Triumph and Pain in New England

It was a beautiful weekend full of nostalgia. I didn't get to spend the day with my mother, but the next best thing is the charming Auntie Bernie and I got a double helping of her! Too many people Bernie and I loved have passed and she witnessed my beloved Gramps go. I had the honor of witnessing my mother bear untold misery with joy and with her philosophical outlook not ceding an inch. I have had a miraculous life, thanks to her, and I need to commemorate her after an eventful Mother's Day.

She skated. I don't know her record, and I don't know who to ask, but I do know that she attended regional sectionals in the old ice rink in Flushing Meadows Park. She and her mother drove down from Boston and I can just picture the two of them on the Parkway missing the exit over and over again. After all that effort, she did not compete in the national competition that year because it was held in California. She also qualified in pairs and quads, which needs to make a comeback. My passion for ice skating is from her.

My mother was once young.
Her family built their world
around her skating. This costume
was made by my Nana. My mom
looked good in clothes!

I need to start further back, with her parents, my grandparents. Nana designed and executed Mom's costumes and possibly her partners', too. I'm sure it wasn't "fun" in the way that my creations are never actually fun, but getting this photo was a family affair. I wish I knew more about her programs and her music. The stories she told involved mishaps and her trademark anxiety. I am certain that she was a vision. What a pity that my Gramps never had the experience of moving images. He'd be out with his drones, I'm certain, if he was still here. Did he print the signs for the competitions? Programs? One thing is for sure, he did take still pictures! Thank you, Gramps, for saving what you could.

One of my mother's dying wishes was to have my father get together with his family "on the water". Last year, I tried to make that happen, and got three out of the four in one room on the Coonamessett River. I was a bit disappointed but I tried my best. And then it happened. My magical Uncle Pat made a phone call and the last sibling showed! And then the mom magic began.

I've been saying since Mom died that she is powerful as a spirit and she has rightly chosen me as her vessel. I became her. It was wonderful! I was possessed by a very, *very* friendly spirit. She has been gradually leading me to a total takeover and it was as gentle as her love. Just for a moment and a quick photo, and then she was content to watch again but WATCHING SHE WAS. 

Everyone could have been someone else except for X. My X was when my family uprooted to the Midwest, and I don't know the woman who I would have been if I stayed. I am looking for clues. Who would I have been and would I choose her? I feel unfaithful. I would choose her, no questions asked. But, what about Tootie Pie? No, right? I'd still like to get to know this fascinating woman.

I remember not caring about my mother's stories, so I understand that Tootie Pie really doesn't care about the tuna fish sandwich that I threw. But I care now about Mom's tales, and I pretended to care at the time. Not with follow-up questions, mind you, but with an emotion that whole generations are not familiar with: politely listening and nodding, all the while composing your grocery list or otherwise occupying your brain with everything except with whatever your conversational partner feels like going on about. I think we should name this. Let this percolate. In any case, kids today don't indulge their parents, and I think it's to their detriment.

My quest will never end. My BFF from kindergarten, whom I met with now three times, remembered a field trip that was taking up space in my brain but was formally inaccessible. These type of things are gold! Another boy friend reminded me of the reason we were on the lawn that day when I was so deep - planting a tree in memorial of the wonderful Mr. Short. I changed his death into retirement when I left and it took an old friend to remind me - Mr. Short died. I got to relive the pain again, because in my mind, he didn't die, and that didn't make sense. A lot of my childhood didn't make sense.

I used to go to Mom for answers, and I don't have her any more. So, somehow, that makes me want the answers even more. I will return to Greenville and it will slowly reveal itself to me. That's what makes life grand.