!? But yesterday she was up, almost walking by herself, joking around with me. What do you mean she took a turn for the worse? The nurse responded "Sometimes, right before someone dies, they have their best days. They want you to remember them as being ok." She left my father and I sitting there blankly staring at each other. I looked over at her, lying in her hospital bed. It didn't even look like her. I had spent the past 10 months, with my mother, a cancer patient, and all of a sudden I didn't recognize her. I jumped up from the table and told my dad I had to go tell my friend I wouldn't be able to help her decorate.


I remember the 5 minute drive to the reception hall. I was thinking of how you tell someone your mother may not make it through the night and you can't be there to help her on her wedding weekend. My friend's mother first greeted me when I arrived. My friend's parents were good friends of my parents for 30+ years. She saw me and immediately knew something was wrong. She hugged me and that was the moment I started to cry. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity. It felt good having a parent take care of me, hold me, instead of me taking care of my parent. It was selfish I know, but it felt good. I stayed for an hour, told my friend I was sorry I couldn't help, but I would see her later that evening at the rehearsal dinner.


I remember walking in the house and I could tell that my dad just told her goodbye. His eyes were glassy, puffy. His face was flush. He told me he thought it was a good time for me to say goodbye as well. He left me alone in the living room with my mom. She wasn't even conscious. I sat there for a few minutes holding her hand. It was so cold. Say goodbye? How do you pack 22 years of love and affection into a goodbye? I started crying, uncontrollably sobbing, and laid my head on her shoulder. I told her how much I loved her. I told her I was so sorry this had happened to her. I told her life wasn't fair. I told her she was the best mother a daughter could ask for. I promised to take care of Dad. I told her I was going to miss her. I told herhow much I loved her over and over again. I wanted to make sure she left this world knowing at least that.


I remember sitting in silence with my Dad. There was nothing we could say. We knew exactly what each other was thinking. We were eating lunch later, when my brother walked through the door. He had flown in from Florida for my friend's wedding. In my brother's typical fashion he said, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

I remember my father and I standing in our kitchen waiting for my brother to finish his goodbye. He came into the kitchen when he was done, tears in his eyes and said, "She looked at me and said I'm dying."

I remember being upset that she spoke to my brother during his goodbye. Why didn't she acknowledge me? Why didn't she tell me she loved me back? Why didn't she tell me she was going to miss me too?

I remember that night. I left my Mom and Dad to go to my friend's rehearsal dinner. I told my Dad to call me if anything happened. I checked my cell phone every 5 minutes. After the dinner our group of friends were going out to some bars, but I opted to go home to be with my Mom and help my Dad. It was surreal when I arrived back home. It was dark in the living room with only one lamp on low. My Dad was sitting in his chair next to my Mom. The TV wasn't on. It was peaceful. For a second I thought she had passed, but then I heard her breathing. The death rattle they called it. That's how you know someone is going to die.

I remember that night. I remember it was the first time in a really long time my Dad didn't have a beer or a Manhattan. I remember the 2 of us sitting in the living room, me on the floor my Dad still in his chair. I remember us reminiscing about the past 10 months, about the funny things my Mom did and said, about how she said she saw Jesus smiling down at her.

I remember helping my Dad administer her final dose of medicine, pain killers. I remember falling asleep on the floor on the mattress my Dad had brought down from upstairs.

I remember the next day, the 27th. She was still alive, barely. I got ready for my friend's wedding, had my cousin do my hair and make-up. I went to the church where I kept peaking out of the vestibule to see if my Dad and brother had made it. I knew if they were there my Mom was fine. I spotted my brother who smiled and waved. It was such a simple gesture, but reassured me that he knew how I was feeling and I knew how he was feeling. The ceremony started and no sign of my Dad. I knew it then, that she was gone, she had died.

I remember going from the ceremony straight home and walking through the front door. Most of my family was already there. My Dad said she had been gone for a couple of hours but didn't want me to miss my friend's wedding. My Mom would have wanted it that way. He said he wanted some time alone with her too. They were married for 30 years and 5 months, he deserved at least a couple of hours alone with her.

I remember going straight to her, she looked so peaceful. I remember crying like a little baby. I remember kissing her on the cheek and telling her again how much I loved her. I remember all of us, my dad, my brother, my grandparents, my aunt, my uncle, my cousins, and my cousin's wife all sitting in our living room just looking at her. I remember my aunt (my mom's sister) arriving with her daughter. I remember my aunt commenting on how beautiful I looked in my bridesmaid dress. I remember thinking "holy shit you remind me of my mom" and I never saw it before that moment. I remember the funeral home coming to pick her up. I remember my Dad, my brother, my dog and I standing in the basement while they took her away. I remember the 4 of us emerging from the basement and the house being so quiet, eerily quiet. I remember my dog staring out the front window, as if she was waiting for my mom to return, we were all waiting for her to return.

I remember 8 years ago like it was yesterday, yet I can't remember any time before that. Sure I remember things here and there, but when I think of my mom, I mean really think of her, I remember 8 years ago and I remember cancer. I miss her like crazy. Each year the pain gets a little easier, but there is always a moment when I wish I could see her, talk to her, get her response. Like when I met my husband, when I got married, when I find out I'm pregnant.

I guess the more I think about it, I remember more than just cancer: I remember my mom being beautiful inside and out. I remember my mom liking white zinfandel. I remember my mom loving to read books, smut books. I remember my mom being smart. I remember my mom's singing voice. I remember her sneeze and how I jumped every time she did it. I remember her enjoying cross stitching. I remember her loving Christmas and those silly Christmas sweaters. I remember where she sat on our couch. I remember her hands and how I envied her manicure. I remember her smile. I remember feeling loved.

R.I.P Mom. 10-27-01

Mother's Day.

My mother lost a battle to cancer 7 1/2 years ago and died. I firmly believe I haven't recovered from it and firmly believe I won't ever recover. Yesterday was Mother's Day. I woke up in the morning with an emptiness in my stomach. I missed her. What's funny, is growing up we never did anything extravagant to celebrate Mother's Day. It was still a guy's day. I remember my Dad playing golf with my uncle and my grandpa while my mom was stuck entertaining my brother and me. I particularly remember one year my mother had the entire family over, my 2 grandparents, and my dad's brother's family, for a full turkey dinner (Thanksgiving in May). She cooked the entire day while my dad played golf and none of us thought anything of it. So it's not like Mother's Day brings back great memories of me spending time with my mom. It's now just a day that reminds me I don't have a mother.


To take my mind off of things, I went into the city and did a nice long run in Central Park. Training for a half marathon, running 7 miles, is not my idea of a good time, but my run was quite enjoyable. It was a gorgeous Spring day and while running through the park, seeing the trees and flowers in full bloom I thought of my mom. Thought of how much I missed her and wondered what she thinks of me now.

In the afternoon, my husband and I took his parents to the Mets game. It was what his mother wanted to do for Mother's Day. It was quite enjoyable, like I said the weather was great, the game was fun, and the Mets won! My cousin Libby had left me a voicemail during the game letting me know she and her son Carter went to my mom's grave and told her how much they missed her and loved her. She said there were quite a few fresh bouquets of flowers on my mom's grave, people must have visited her. Later I spoke to my Aunt who also said she went to see my mom's grave and lastly I spoke to my father who went to see my mom. Everyone misses her. I swear the family hasn't been the same since she died.

I still can't help but wonder what my mother thinks of me now, what I have made of myself. I remember shortly after she died I used to pray to GOD to give me some kind of sign from my mother. Some kind of something showing me that she approved, that she loved me and that she missed me too. I never got the sign I was looking for; my mother never came to me at night and spoke to me nor did I ever see visions of her. However, now I look for the small stuff, like the day my husband and I got married, it was raining the day prior and very gray and cloudy the morning of the wedding. I sat outside on our hotel room balcony and started talking to her, told her how much I missed her and at that very moment, the clouds parted and the sun came out, I knew she was there with me. I wish I had more of those perfect moments, but I take them as they come.

Recently I have been struggling with the definition of happiness. What is it and is happiness really a thing? I've come to the conclusion, no. Happiness is an emotion, it's not a state of life. It's like the shrink game you play. "I feel happy when"... I'm on the beach, or when I'm playing with my dog, or when I'm with my husband, or when I'm eating Mexican food and drinking a margarita. However, am I happy? No. I'll never truly be happy. People that tell you they are honestly happy, are lying or faking it. I compare it to when someone asks me how my day is. I say, "fine" even if I had the worst day of my life, because you know what? I don't think the person that asked me the question really wants to know the answer. Everyone is in a state of disillusionment where they don't want to know about the bad, they only want to see and hear the good. People need to see and hear the good to make themselves feel better. I know that, and that's why I'll always nod my head and tell people I'm fine, I'm happy, and maybe one day I'll get there. Now, I don't see it happening. How can it when the most important person in my life for 22 years is no longer here? People say, "Well, maybe you're not happy because something is missing in your life." Well, they're right, there is something missing, and it's my mom, she's dead, and never coming back. So tell me what you think I should do to solve that one? Move on? I'm trying. It's been 7 1/2 years and I still miss her like she died yesterday. I still don't have a memory of her without her being sick and I still think there was something I could have done better to show her how much I loved her.

Time eases all pain...I'm waiting....