She should be here. Six is knocking me on my ass. The first year anniversary was solid sadness, I didn't want to start a year of existence without her. 2, 3, 4 and 5 I was resigned. Still sad, I still miss her like crazy, but you do get used to it in a way. I don't even really miss her more on her birthday or the anniversary of her death than I do on any other day but it's different. I miss her in strange moments; when someone tells a great story and I know how much she'd like it. And that three days later I'd hear her re-telling it only it would suddenly be her story. When I do something stupid and I know she's the one person who would call me on it. I miss her desperately when I realize no matter how hard Aidan and I try the girls are forgetting her in slivers. For them the forgetting is soft and fluid for me it's jagged and sharp, it pierces my heart every time I say something about her and realize the blank look in their eyes. I can't stand the thought of them not remembering her like Erin and Aidan and I do. She should be here.
For some reason, six seems especially cruel. She should be 70. She should be causing trouble and smoking pot and drinking with her friends. She should be blasting music and buying useless gadgets off of late night tv and saying inappropriate things in public.
She should be here, literally here, in the Wisconsin Dells camping with a totally insane group of my friends some of which she loved already and some that she would love if she met. This weekend has been a fantastic distraction but I woke up this morning with a larger than normal Cheli shaped hole in my heart and I'm struggling to get it together, I hope tomorrow is better.
What I need is to get on the back of someone's bike and drive about 90MPH around curves and over hills so I can remember her and forget her at the same time. She's always more with me when I'm doing things we both loved to do and I'd really like to see her today. My life long live of motorcycles is from her. I wish Ron was here to drive me around on his listening to music she lives while forgetting and remembering at the same time. At some point today I'm going to find someone who can roll a joint even half as good as my mom could and I'm going to sit and get high and think about the 45,897 amazing things about her and also the 5,647 annoying, hurtful things she could do to me and be sorry for a second letter, because that is being a parent and all those things made her who she was.
She should be here.
So now I'm going to quit crying, get up off of my knees and have an amazing day because it's what I need and what she would want. And as I finish writing this, Into The Mystic has come on and........ She should be here.
Saturday, August 12, 2017
She Should Be Here
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
My Best Magic
Sunday, December 13, 2015
Laurie
My life is governed by words, the way they taste in my mouth, how they feel the moment they stop being the speaker's breath and are absorbed into my skin, my brain, my heart. Words are how I navigate the world, they are how I form my opinions and my bonds, my dislikes and sometimes I think they are the motor that runs my heart.
Over 15 years my sister in law has been a lot of things to me. We've said a lot of words to one another, many of them unkind. She could really get me going. In the past the second word that I associated with Laurie was "enemy." I'd never felt like that about anyone before. I always felt like she was after me and I hated it. I feel like we spent our early years warily circling one another and I was never quite sure why.
For my part, I was judgemental about her parenting and her choice in partners, I love her daughter completely and any "playing nice" I did with Laurie was to gain access to Samantha or out of respect for my mother in law.
The first word that I think of when I think of Laurie, regardless of whether I've always wanted it that way is "family." She's my family good, bad or ugly. Too much of it was been ugly. Some family you get to pick, some you don't. Would Laurie and I have been friends on our own? No. But over the years we have been friends, we have been enemies, we have been unlikely allies. She's been family since before I married her brother, she didn't stop being family when we got divorced. Curiously, we've been better friends since the divorce. Now when I think of her, I think "cautious friend." I think Laurie doesn't like change, even when it might mean getting to ditch someone she often found snotty and annoying. That's the thing about family, there's nothing quite like the crazy you know.
A few months ago I found myself laughing with her on the phone, she was rabidly coming to my defense about my divorce from her brother, "Laurie," I said laughing, "you don't even like me."
"I don't have to like you, you're my family." We both knew what she meant. When her mom died, I loved Patti so, so much, Laurie went out of her way to make sure I was included. I always thought part of our problem was jealousy over my relationship with Patti. In death we were united in our love for her. And Patti loved Laurie completely, flaws and all, there was nothing to be jealous of.
For as long as I've known Laurie part of her was broken. I don't know what it was, the early death of her dad, something else. Alcohol had been slowly killing her for years and I think her mom's death last April was more than she could take. I know she had the best of intentions, I know she loved her daughter and her brother and her mom. She loved them desperately, even if she didn't know how to do it right all the time. She loved fiercely.
When I started writing this, Laurie was still alive, still fighting; she's gone now. I hope wherever she is that she is at peace, that she is free and that her mom's and dad's arms are back around her because I know she wanted that more than anything. God speed, Laurie, I will miss you being a pain in my ass and I will never forget you, I hope you are lighter now and that you soar, fly.
Labels: family
Tuesday, August 18, 2015
Like A Boss
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Secret Handshake
1,460 days without her.
My mom wasn't really physically affectionate but for as long as I can remember if she was comforting me she ran her fingers all around the back of my head absentmindedly as if she were trying to feel for something she lost.
When I was six I lost my blanket on Christmas eve. Blanket was an over statement, it was a tiny, satin scrap of blanket binding. She sent me to the car to see if it was there, it wasn't. All of my packages from Santa were. I was heartbroken and I remember crying into her shoulder while she stroked the back of my head until I feel asleep.
When I was 22 I told the biggest lie of my life. He asked me if I loved him. He'd been asking me for weeks, but this was my last chance, he was marrying someone else tomorrow. I loved him more than I have ever loved anyone before or since but I was afraid. "No," I said, looking him right in the eyes, "it's just sex." And the next day he married her. I completely fell apart, I have no idea why I thought he wouldn't do it, but I was bereft. I spent what felt like days with my head in my mom's lap her fingers circling the back of my skull, never stopping while I cried my eyes out.
When I was 26 I had my first baby, he was 6 weeks early and I hemmoraged. My mom never left my side; her fingers searching the back of my head, moving through my hair in an ever changing but completely familiar pattern.
When I was 32 I got married. Just before Erin walked me down the aisle, my mom brushed my cheek with the back of her hand and put her fingers under my veil, on the back of my head. I may have imagined it, but I swear she traced a heart with her finger and then kissed me on my forehead.
When I was 34 I had twins, they were 6 weeks early also. I hemmoraged again, it was more serious. They told my husband and my mom to leave. They wouldn't let me hold my babies. With a nurse trying to physically pull my mom from the room she put her fingers behind my head, looked me in my eyes and said, "you will be okay." They forcibly pulled her from the room.
When I was 39 my mom came to live with us. We were in her room unpacking her things. I dropped something in front of her as she sat on her bed. When I bent over to pick it up she grabbed my head.
"I wonder if I can still find it." She said moving her fingers quickly over the back of my skull.
"Find what? " I asked still bent over with my head in her hands
"You have a birthmark on the back of your head," she said, "here it is!" And her fingers stopped moving. It's my last specific memory of her doing that. My whole life, every moment of comfort I remember; it had a meaning for her too. Such a small thing, but my mom wasn't as sentimental as I am; that small thing meant a lot to me.
When I was 40 my mom died. I cried in her lap until they made me leave. It's been 4 years today. Sometimes I think I miss her more with every passing day. Just recently I noticed that I play with the spot on the back of my head when I need comfort. It feels ever changing but familiar, like a secret handshake with my mom.