Thinking About You...

Dear Mom,

A thimble full of thoughts for and about you today… Did you see that your apartment looks just like when you last left it? If I actually go in there, I get sad, and I don’t really want to do that... Not because I don’t think you’re worthy of a bucket load of tears, but because I’ve developed eczema around my eyes and crying is the absolute worst thing for it. Maybe you already know that, but if you were here, I could tell you about it and you could: a) tell me how YOU had eczema when you were my age (and that it was waaay worse), b) check your Merck Manual and delve out the remedial details, c) wax philosophical about the history of eczema.

So, I don’t really go into your apartment much. But I know your granddaughter is keeping an eye on things because she still uses your washer and dryer on Saturdays. She misses you too.

Part of me really likes leaving things the way they are because I get to imagine you’re just wintering in Florida, and that you’ll be home soon. The other part is pretty frustrated that, even in your death, I’m living my life on hold until something happens over there. The lawyers are working things out but it’s taking some time. I know, I know… we thought we had it all taken care of before you went Super North, but apparently not. If you were here, we could rationalize the extended wait by agreeing that all things happen in their own time and that eventually, the apartment thing will all get sorted out, exactly as it should. No matter how many times we shared those concepts, they always brought me a little peace.

I always liked that about us; that we looked at life in a similar way. No doubt, you were waaaay sunnier than me, but you gave me something to aspire to. I don’t really remember you being so  positive or optimistic when you were just “Mom”, but after Pop died, and with me living right next door to you for 10 years, I got to witness your metamorphosis; a softening from the more abrupt, less available mother you were when I was growing up. Don’t get me wrong, I totally understood that you had your hands full with Pop! (By the way, am I correct on this one – “sunnier than ME”? Or should it be “sunnier than I”? I know improper English makes you crazy… like when I used to say “those ones” instead of “those”. I can see you scrunching your face in pain right now…)

I’ve also been thinking a lot about you because of the less-than-wild winter weather we’ve had this year; not a flake since December and temps in the 50’s. Like you, I’m cautiously concerned about climate change, but I have to admit, white-less winters in New England are wonderful.  We left your patio furniture out this year, so sometimes I take a seat by your back door in the sun. I picture you standing behind the Plexiglas with a sandwich in your hands, surveying your green kingdom and deciding what to attack first in the garden. You smile, hold up your sandwich and give the signal that you’ll be right out to join me.

I wasn’t working back then (outside the home anyway), so I’d get my gardening basket and we’d meet at the roses. You’d tell me the story about how Great Aunt Lizzie planted those roses and how much they meant to you; how they bloomed every year on your birthday, June 25th… how our neighbor shared the same roses and the same birthday… and, how the roses really needed to be cut back. Remember the year we let them go wild? Just that one year and they were so plentiful. Honestly Mom, it’s the only time I actually liked the roses.

So, what’s it like Up There? I bet you cried when you first saw Pop and Gig and Liz again. Oh – and did you see Callie and Luscious? Please apologize to Luscious for me for not latching the top of his hutch. That was such an awful day, but you were so loving and motherly. You often told me how sad it made you when we found my rabbit with a snapped neck, but that you were grateful to hear my first words; “I hope he didn’t suffer”. I remember thinking it was odd that you were so impressed by my comment… that maybe you thought I wasn’t the kind of 13 year old who would be empathetic to the pain of her rabbit’s brutal death?

Days before you died, when you were still in and out of… here, you said, “I love you so much Emily… You turned out to be everything I never thought you could be.” And, we both laughed. But after you said it, I had a flash back to your rabbit comment. There’s always something more to work on with the therapist, isn’t there Mom? 😊

Well, I have to get back to work. We’ve got this pandemic thing happening all around the world called Covid-19… But maybe you already know that? Do you know everything that’s going to happen, before it happens? I have so many questions for you!

I love and miss you Mom - more than you’ll ever know. Please give Pop a big hug and kiss for me. I hope I don’t see you too soon, but if you can come to me in my dreams again, that would be awesome.

Xoxoxoxxoxoxo

Em