10 years. My mother died 10 years ago today. Amazing to see time continue:
“Mom’s heart went from 80, 20, 120, 4, gone. I let out a scream I thought I abandoned when I was a toddler. Right then and there I became not only a mother without a child but a child without a mother. My mother died.”
That’s the way I remember it. 10 years ago.
Before all of this we were planning Thanksgiving. Mom decided she wasn’t going to cook.
“I’m too tired and sick to do it,” she said to me and my sister and sister-in-law, “I’ll just sit on a stool and tell you all what to do!”
We never even got that far.
I wanted to protest Thanksgiving. Why bother celebrating all we were thankful for when Mom died 5 days prior? I wanted to stay home and eat Jack-in-the-Box and not see anyone.
But Adam insisted we go. Ashlee cooked a delicious dinner. We sat in the dining room. Dad insisted no one would sit in Mom’s chair. It made sense. We sobbed as we ate the traditional dinner. I mean, our traditional Thanksgiving dinner. With the Italian flare. I am so grateful we did that. Families do that...they keep each other afloat when all you feel like doing is sinking.
My mother, my hero, died 10 years ago today. In the late morning. I literally drove to the hospital knowing that my mother would die that day. How messed up is that? I was 22. I was a baby. I tried telling myself I prepared myself for it. I knew Mom was older...this was inevitable.
Shit, that doesn’t help at all.
Here’s the only thing I can do...I can look at my life these past 10 years and see how Mom would have approved.
Teresa...Lena...you really work me at times...but Ma would have loved it. I was getting a taste of my own medicine. I was being kept on my toes.
“I told you so, I told you so!” she would sing.
Ya, ya, ya, Ma. I get it. All the women in our family are a special something or other.
I took the girls to the cemetery today. Teresa gets increasingly sad. “I wish I met your mom and Aryn!” she said today. Me too, kid...me too. Mom would have spoiled the crap out of you. Sneaking meatballs, candy and what-not. You both would giggle at the idea of pulling one over on me.
Adam and I were showing Mom our place we would be residing after marriage and she got to the second floor and gleefully exclaimed, “OOooh! And little baby feet running around!” when I showed her the extra rooms.
She loved being a mom. She craved being a grandmother more than anything.
I suppose all I can hope for is that I am doing my due diligence continuing her legacy with my family and my daughters. That’s all. I can’t be the grandma she wanted to be to the kids. I can just do my best to keep her spirit alive.
So I’ll cook the sauce. I’ll make the meatballs. I’ll sing “Mambo Italiano” from the top of my lungs. I’ll guilt trip my kids. I’ll hold them to the highest standard. I’ll show them pictures. I’ll cook for my family. I’ll stand up for what is right...even if I’m standing alone. I’ll do all of that because it demonstrates who my mother was.
Integrity and self-discipline. My mother. My hero.
