100th Blog Post

Friday, December 2, 2011

Today marks a few milestone's.  It was three years ago today that mom passed away.  It has been one month since we moved to Sydney.  This blog numbers 100 blog posts (I may admit to padding the blog this week to make the 100th milestone today.) of How's Your Dad... when I began writing this blog, I had no idea where this story would lead.  Certainly not down the rocky path that it did.

I had started this blog post about mom a while ago, and never finished it.  I'm not sure it will ever be finished, as there are so many memories... and how to put into writing such a special relationship.  It feels a bit silly to even try to put it into words.  However, these are some of the thoughts that have been on my mind, so will share as a way of remembering her...

If I had been told at 15 that one day I would be best of friends with my mom, I would have rolled my eyes and responded, 'Yeah, whatever.' My favorite expression at the time was, 'I'm moving out when I'm 18.' I recall my brother intercepting the two of us chasing each other around the kitchen island. I have no idea what we were fighting about, I just know there was always a battle of wills. Mom told me the story of being out at the mall by herself and being pretty upset with me. A woman asked her what was wrong, and she told her she was struggling with her young daughter. The woman said to mom, 'You just wait. One day your daughter will be your best friend.' I wonder if mom responded, 'Yeah, whatever.' ?

Best friends we did become. I don't know exactly when it started. I do know we used to go out for coffee or shopping or such, and dad would always tease us as we walked out the door...'Oooo... mother-daughter bonding session.' More often than not, we'd try to sneak out to avoid hearing it!

I didn't move out at 18, but rather, at 31. Well, I did live on my own briefly in the middle there, and travelled as well. 31 was the age I officially moved out... despite the taunts of my friends, wondering if I would ever leave home. (I am sure my parents wondered as well!)  I can say now that I do not regret spending that additional time at home. I got to spend precious time with my mom. We were both night owls... so there were many many late night, often giggly, conversations. Even after I moved out on my own... I would call mom for a late night giggle. I recall one episode where I was lying on my bed, sobbing in fits of laughter.  I have no idea what it was about, just recall being in pain from laughing so hard.  What a good feeling laughter is.  Hanging out with mom just made you feel happy and lighter.

I am not sure how it came up in conversation... I think something along the lines of mom saying to me... "I don't like that shoo-whop-bop song.  It's always playing in the store."  To which I replied... "I KNOW!  Same with me."  The song is Big Yellow Taxi, originally performed by Joni Mitchell, but there have been several renditions.  Barely a week went by where we didn't hear the words "they paved paradise and put up a parking lot"... somewhere, in a store, car, doctor office... whenever we were out.  Usually I would call her up as soon as I heard the song, and sing to her "shoo-whop-bop-bop."  To which she would say, "Noooooooo!!!"  It was so random, the number of times we would hear that single song.  Must have been because the lyrics were so memorable that we would always notice that single tune.  To this day, whenever I hear, "they paved paradise and put up a parking lot"... I smile and remember all the laughs we had together over that song.

I am quite sure that that song came on when we were out together shopping one day.  I started an impromptu dance in the middle of the aisle in the store, just to get her laughing.  She said, "They have videos in this store, you know."  To which I turned around and waved to the hidden camera.  She disappeared down the next aisle, laughing and shaking her head all the while.  That was life with mom... happy.

Two days before she passed away, mom was in the kitchen preparing lunch, and I was standing there chatting to her.  (Surely, I had been helping her, I don't remember!)  I will never forget her words... You need to go be with your dad, he feels left out sometimes."  I remember sitting down next to dad on the couch, and looking through a magazine with him, chatting all the while (as I tend to do).  Here he was missing out on my relationship as at the time, I didn't know how to handle his disease... and he was hard to communicate with.  Mom had to point that out to me. A relationship with mom was easy and enjoyable... it must have been easier to be with her and deal with him at arms length.  How that was about to all change...
Following mom's passing, I found out that she was getting ready for a visit to Australia with dad. I had no idea... she sometimes liked to do things in private and then announce at the last minute what her plans were.  I have no doubt that it was an exploratory trip, as they had always wanted to retire in Australia, but dad's Parkinson's definitely cramped their style.  If mom had known that we had moved to Australia without her, I know she would have said, 'Bummer.' Mom was always up for some fun... if I ever called her for coffee, she would say 'sure' before I finished the sentence.

There is no way these words can do justice to what mom meant to me.  They feel trite and silly compared to all that mom gave us.  She shaped our lives so deeply and completely... I can't make a pie without hearing her words of advice in every step of the process, I see her in my hand gestures, I remember her in conversations we had about dad... enabling me to carry on with him.  A mother's unconditional love can never be replaced.  In losing mom, we lost our biggest cheering squad.  No one else will ever cheer louder, stronger for one of her own.

In the week before she passed away, another young family we knew lost their mother.  I recall walking through the grocery store, talking to mom on my cell phone.  (I had phone conversations with her everywhere.)  We were talking about losing a mom, and I commented that I couldn't imagine losing a mom.  Mom said that she still missed her own mother desperately, having lost her mom almost five years to the day of our conversation.  That she missed her every day.  I can relate to that now.

One of the things mom and I used to say after one of our hour-long conversations was, "I think we've covered everything, there's nothing left to say."  Indeed, I do feel like we didn't leave anything left unsaid between us.  It doesn't mean I wouldn't want one more conversation with her.

I can't believe we have had to live three years without her already.  I can't believe I have to go through the rest of my life without a mom.  I am thankful for the time I did have with her.  Thankful that we made it through the terrible teen years to have an incredible relationship and friendship.

I miss her.