Mom: I'm home!
Mother’s Day is right around the corner, and each of us has or had a mother’s influence in our lives. We wouldn’t be without one. For me, my mom was the difference in my daily life as a kid of the 60s/70s. But sadly, this coming September will be the fifth anniversary of her death. It was a rough day, but for the ten years prior to her passing, I was able to spend a tremendous amount of time with her, helping, arguing, laughing, and teasing her un-mercilessly. Some call it payback for things dispensed in youth, I called it love. What a child is supposed to do for their parents when the table turns. The best part, I was able to know her on a level most never do of their parents. But I do know this, in her way, she loved her kids with all her heart, realizing:
Sacrifice: something given up or lost. (Merriam Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary/Eleventh Edition)
And in her death, I indirectly learned from her that life is an experience to be treasured at all costs, as most of us do not understand the true value of life. That is until we suffer the tragedy of loss. Suddenly, the picture then becomes all too painstakingly clear. The problem though, one cannot rewind the clock, as there’s no going back, no do overs. Because once one departs this world, the world keeps turning, life continues for those living, and all that remains of those lost are pictures and memories.
For me, growing up in a military family, the immediate family was all that I knew. My parents: Mom and Dad. And yes, for years I thought those were their given names. Now, Dad, being a fighter pilot, was mostly flying, training to protect, while Mom on the other hand, ran the day-to-day at home. Always present, always working, always cooking, including preparing for or attending squadron functions.
In life, she wasn’t overly stern, but she also wasn’t a verbalizer, knowing full well the military life directed the home life, as opposed to her life growing up which dramatically affected the way she lived. The circle of life in a life circle. So, as military life motored and Dad eventually retired, I also left home, taking thirty-one years to return home permanently. Now, in my youth, we’d moved so much, living quarters were mostly base housing, but Mom made each one home for the duration. So, after being gone for so long, Mom was in her home. No more transfers, packing, unpacking, setting up, tearing down. It was home, and she never locked her house. So, coming home (which for me had never been home), opening the front door I yelled out: Mom: I’m home! and walked right in like it had always been home. Only this time, included was my wife and son. Seeing each other, she was still Mom. Stoic, mostly holding her emotions in check, matter of fact, and still not really a verbalizer. Being Italian, her way was the food way. Manga! At almost fifty, I was finally going to get to know Mom. It would take some years, but she would soften and the person I thought I knew was nothing like the person I came to know, and I will cherish the memories for whatever life I have left.
I took my youth for granted, never thinking of the sacrifices made to give me the life I had growing up. As such, it also required a tremendous passage of time for me to fully understand the fifth commandment: Honor your father and your mother (Exodus 20:12). But once it clicked, I endeavored to be late in life the son I never was in youth. Take grass cutting for example. Especially when it’s being done to somehow pay back some of what was given up. Now Mom, she was a penny pincher, even trying to make sure one pinched their own pennies. Anyway, after cutting our yard, I loaded up the equipment, grabbed my son (R2), and went to Mom’s to cut grass. Arriving, we found her in the kitchen playing solitaire at her kitchenette. She had one deck of cards (her favorite), that were so worn, they’d been taped together. Well, she didn’t want the grass cut. In her opinion it wasn’t tall enough. I was also dirty, but she proposed we go to McDonald’s instead so she could buy R2 a Happy Meal. Mind you, the entire time this conversation was taking place, she’d never looked up from her game. I declined to go, because if anyone knows Texas in the summertime, it’s dry (dusty), hot, humid, and after one is done cutting grass, they are truly dirty and sweaty. And yes, my plan was to cut her grass while they were gone. She thought the same thing.
At that moment she stopped her game, looked up, and in a matter-of-fact voice while pointing up at a plaque of Jesus hanging on her kitchen wall stated: You put your hand on Jesus and swear you won’t cut the grass. R2 was about seven (yes, he was a late in life child) and truly disappointed that day because he didn’t get his Happy Meal because I told Mom there was no way I was doing that. When we returned home, R2 walked in the house with his head bowed low and told Barbara: Dad got in trouble at grandma’s. And yes, the grass went uncut until she wanted it cut, even though she wasn’t paying for it. It was always on her terms only.
Mom also wasn’t one prone to use profanity, plus being a hard one to fool. One year during Thanksgiving, we were driving to a family get together. The traffic on the highway was flowing well over the posted speed limit, approaching speeds of 100 MPH when I jokingly looked in the rearview and: Oh no, there’s a DPS trooper flashing me. Mom, stoic as ever, looked up: Nope, because you’d be saying Oh Shit! But, when she drove, she was also a lead foot. One day, we left her house in separate cars. I was headed home, she was headed to an appointment, only both were in the same direction. She was a little behind me as we were coming to a stop light, and it turned yellow. I stopped, while she blew right through, having mashed the gas. Only she didn’t make the light, but afterwards swore she did. And yes, I drive faster than she did.
Growing up, Mom kept a junk food drawer. A smorgasbord or cornucopia of candy. From Baby Ruth to powdered donuts, the drawer always had something to tease the tastebuds. Now, later in life, Mom became a diabetic, that sweet tooth caught up. Well, at home, once Barbara discovered my favorite ice cream, Ben and Jerry’s cinnamon bun, I couldn’t get enough. So, on occasion Mom would buy me a couple pints and bring them by the house. It was always a treat to pull the lid and see where she had already treated herself to a spoonful or two. She never lost her way of showing love or that she cared. Food was her medium.
So much, I remember as a kid, Mom always kept a bowl of spaghetti in the refrigerator. After school, I’d grab two slices of bread and make a cold spaghetti sandwich. Included were meat balls and Italian sausage. Always a taste bud, tongue slapping treat. While the years passed and she got older, she also got weaker. One of the things she loved making was lasagna. She went as far as making her own noodles, sauce, and assembled them with loving care. To walk into her house while one or two were in the oven was an olfactory treat like no other. Well, as time went on, the pans became more and more difficult to lift in or out of the oven, being heavy as hell. Being one not to ask for help, she improvised. Her lasagna became lasagna-non-lasagna, using rotini. And trust me, if she’d marketed it, it would have been a smashing hit. R2 and I always fought over the bowl.
In those years spent helping, she had a couple of major health issues. One day she had a scan, and a dye (tracer?) was injected beforehand. A side effect was she would turn blue. Smurf blue! And I kid you not, she turned blue! Well, there were four of us in the waiting room. When the procedure was finished, two sisters walked back to the “room,” and I gave them a few minutes so Mom could get dressed. Once done, I lugged their purses and bags back to get Mom so we could leave. Now, while we were waiting, my sister Elena had finished knitting a Smurf cap (no lie). As I made my way into the room, when I saw Mom, I busted out laughing hard and long. She was blue! I couldn’t stop, so the nurses and other patients started laughing. Mom was pissed! Well, afterwards I begged and pleaded with her to let me take her home alone as I wanted to go to Walmart, put her in a wheelchair and push her around the store wearing the Smurf hat. She had six choice words for me. Words she’d repeated to me on many an occasion while pointing a finger. You’re about to learn them. Plus, she refused to ride with me that day.
She loved MeTV and westerns. Gunsmoke being her favorite, and we’d sit and watch them together. But on days when she started watching before I arrived, I usually found her sacked out in her favorite chair positioned in front of her tele. Anyway, over the ten years of helping her through the later years, I learned what drove her. Faith being her driving force. I also finally understood what she meant when I went outside the boundaries she thought permissible, and always her words: God is going to get you! We also learned how to talk to each other, and I grew to have an admiration and respect for Mom like I never had growing up. Because in youth, it was fear of the wooden spoon. She also softened and became a real verbalizer as I’ve been a hugger, especially with Barbara and R2.
So, the day she underwent a routine procedure and didn’t come out was a shocker beyond belief. It also made me realize life is short, too much so. During her last few years, she was divesting things, giving them away to those who wanted them. After she passed, as I pared the remaining things left in her house, after the last pieces were removed, I stopped by on my way home from work. Never having locked up the house, I opened the front door, and by habit yelled: Mom: I’m home! Only she wasn’t, and it finally hit me, nor would she ever be again. But I do know this, we will see each other again one day. So, as Mother’s Day approaches, give the mothers you love the best day one can, but also realize, don’t always wait for this once-a-year occasion. Create precious memories daily and give your mom a hug and make sure she hears: I love you! Verbalize it, even if it’s via a Happy Meal.
Fantastic
This is a beautiful tribute to your mother. Thank you for sharing.