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| Mom, Dad and me at my high school graduation. |
I teach an English class at Old Dominion and on the last
night of every semester, I talk for a few minutes about what I call the rules
of life. One of those rules is if you still have a mom or a dad, cherish that
relationship. Friends come. Friends go. You only have one mom. You only have
one dad.
Today I have neither. I lost my dad 17 years ago. I lost my
mom this morning. And here again, I am reminded of another of my rules: Remember
when it’s time to lose someone you truly love that it was never enough time. We
always want one more day, one more visit, one more hug, one more “I love you.”
mom this morning. And here again, I am reminded of another of my rules: Remember
when it’s time to lose someone you truly love that it was never enough time. We
always want one more day, one more visit, one more hug, one more “I love you.”
It was only two weeks ago when Mom and I were talking. I
could call my mom at any time of the day. Like me, she was a night owl. My son
has mono, and even though neither my sister or I ever had it, I knew my mom had
some advice to help with the sore throat from hell that had my son in agony.
could call my mom at any time of the day. Like me, she was a night owl. My son
has mono, and even though neither my sister or I ever had it, I knew my mom had
some advice to help with the sore throat from hell that had my son in agony.
Chloraseptic throats drops are best, she said.
My mom was amazing, and not because she baked cookies or was
overly affectionate or knew the right answers about homework. We butted heads
when I was little – she’d often remind me that I was a “surprise” 10 years
behind my sister. She didn’t always give me what I wanted when I was a kid, but
she made sure of this: I was educated. My mother attended minimal high school.
She always said she hated the inside of the school, and schools had certain
smells. My sister graduated from MIT before getting her MBA. My master’s in
journalism from the University of Missouri followed my bachelor’s from George
Washington University. My mom stood on her feet as a cashier at a wine and
cheese shop, I liked to say – at a liquor store, she would say – to pay for
private high school so my sister and I would have those opportunities. She
never made more than $5 an hour.
overly affectionate or knew the right answers about homework. We butted heads
when I was little – she’d often remind me that I was a “surprise” 10 years
behind my sister. She didn’t always give me what I wanted when I was a kid, but
she made sure of this: I was educated. My mother attended minimal high school.
She always said she hated the inside of the school, and schools had certain
smells. My sister graduated from MIT before getting her MBA. My master’s in
journalism from the University of Missouri followed my bachelor’s from George
Washington University. My mom stood on her feet as a cashier at a wine and
cheese shop, I liked to say – at a liquor store, she would say – to pay for
private high school so my sister and I would have those opportunities. She
never made more than $5 an hour.
A therapist once asked me to describe my mom in a word and I
said “hard.” She was, and I can’t sugar coat that. But she softened with the
death of my dad followed by the birth of my first son 11 days later. I remember
how she scooped up baby Harry – named for my father – and took a lawn chair to
sit under a tree in my back yard. She held him in a way I’ll never forget,
speaking softly under the warm breeze. When Ben was born three years later, she
was here the next day, instantly attached – this from a woman who said she
would never be the typical grandmother. Perhaps not, but her apartment was
something of a shrine to those two boys. Becoming a mother myself made me
understand and appreciate her perspective in a way I never thought possible.
said “hard.” She was, and I can’t sugar coat that. But she softened with the
death of my dad followed by the birth of my first son 11 days later. I remember
how she scooped up baby Harry – named for my father – and took a lawn chair to
sit under a tree in my back yard. She held him in a way I’ll never forget,
speaking softly under the warm breeze. When Ben was born three years later, she
was here the next day, instantly attached – this from a woman who said she
would never be the typical grandmother. Perhaps not, but her apartment was
something of a shrine to those two boys. Becoming a mother myself made me
understand and appreciate her perspective in a way I never thought possible.
When a gall bladder attack sent my mother to the hospital
nearly a month ago, and complications developed, I didn’t know what to expect
when I walked into her sixth floor room. She was crying – something I had only
seen when she lost her siblings – and she was scared. I held her hand. She
wanted to give up. The next day wasn’t much better until we started to talk.
Really talk. I asked questions I had always wanted to know the answers to about
when she was young. We talked about me –the raw pain I felt when losing that
newspaper job that was part of me for 20 years, the depression that has often
prevented me from seeing what’s right in front of me.
nearly a month ago, and complications developed, I didn’t know what to expect
when I walked into her sixth floor room. She was crying – something I had only
seen when she lost her siblings – and she was scared. I held her hand. She
wanted to give up. The next day wasn’t much better until we started to talk.
Really talk. I asked questions I had always wanted to know the answers to about
when she was young. We talked about me –the raw pain I felt when losing that
newspaper job that was part of me for 20 years, the depression that has often
prevented me from seeing what’s right in front of me.
She told me I was never supposed to make it – all 4 pounds
of me – as they cut her open when she was pregnant to remove a tumor.
of me – as they cut her open when she was pregnant to remove a tumor.
She said the most amazing words that afternoon to me: “Now I
know why I got sick. So we could have this conversation.”
know why I got sick. So we could have this conversation.”
I thought she was getting better. So did she. She went home
and almost made it a week before an unforeseen setback sent her back to the
hospital. Even then, I believed there was hope, realistic hope of a full
recovery. The news came yesterday that it wouldn’t be more than 24 hours.
and almost made it a week before an unforeseen setback sent her back to the
hospital. Even then, I believed there was hope, realistic hope of a full
recovery. The news came yesterday that it wouldn’t be more than 24 hours.
She died shortly after 5 a.m.
I wish we had one more Thanksgiving, one more Christmas. My
mom was a great gift giver, someone who prided herself in finding the un-findable
and surprising you on Christmas morning. When you’d ask where she got it, a
smug “trade secret” would be her only response. I loved her cooking. Her fried
cabbage is my favorite food on the planet, and her stewed tomatoes over fried
potatoes ranks a close second. I loved when the daytime soaps were on, and we’d
talk endlessly about the characters I had grown up with. We felt the same way
about Frank Sinatra and Johnny Carson. We made the same jokes about Dad. We
played Pinochle until all hours and a game only she knew called Liverpool. We sang HTTR when they
beat Dallas in Dallas a few Thanksgivings back.
mom was a great gift giver, someone who prided herself in finding the un-findable
and surprising you on Christmas morning. When you’d ask where she got it, a
smug “trade secret” would be her only response. I loved her cooking. Her fried
cabbage is my favorite food on the planet, and her stewed tomatoes over fried
potatoes ranks a close second. I loved when the daytime soaps were on, and we’d
talk endlessly about the characters I had grown up with. We felt the same way
about Frank Sinatra and Johnny Carson. We made the same jokes about Dad. We
played Pinochle until all hours and a game only she knew called Liverpool. We sang HTTR when they
beat Dallas in Dallas a few Thanksgivings back.
I loved talking to my
mom about everything, but I especially liked talking to her about nothing.
mom about everything, but I especially liked talking to her about nothing.
I don’t have a dad anymore. Or a mom. I have the biggest
ache in my heart. I have the memories. And I cherish each of them.
ache in my heart. I have the memories. And I cherish each of them.
Having lost my mother just a few months ago, I identify with many of the thoughts you so eloquently expressed.
I'm hoping you and your loved ones find comfort now and in the days to come.
Thoughts, condolences and prayers from a Midwest women's basketball SID. Thank you for sharing your personal story.
I'm happy you were able to have that conversation. Losing our parents is something we all dread, if we're lucky… And you were lucky to have a great relationship with a special mom. My condolences to you and your family.
Sorry to hear of your loss. My thoughts are with you. What will always remain are the great memories to be with you.
Vicki: So sorry for your loss. My thought and prayers are with you and you family. Glad you got to spend some time with you mom before she passed. When my mother died, I spend a week with her as she fought a blood cancer that was making a joke out of what it means to be alive. She died the week after I returned home and I've always regretted that I wasn't there.