A Lifetime of Good-Byes

I have often wondered what would have happened if my family remained in Rhode Island when I turned 11, instead of moving to Cleveland. I imagine our happy family staying so, surrounded by my friends and family. I moved away from the Midwest as soon as I was able, and I have spent the rest of my life saying good-byes. Hard to not blame Cleveland for that.

I have stayed in New York for two reasons. One, I can't go while my divorce goes on and on. And, two, and most importantly, because it is home for my daughter. Oh, I guess three reasons: I hate moving. And I hate good-byes. Okay, four reasons... 

I said my farewells to my mother for the last time over 3 years ago now. I witnessed her final breath, and it was a privilege and honor to have known and loved her. I wish I had told and shown her this love more strongly when I had the chance. 

Me and my beautiful mom. I miss you, Jean.

It is now time for another: Tootie Pie. My heart aches to think of my life without her, although it is natural and to be expected. I love her ferociously and have structured my world around her. Now, what? 

Of course, I am happy that she is starting her own adventure, but I can be proud and sad at the same time, it seems. Motherhood is a complicated emotion, that's for sure.

Tootie Pie, you are and will always remain my greatest achievement. I am certain that you know this. I hope you see yourself with the love that I do. I think you do, but don't you ever let anyone make you doubt that you are capable, strong, self-reliant, kind, smart, beautiful and empathetic. Don't make the same mistakes that I did of letting your kindness blind you to self-absorbed others. Always put yourself first. Remember that you are my whole world, and I live and die for you. We will always share the same sky; I am always with you. This is not good-bye, but see-you-later.

I love you so dearly that it hurts, and I am excited for what the future holds for you. Whatever it is, you will kill it, girlie! As my Gramps said, "Go out and GET IT!" I know you will. Rock on...

Peace

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.

Am I Self-Made? Not Society-Failed, At Least

Things went wrong in my childhood, naturally. I once was sent to the principal's office for successfully scaling a drainpipe to the 2nd floor. I carved "I hate Mom" into the softened wood of our window sashes when I was deprived of some long ago forgotten luxury. She absolutely could not deal with my grass stained knees. Normal stuff. So I was woefully unprepared for when, at 10, the wheels came off the bus and I moved from my idyllic New England town to Cleveland. Poor Cleveland is finally failing on its own merits instead of its poor comparison to Rhode Island. Puberty timed its entrance perfectly, making this life's earthquake all the more difficult, but as much as I was up against, I had a secret weapon: my three ladies. My sisters seemed like my world, because we were on a different level than Mom, but I'm the oldest, and Mom and I had a special friendship that was kind of unhealthy, I am realizing now. We built up a boogey man for our problems, and he had a face and name: Dad. Despite the fact that she was brutally ripped from her home and family, she faced the Midwest with her typical spirit of total dominance, done with a beautiful smile. 

I had my struggles with her, of course. Most notably, London. Oh, my, how we argued over that! I broached the topic one night of maybe trying out London for a summer because my roommate was, not because I actually wanted it. I paid for school on my own and was practical, and so it wasn't really an option, until my parents went code level orange because I floated an idea. Then my mind was made up and I was going to London whether I felt like it or not. Three months later, when I told my parents that we needed to talk, she said, "You're not going to London." I can be dominating, too, Mom, so it was too late. The tickets were bought, passport obtained, and it wasn't as if they could threaten to cut me off. Quite the chess move on my part! I was going to be self-made and visit abroad! And, so, I did.

So, I did do it solo financially the minute I was an adult, but whose idea was this? As long as I remember, I was going to college. Then I realized there was no money for it, but that was okay, because I'd been working hard at school which came easily to me, so I got grants and scholarships. A complete success story and I did it alone. I went back to London, then Paris. I got a frantic phone call one night from her because there was a problem with the lines and she made me pick a date to return and so I did: Thanksgiving. I wish I could have lived out my little adventure on my own time instead of artificially truncating it, but I was breaking Mom's heart.

So I returned to fucking Grand Rapids, Michigan, to live near Mom and Dad. It was a memorable year! Dad insisted on going to swim with me and always wanted to race. Mom did her pristine breast stroke so as to preserve the 'do. I introduced her to my date and she said, "Nice to meet you, Kurt". We left and he said, "That's weird! Your mom called me by my brother's name!". I had no idea what my date's first name was and had to look him up in the phone book. It turns out, he was unlisted, but not his brother! In any case, I had a true friendship with both of my parents, I guess you could say. Although, if you do say that, I'll have you know that Dad was a friend of my real friend. I hated that they were a package deal.

Picnic at one of Mom's secret beaches
and a custom summer dress for Lucy.

It is not fair that my friend is gone. I was planning on at least 10 more years. But, I have to look at the bright side which is that I had her for 53 years. And as for self-made, there is no such thing. Everyone once needed help. But there is such a thing as society-failed and it is only the luck of the draw that makes us one or the other. Many of my students were facing puberty without a solid parental figure helping. It is of course usually the female that helps these "self-made" individuals. I am fortunate. I had the best.

I just celebrated my daughter's 17th birthday at a wonderful Peruvian restaurant. Reminder: I have a minimum wage part-time job. She has a pretty awful parent, but I like to think that I am the parent she chooses to align with. I know that 95% of the rationale for that is our shared female connection. She is as independent as it is possible to be at that age but still in that weird area where she relies on us for cash and rides and food and - basically we're staff. Then we're vacation rentals and ATMs, I get it. I want to make college easier than it was for me, at least financially. She did the real work, though, which is getting her education and taking it seriously. 

I may be the only generation who got to sort of envision a future that actually panned out. Mom thought 4 years of college was impractical, because lengthening college shortened the amount of time she'd need to work, which would just be until she became a mother. Until me. But, ten short years later, she was back in the work force and I had to "prepare" dinner twice a week. She could have been the leader of the universe, but she constrained herself using the information she had available at the time. I lived the dream for a moment: I had a career in a male-dominated industry and I made a killing. I made a nest egg and now I can enjoy it. I did it, Mom! I wish you were here to celebrate your success. I wish, I wish, I wish...

Home is Mom

My beautiful mother, Jean.

For my 50th birthday, I went back home. Home, to me, had always been Rhode Island. I promised my mother, during this trip, that, "when this divorce finally happens, we will celebrate on Block Island". 

That was five and a half years ago. Two years ago, she got sick, and a year and a half ago she died.

We never made it to Rhode Island. That breaks my heart.

I went back last year to my village in RI, for the first time in 45 years, one year exactly after she passed. It isn't fair. I am still not divorced. That, too, was scheduled for 4 years ago, so 5 years ago, it seemed entirely likely that we would get to take that trip back home together. I had to do it alone, but she was with me. OH! How I wish she could share in my joy in a tangible way! I want her ashes to go to our local swimming hole, where I learned to swim and my sister outsmarted the instructor and didn't learn! She ran to shore to grab the wet sand rather than go under to retrieve it and no one was the wiser. Except Mom, who pointed it out to me. It was funny and I will never forget it. She would call me over often to share in the adorableness of my youngest sister, and I thank her for this. I felt maternal looking at my poor, left behind sister who would pretend to read magazines but upside-down, or make up sad, nay, pitiful songs about being the youngest. Otherwise, I'd always probably just see her as a peer, but I dutifully admired her angel wings and dark (for us) skin like a mother would.

Little sister just came for another Linda emergency (there are many) and is now my confidant. And I love her and marvel at her ability to juggle her life and mine, but she is not a replacement for Jean. My father, forget it! She is smiling, though, Mom is. Because something wonderful is going to happen!

Working in my medium, confusion and misunderstandings, I managed to put together a mini-reunion of my elementary school friends. Personally, my life has been painful and, I know no one reads this, not even worth maintaining at times. My life is on the edge. I really miss Jean...

But this reunion, and I don't want to put too many expectations on it, is giving me a reason to go on. I knew in my heart for years that I over-romanticized my RI childhood, but now that I've gone back again, I don't think I did!! It truly was special and magical and amazing. But, my real home is now in my heart, where Jean lives. I miss talking with her, but she is inside of me, and we talk all the time. Home is where the heart is, and mine is with her. Love you, Mom...