I’ve been working with a great therapist for the past couple of years. One of the things I’ve learned is how wounding anniversaries can be. Often I won’t consciously remember anniversaries; other times they are heavy on my mind. I’ve now come to know that every summer, around late July, the anniversary of my marriage starting to blow up makes me thoughtful and sad. Father’s Day is always tough; not only do I mourn my father’s absence but I also grieve for the relationship we didn’t have. Today is my mom’s birthday, the first one since her death. For several weeks. I’ve been feeling melancholy, full of that aching sense of loss.
My mom died on December 1 of last year. She was 92 and we were blessed to have her for that long. I used to talk to her every day on the phone, her health permitting. My brother and I used to laugh about how she would call me but then only wanted to stay on the phone for five minutes. After five minutes, she’d give me the bum’s rush and then hang up (with my brother yelling in the background “Why don’t you talk to her for a while?”). But even hearing her voice for a few minutes was good. It is incomprehensible to me that I won’t hear her voice again (except on the voicemails she left me and I kept). I can’t believe that I won’t ever get a hug from her or smell her perfume or hold her hand.
This was the last photo I took of her, only a week or so before her death. She was recovering in a rehab place and doing well.
She hardly ever smiled in photos so this half-smile (so Mona Lisa lol) was about as smiley as you’d ever see her in picture, even though she smiled a lot in real life.
How can I capture her in a few words? She was my rock and my best friend. She loved to laugh and had a great sense of humor. You’d often see the mischief in her eyes. She loved Jeopardy and watched it every night. She used to be a great crocheter but her hands got too gnarled from arthritis. She taught me how to knit — a harvest-gold Wintuk scarf in garter stitch with crooked edges. She loved Barry Manilow, especially “Can’t Smile Without You.” She used to tell me that the name “Carol” means song of joy and I was her joy.
She loved my kids so much and spent a lot of time with them when they were younger and her health was better. I remember when the twins were toddlers, they would run into a corner of the living room in that wobbly way toddlers have and she’d open her arms and they run at her, as hard as they could, all three of them giggling uncontrollably. I remember how her face shone when she cradled them in her arms or when she held James’ hand as they went for a walk.
Today would be her 93rd birthday — she was born exactly one year after the big stock market crash. My mom and I loved Halloween; we used to say it was the perfect holiday because you didn’t have to cook dinner or buy presents, you could dress up however you wanted, and the whole point of it was to get and eat chocolate. I’ve been thinking about how to remember her on her birthday. I think I’m going to listen to “Can’t Smile Without You,” “Misty” and an Engelbert Humperdinck song, eat some good chocolate, do a crossword puzzle (one with small squares, in pencil), play along with Jeopardy! and watch the old movie Laura — all things she loved to and we often did together.
Anniversaries suck, but I’m going to use this one to remember someone deeply loved and deeply missed.
