Sometimes I know exactly what I want to write about, sometimes not. Today was the latter. However, when I woke up and was reminded of my Facebook memories, I knew what I would share with you today. It has been thirteen years since my mom died…

I find it unfair that we do not have the perspective as children and young adults as we do later in life with more experiences under our belt. There are some benefits of course, children should be able to be children without the weight that life often puts on our shoulders. And children in that buffered zone of self importance and the lack of panorama of the world around them do not think to ask a parent, hey, what was it like for you when you were a kid? Or, if a parent shares that they were a kid once too, and that they understand, the response from a teen often is the rolling of the eyes and the “no, you don’t understand!” These are all normal rights of passage of the dance between parent and child. Then as time goes by that child goes off to college then starts “life” after, and the busyness that comes with that, time accelerates.

I knew a lot about my mom and her childhood (though not the whole extent of how fucked up it truly was).  She was put in foster homes, some terrible, some not.  She was married briefly to what seems like an emotionally abusive man.  Then, she met my dad and I think saw an escape from her life with this dashing army man who was a charmer and swept her off her feet. I am not sure how much “love” there was between them.  By the time I came around, and after a lot of shit that went down that was pretty terrible, it was a functional relationship, not much more. I grew up not seeing love, touch, communication, walking on eggshells, and dealing with a woman who never dealt with her past, two parents who got A’s in passive aggressiveness, and a dad that had his own shit.  My mom had this loaded past under the surface and from what I have learned over the years, her way of dealing with it/drowning it out, was alcohol.  I don’t think my dad knew to what extent she drank until much later because it is such a socially acceptable thing and she hid it well. The thing is she was truly a functional alcoholic, I never knew she was one until my mid 20s. But I have learned a thing or two and you cannot drink a gallon of B + B per week and not do damage to your body. That was not all the time, she would have been dead a lot sooner, and to be honest, it amazes me she was as functional as she was. But there were times when that happened, and I think more often than I would like to think.

You have read over the past year, when one experiences trauma, you are more susceptible to addiction. When you have emotional pain, you want it to stop, and many things, alcohol included gives you a temporary pause. I have been aware of the potential to this from dealing with my mom and my knowledge around the added trauma from Jesse and Bella dying, so I am super careful…

So my mom. I want to now talk about the amazing qualities of her.  I think because of her past it made her a kind person. She was the person in line at the grocery store that someone would tell their whole life story and say, I never share this stuff!  She was the person who had the best decorated house (and scary) for Halloween. She loved the holidays and being taught by my Italian grandmother how to cook, she made enough food for an army. At our Christmas eve dinner, there was always an extra plate or two for “stragglers” that we kids knew who did not have a place to go for the holidays. And there would be a present under the tree for them to open, even if she had found out that afternoon that they were coming. She “adopted” so many of our friends as extras, and they would call her mom.  She taught me about spirituality.  My dad was Catholic, and I went through all the motions of that. But my mom taught me when I pushed against the many things I did not understand about christianity that there was so much more. Upon reflection, I think she was pagan, and I loved her for instilling that love of nature and the idea of something bigger in all things.

She died August 1, 2004, two months before I gave birth to Raffi, I never got to say goodbye in person as I was so pregnant.  She was only 61, I was 30.  An inability to overcome her sadness killed her. Wow, that just came out. Usually I say that alcohol killed her. Grieving was not simple.  Part of that was knowing that she was an alcoholic, and that she would or could not stop, I mourned her long before she actually died. I remember that night, her best friend called me and said your mom is really depressed, she is drinking a lot and I am worried. I hang up the phone and cried that entire night knowing that this disease would kill her someday. It was about ten years after that it did.  I also soon gave birth to my first child and my life was consumed with all the things surrounding that. Don’t get me wrong, I missed her. All the things you want to call your mom about when you first become a mom, I did not get to do. All the things you want to say, damn, I am sorry I was an ass because parenting is really hard, I never got to do. Wondering how menopause was for her because that was so far from my mind at the time but is not now. Wanting to know as much as she abused alcohol and cigarettes how she have decent skin? Wanting her so desperately to hold me after Jesse and Bella died like she did when I was young and hurting from one thing or another. Wanting her to meet my kids. She is still programmed into my phone, and for a long time I would call and hear the “this phone has been disconnected.” Until it didn’t. I almost yelled at that poor person saying, no, this is the phone number I have had since I was born, you are not allowed to have it!  I hung up instead and cried.

I have mentioned that I have become almost numb to loss. It is a self protective mechanism. And I know this may sound harsh, but her death is so drowned out by what happened to Jesse and Bella, that and the amount of time that has passed. I have had deaths that have led to this complicated grief. Hers, because of the addiction that killed her that she could not overcome. I vacillate between anger and sadness for her, and at this point, mostly sadness. I understand more than most what it like to live in emotional pain and want it to stop. I am grateful for both of my parents’ stubbornness, because without it, I would not be here.  When the things that are not so useful in my life that come up that she taught me, I work on my awareness of them and work on the understanding and forgiveness around why she was like that.  Mostly, I focus and am grateful for so many things that she taught me and I strive to share those with the world, and there are so many, one of which is helping others.  And writing that makes me teary, as I realize that it was probably that which she instilled in me which made me want to take the most horrific thing ever and want to help and educate others. So, thank you mom, and I know many others do to.

Love you forever, love you for always

When she was young

Three generations, yes, I am adorable

April 2003, when she turned 60, one of the last I have of her and I