A Letter to My Aunt

I mentioned earlier this week that Saturday is my Aunt's birthday.  I figured that if I can write a blog, I should be able to write a birthday letter to her.  The thing is, I don't want to make her sad.  I couldn't possibly write a letter that doesn't include something about my mom (her dead sister).  She is my aunt because I had the mom I did and she had the sister she did.  Leaving Momma out would be artificial.  If you were me, would you include the letter in her birthday card, give it to her separately and tell her to read it later, or mail it and let her read it on her own a week after her birthday?  I just don't know.  I'm past the point where all mentions of my mom make me said.  Should I assume she is, too?

I'm sharing here the contents of the letter.  I don't think there is anything so personal here that the world couldn't know it.  (Names of Aunts are changed just in case they'd feel weird about having their names broadcasted on the interwebs.)

July 16, 2011

Dear Auntie Li,

It’s your birthday and I’ve been thinking about all sorts of memories from my childhood which include you. 

I remember being a little girl looking through the photograph album and always stopping at your picture, because you were the prettiest lady in it.

I remember you inviting me to go downtown with you and my cousins to see the air show.

I remember the day we cousins were sitting on the porch where grandma lived on Bernard and we heard my Momma yell out “LYDIA!”  “LYDIA!” several times.   I could tell she was annoyed, so I chose to hide out on the porch, glad I wasn’t you.  “She hears me!  Why isn’t that girl coming?”  I heard my Momma say while you and Aunt Josie laughed and laughed.   I envied you all having sisters, because you could dare laugh at your sister right in front of her while she mad.   Now that’s what I call a good relationship!  It turned out, my Momma was distractedly calling the wrong name!  She meant to call my name, but said yours instead, I presume because she was busy and distracted.  (I wonder just a little if it was because she was bossy to you sometimes, too.) You and Aunt Josephine laughed and laughed, then told her she was calling your name not mine, and she laughed, too!  (And she was still mad at me for not coming, because  I should have known she meant me!)

Now Momma is in heaven, and I know you still bring her joy and laughter.  I don’t think Momma could enjoy heaven near so much if there wasn’t someone she could count on here to tell me to carry a sweater, wear sunscreen, and just overall care what happens to me.

Thank you for being my Aunt.  I love you.  Happy Birthday.  I hope this year brings you many happy memories!

Love Your Favorite Niece,

 Helen

By the way, if you read this blog, chances are you want to go wish Happy Birthday to Candice Jean, July 16. No, she's not my Aunt "Lydia", but she is a dear and caring lady.

Oh Christmas Tree

My mom and dad were great people.  They loved each other, me, and Christmas ( I can't even begin to  say in which order).  However, one thing my  Daddy did NOT love was putting up a tree.   I was allergic to pine, so we couldn't have real tree.  We had a plastic tree, my guess is about eight feet high.  I have pictures to prove it was at LEAST two feet taller than Daddy, who was six feet tall.   Back then, plastic trees weren't folded in for storage, then folded out to decorate.   No, they had to be put in branch by branch by branch.     There were little numbers with letters on the stem to let the assembler know which row a particular branch belonged.  I swear, I remember  branches named "12 F".

The storage box that contained these branches was awkward to get up the stairs from the basement.   Daddy was grumpy by the time he carried it to the living room, and that's putting it nicely.   Thus would begin my parent's yearly "putting up the tree" fight.

Daddy:  Who the HELL put these branches in here like this!
Momma: You take the tree down and put away the branches every year, Frankie, and you know it!
Daddy:  HMMPHH!!!! (grumble grumpble grumble).

(Daddy proceeds to put the tree up, starting with the topper)

Daddy: There, that'll do!
Momma:  (face crumpling a bit)  No it won't, and you know it!
Daddy: (grumple grumble grumble)

(Daddy continues to mumble and grumble for a while, and gets to row 10 B)

Daddy: Who the HELL ever picked out this damn tree anyway!
Momma:  Well, don't blame your daughter, she wasn't even born yet.
Daddy:  I WASN'T blaming Helen....
Momma:  I know, Frankie.  Lighten up!  It's Christmas!
Daddy:  (chewing on a Muriel air tip cigar whilst sitting among piles of large branches).   Yeah yeah....   Then I get to carry up the tree ornament boxes, and then all those knickknacks your Mom bought us over the years...........   You know she forgot what she's given us and we have 3 pairs of Christmas tree salt shakers from Wieboldt's!
Momma:  DON'T start with me, Frank!
Daddy:  What, you know it's true!   And the ash trays, and the ...
Momma: Just STOP it!  I won't discus my mother or her gifts with you when you are like this!
Daddy:  Like what?

(And off they are into a full blown argument that meanders into every annoying thing the other did since last Christmas.   No, we haven't even begun to untangle the lights yet.)

My Momma, God rest her soul, was usually peaceable for as long as possible.   Seriously.

But one year when I was in college, my Mom started her own bad mood.   She knew what to expect when Daddy went down for the tree, and she was seething with memories of Christmas tree assemblages past.

Daddy puts on his jacket and heads for the door.

Momma:  Where are you going?
Daddy:  To the basement...
Momma:  You better not be bringing up the tree!
Daddy:  Why not!
Momma:   I don't even want a tree this year!  I don't want any
Daddy: (interrupting her)  Really Honey?  Do you mean it?  (His eyes are shining and he is holding her affectionately at her shoulders)
Momma:  (stunned silence)
Daddy:  Oh Honey,  I'll bring up EVERY one of the decorations your mother gave us!  I'll clean them piece by piece, and I'll even help you find a good spot for the duplicates!
Momma:  If that's what you'd like!
Daddy:  This is the best Christmas gift ever!   Where should we put the lights?




That scaled back Christmas was delightful!  No harsh words or grumpiness whatsoever:  Daddy was soappreciative of not having to work on the branches that nothing else bothered him and Momma was  stunned that the first year she pumps herself up for the argument, it deflates before it begins.

In November I injured my foot.   I'm barely able to clean house, much less decorate.   Bob brought up the tree and a wreath, I put up the Christmas throws my mother made, and that's it.  I'm not worrying about Grandma's knickknacks, mom's ornaments, MIL's centerpiece, or decorative gifts I received in past years.   I enjoy them most years, but this year, with the tape on my foot, all that running around would not make Christmas more meaningful, but a chore to get through.  I may put a Christmassy table cloth on the dining room table, or I may not.   Decorating doesn't HAVE to get done to prepare for Christmas.    If Jesus comes back and finds my house  lit a bit dimmer, I'd be more comfortable with that than for him to find me frazzled and grumbling at those who love me.

Earthly Treasures

My friend Peter Pollock did a post a while back about a woman who pretty much ignores her wealth. She has real estate she never visits, and he suggests it is a waste. He then drew a parallel between her, and how we Christians sometimes treat the Gospel of Christ.

I see his point. I truly do. But it will come as no surprise to those of you who know me, that it had me thinking about dishes. I left this comment on his post.

"You make a good point.

When I was reading about the properties she ignores, I was thinking about my china cabinet. I have my mother in law's http://images.replacements.com/images/images5/chi... and my mother's good china. http://images.replacements.com/images/images5/chi... I am afraid to use it, though, because what if it breaks? I know it is not exactly an expensive antique, but any plate I replaced it with would not be the same, because it wasn't selected, washed, dried and put away with their own hands.... It just wouldn't be the same. These are more earthly treasures, and I am afraid to put them to good use... Our faith however, should not be as fragile as china, and should be able to be put to good use often."

However, I have been thinking and thinking since reading this post. Yes. About china. And crystal salad bowls. And wine glasses. I have been thinking about things that I have decided are too "special" to ever use, and so they are not being used as they were meant to be used. Seriously. My mil died with almost a full set of china, but my own mom had one soup bowl left, about half of the teacups, 9 out of 12 dinner plates... Why? Because she didn't treasure them? Hardly. They were a wedding gift from her mom, and she put them out for birthdays, anniversaries, Christmas, Easter... but not every day. Some pieces are missing because I used to help her do the dishes. Yes. Me. Butterfingers. I dropped some, by accident of course. Do you think Momma had a cow because treasured dishes were broken (remember, this was before Replacements.com ltd made it easy to find and restore missing pieces). No, I'd cry, and she would hug me and tell me that people are more important than things, and that I am worth more to her than the whole set (which, I KNEW meant a lot to her). She'd then pick up the pieces. I'd want to try to glue it back together. She'd refuse.

"You could cut yourself! Do you think this teacup is worth even a drop of your blood to me? Forget it. It was an accident. It is only a thing..."

I did not forget it. I remember it now. People are worth more than things. It is time to start using the family china. Perhaps on my birthday. I have already started on the good salad bowls...

Oh, and sorry for twisting up the meaning of your post in my mind, Peter. My only excuse is that my mind is random...

"She'll Always Be With You..."

I heard that phrase more than once at my Mother's wake. People who meant well said it, some of them who had actually lost their own mothers and knew what they were talking about. Still, at the time, I remember thinking "No. She is not with me anymore. She is with Daddy and Catherine, but not with me.."

I would not have said that to my comforters, though. If they want to believe that their Moms are still hanging out with them in a ghostly fashion, who am I to take that away from them? No. Their sorrow was once as fresh as my own, and if believing their moms never really left them were a balm on their wounds, I wasn't going to spill vinegar on it.

However, yesterday, I heard my Momma's voice out of nowhere, quite unexpectedly. I was standing at the grave of a dear friend and family member whose coffin was soon to be lowered. It's May, so none of us expected it to be so chilly (32 degrees Fahrenheit). Actually, I wasn't even expecting to be at graveside. Most of my family has had the "graveside" service in the cemetery chapel. Then again, most of my family seems to choose the Winter or rainy season to die.

A man was passing out cards printed with the Psalms we'd be praying and the hymns we'd be singing, but there was not enough. I let Bob hold the card while I looked on. I stuffed my cold hands into my pocket and felt a bit of silk. I pulled it out and found a babushka.

"HALLELUJAH!" I heard my Momma's voice call out.

I looked around.

"HALLELUJAH! I always tell you to bring a scarf! Finally you listen!"

I heard my own voice say in echoes from the past "You probably snuck it in there!"

"No I didn't!" she said. "You're too old for me to go putting everything you need in your pockets for you. How will you learn then?"

I tied the scarf around my head, and felt the wind much less piercingly. No, it was not my mother's ghost speaking to me, nor did she place that scarf in my pocket. No, this was just a long forgotten conversation. We may have had it when I was 17, or 37. I hope to hear her voice many more times, and remember far more long forgotten conversations. I finally understand that she will always be with me.

I suppose it seems foolish to wish a Happy Mother's Day to a woman enjoying eternal happiness, but I am going to indulge myself now and do so.

Happy Mother's Day, Momma!

Happy Mothers Day also to my friends out there who are moms.

BTW, if any of you are wondering how that scarf got in my pocket, I later remembered going to a party in the same black dress I wore to Momma's wake and funeral, and adding the scarf as an accessory to jazz it up and make it look less somber. I must've put the scarf in my coat pocket when going home.

Thank You for Your Kindness...

Well, today is the day that I participate in the bimonthly "One Word Blog Carnival" over at Bridget Chumbley's blog. The word this week is kindness. I find it funny. Why? Because you all have been so kind and supportive to me in the last few months, and especially the weeks since mom died, that I feel like me telling you about kindness is like me telling Pope Benedict XVI about Catholicism: while I may not be unqualified to post on either, it seems inappropriate to share my thoughts on it with those who are more expert than I. Really. You have been there for me in so many tangible and intangible ways... Thank YOU for your kindness.

Of course, none of this excuses me from acts of kindness. Which is fine. I find that unless someone outright misinterprets an act of kindness (like this elderly lady I offered a seat on the bus to in High School screaming at me "I'M NOT THAT OLD YOU NITWIT!"), it actually lifts me up. I feel reconnected to humanity by it. And sometimes, though not expecting it, more blessed by it by the person I was trying to reach.

My mom had a very lovely 90 year old roommate when she was convalescing in the Nursing Home. Sabrina is a very social lady who cannot leave her room often (sitting too long in a wheelchair wears her out) and she gets no visitors. She has no children of her own, and nephews and nieces are scattered around the country. She was a real blessing for mom and me. And we for her. Yes, in the brief time mom was there, the three of us chatted up a storm.

Anyways, last week I got to worrying about her. She was there when they were working on mom FOR FORTY MINUTES! If the situation had been reversed, mom would have been sooooo upset, and of course, Mom would have had me to try to reassure her. Sabrina has no one. So I went with a gift to visit her. I wanted to know she was okay. I had no intention of asking her about Mom's passing, and I didn't. Honest. I just wanted to reassure her, if she needed....

Instead, she reassured me! No, not that I went in all upset. I was able to fake cheeriness for an hour. Sabrina was fine. She assumed I was, too. She conversationally mentioned how quickly life changes.
"One moment your Mom was talking to me and the nurses, and the next, she was gone.... They were working on her right away. She was just gone."
Sabrina's words backed up the nurse's version of what happened that morning. I did not ask Sabrina what they were talking about, or anything like that. I just commented that that's the way I'd like to go, and Sabrina agreed. Then we talked about other things.

But it was a relief to me to know that's how it went. I had worked myself up into "Well what are the nurses supposed to say? 'She was begging for you because she thought she was dying, and we told her to wait until visiting hours...'" Knowing that mom had no clue, no fear has brought me more peace.

I don't believe in karma. This was not some sort of reward for being kind, any more than the old lady who yelled at me years ago was any sort of punishment. But, though I was trying to be kind to her (honest), my visit with her was more of a blessing to me than her.

And that is okay. Sometimes kindness is like that. I learned a lot from talking to Sabrina that day. If I am ever going to get over mom's passing, it'll be only when I can reach out of myself and be kind to others. One day at a time....

Parting Blessings

*While I know that this story is not a barrel of laughs, there is a rather amusing story about me in college. I am going to include this in my friend Wendy's "Life is Funny" blog carnival, because this is probably as amusing as I will be for a while. *




Goodbye.
This phrase comes from God be with you. It has been shortened over the years since 16th century. Shakespeare used "God be wy you." The substitution for good for God seems to have been mainly due to the influence of such phrases as " good day" and " good night."
Dictionary of Word Origins

I found out that "goodbye" was the way they said "God be with you" in the old days when I was in third grade. I thought that by "old days" they meant when my Momma was in school, because that is how she always said goodbye to me. I thought it was like her spelling potato with an e: that's how they did it when she was a kid.
I took her little turn of phrase for granted throughout my childhood. This was just her way. It was like polish sausage and pierogi on Easter: that's just how we do it. I didn't give it a second thought until I was in college.
One day, when I was in college (a commuter school), my friends Don and Whitney come to pick me up so we can go out for pizza. I think we may have been going to see a movie also, but that isn't important. What is important is the conversation that followed.

Whitney: Your mom does know we are going to bring you back, doesn't she?
Me: (confused) Huh? I DO always have cab fare in case a car breaks down or something.
Whitney: No, what I mean is, she sent you off as if you might not be returning. I only see that kind of goodbye in war movies.
Me: (groan) Sorry. I don't pay much attention to it anymore. I think because Catherine died, Momma needs to make sure she blesses me and tells me she loves me, kind of to protect me from dying on her, too...
Whitney: Don't apologize. I think it's sweet. Your mom obviously loves you a lot.

That was the beginning of me noticing her blessing again. I wish I could say I appreciated it, but many times, even a few months ago, I'd say "I'll be fine. I'm only going next door to give them the mail we got by mistake." And she'd say "That's okay, I can still bless you."
When daddy died though, I did get better about appreciating her blessing when I'd actually leave the neighborhood. I understood that she cherished me, because after losing Daddy, I found myself cherishing her more as well. I felt the need to bless her right back. Not that I didn't say "and also with you" when she said "God be with you" before. But after Daddy's passing, it went from rote to heartfelt.
I taught in a Catholic School for thirteen years, and at each dismissal, my last words to them were "God be with you." It was heart felt. I wanted them to be blessed and safe. I wanted them to return to me the next day. Though they were not my own children, I understood Mom a little better.
The last few months at home, Momma became even more concerned with blessing me. Each night before I went to bed, she'd say "I love you. God be with you." I laughed and said "Momma, I am going to bed with a sweet loving husband, not into the jaws of the enemy." She'd say "I know that. I just want to bless you." I would then respond. "And I love you. God be with you, too, Momma."

Yesterday I shared with you my pain that I was not there when my Momma died. The thought had occurred to me a few days ago that she might have wanted to say something to me before she died, and I was not there to hear it. I woke up in the middle of the night the day of her wake to realize, she said her last words to me EVERY time we parted since i began school. Before then I don't believe we actually ever parted.
She said to me and Bob before we left her the night before. "I love you both. God be with both of you." And we truly responded "We love you, too, Mom. God be with you, too."
We parted from each other with a blessing on our lips. What more could there have ever been to say?

Yes, Mom's Suffering is Over

A while back, my favorite author, Billy Coffey, wrote on his blog a post called Writing Naked. I thought I knew what he meant by that, though I'd have admitted at the time I only came close once. That was the post before mom went into the hospital. I'm not sure I "wrote naked". I wrote intending to show the true me, so you could hate me as much as I did. Instead, you comforted and embraced me. Thank you. Anyway, this post today feels like both exhibitionism, and something I must share. Perhaps I'm merely flashing undies, but whatever. There will be more of this, because there are lots of things from the last five days that I feel I must share, and yet, are so personal.... Anyways, consider this a warning. My naked soul is no pin up girl....She is a nasty flasher.


Monday was Momma's wake. Lot's of people said "At least she isn't suffering anymore." I told them that she was healing. I told them that what took her did not make her suffer. She had a heart attack and went quickly. Yes, when she was alive, she had arthritis to make her suffer physically, a horrible wound to heal from which she said didn't hurt much, but she didn't have any added suffering in her death. Living was hard, but dying was easy....Praise God for the latter!

But the greatest suffering my momma faced was losing her other daughter, Catherine, when she was a month old. Cathy was born nine years before I was, so to me, she is an invisible baby in a visible grave. But to momma, she was her first born. Momma never got over the feeling that she should have known. She couldn't have. She even took Cathy to the doctor a couple of days before she died for the sniffles. The doctor laughed her out of the office. Two days later, Daddy was doing CPR on a literally blue Cathy. He revived her, and she died in the hospital minutes after being baptized. Along with Baptism, she received Last Rites. My momma went so far as to blame herself for taking her to the doctor. Maybe that made her cold worse. You see, Catherine died of bronchial pneumonia. My parents didn't know it yet, because doctors were not as communicative then, but she was even in an incubator for a short time due to an underdeveloped lung when she was born. Yes. She was delivered by the same doctor who laughed momma out of the office. She even blamed herself for him being Cathy's doctor. He was her doctor before she got married.
The second greatest suffering of Momma's life was losing Daddy to lung cancer. He went to the doctor for his cough too late. Way to late. Momma blamed herself for not being able to talk him into going to see a doctor sooner.
Her two greatest sufferings are over, for they are now restored to her. I rejoice in that more deeply than in knowing that she will never describe leg pain as an eight or a nine ever again, or try to smile and joke and say twelve, but me knowing she really meant it....It was bad. My Momma used to like to polka, and I've had friends and family suggest I picture her dancing with Daddy in heaven.
But that is not the picture that brings me peace. You see, I hold onto some blame of my own.... I was not at my mother's side when she died. She died that quickly. She was tired the last couple of days of her life, so I have my own "should have knowns", even though the doctor and nurses didn't, when having her tiredness pointed out to them.
My parish priest suggested not being there was actually a gift from God to me....to not know the terror of seeing them work on her for forty minutes. I get his point. A former student of mine who recently graduated from Nursing School told me at her wake that coming back would have been painful, because she'd have had broken ribs. I can imagine me holding out hope, then hearing her ribs crack and fearing she was in great pain, when in fact, she was gone, and not coming back.
Still, I hate the thought of her dying alone. I tried so hard to always be there for her. I like to think that during her last moments, she had her other daughter with her. I like to picture Daddy holding her (not that she needs assistance in Heaven, but so that mom would know who she is) and smiling wide. She isn't wrapped up, because it isn't cold in Heaven. She reaches out her hand, and Momma's soul reaches out to grab that hand, and with that, she passes from this life into the next, with the arms of Jesus around the three of them. They are a family again.
I don't know for sure that is how it happened. But it is my hope. It is my hope that she was never alone.