July 19th will mark the 5th year anniversary of my mother dying.
In Christian circles we call it “going home” or other such terms, and they are true, but it doesn’t change the fact that my mother is no longer here with me. While we don’t mourn with no hope we still do mourn.
Merlin died a few months ago and I run into the same issues when I think about him that I do when I think about my Mom. Some of the clearest memories are the ones of them dying. The memories that stand out are them in the hospital never to leave. Their lifeless bodies lying there with tubes, eyes closed like they are sleeping, and me knowing that they will never be waking up again this side of paradise.
And that is not how I want to remember them.
I force myself to remember happier times when I think of them.
I think of Merlin sitting next to me on the arm of the chair watching sports with me. Merlin running along beside me as I carry some yummy canned cat food into the bedroom so I can close the door so the other cats can’t chase Merlin away from his treat.
Merlin with his meows that sound more like barks, the way his eyes get so wide when he would be playing with a toy. How we had to take some of his teeth out, due to improper blood flow we know now, and sometimes when he was playing with me he would try to bite me. I would be more worried that he was injuring himself by gumming my arm than I would be in pain.
I remember how gentle he was, how he would curl up by my pillow at night and sleep next to me. He had a specific spot he would sleep in, I could put him anywhere on the bed and he would go to that spot and lie down.
And for my mother, I think of corn on the cob fights. And indoor water fights. I think of her spraying us with the sink hose when we thought we had the upper hand. When I think of my mother I think of her reading the Prydain Cycle to my brother and me at night before bedtime, reading the Chronicles of Narnia. Knowing it was past our bedtime but all three of us wanted to see what happens next so we would continue on.
I think of the movie Alien. My brother and I were trying to watch this suspense filled movie in the living room and over in the dining room Mom was sewing using her sewing machine. We would be at a super scary part, leaned forward in the chairs, then suddenly, chug-chug-chug, the sewing machine would start up, causing weird lines to cross the TV screen. Even then it was funny.
Going for walks so we could talk to each other. I have such a clear recollection of the conversation when we started a new school and I didn’t like the people as much as I did at the old school. I remember camping, the three legged bear, campsite 74 that we always got, wasn’t super close to the road like 73 was, but still closer to the bathrooms than 75. Going to the beach for picnics, that is something I really miss now that I live somewhere with no beach nearby.
One memory that I can laugh about now was when Mom wanted some concrete sidewalk slabs for her garden path. Some people were tearing up their yard and they offered them to us if we dug them out and took them. We were using pitchforks to pry the slab up and I caught a pitchfork through the foot….well through the shoe actually. If went straight through so it was only in the sole. That was nice not having to go to the hospital, but my shoe made squishing noises when it rained from then on.
The time Mom got a metal stake stuck in her foot. I remember the circles that the doctor drew on her foot showing how far the infection had spread in her foot. I remember the joy I felt when the circles started to get smaller.
I remember when Dad wouldn’t participate in apple bobbing and so she splashed him. He got mad, at the time it wasn’t funny, but now I can’t help but grin since it showed how entirely different those two people are, but also how perfect they are for each other.
When I think of Dad when I was younger and Dad now after Mom had years to soften him up he is such a different person. Different in a good way.
The liquor story memory is one of my favorites. I had just got my license and I wanted to drive everywhere. So I drove Mom to the liquor store to pick up some wine. We were at the cash register and she had a memory lapse and couldn’t remember where the $20.00 bill was that she had brought to pay for the wine. She was digging through her purse looking in pocket after pocket trying to find it. The cashier had that look in his eyes like he wasn’t sure if he should be selling alcohol to some lady who was acting like she had one or two too many already.
When I sit and force myself to think of the happy times there are so many, too many to remember them all.
But mostly I think about corn on the cob fights.
