Thursday, October 20, 2016

You Did It Again

Mom, you continue to amaze me.

When I wasn't sure how I was going to make NYC work, you found a way. I have a feeling you and another mother ONCE AGAIN are working behind the scenes. And so yesterday's pleasant surprise was a gift.

But today, you outdid yourself yet again... Bon Jovi tickets. Kicking off their tour right here at The Well. And you helped me once more.

I am in awe. I am so humbled and grateful and awestruck. I have no words. I don't know what to think, how to feel. What I feel is a sense of amazing love that transcends the barriers of time and space.

I know that in life, we often had our tense moments. We had lots of times we really may not have liked each other. Yet flawed as it was and limited by our own biases and issues, love was always present. I feel that now, I know this as truth.

This is your message to me: spread my wings and soar now. I hope you understand why I held you and your memory so tightly for so long. I understand now why you had to get my attention as you did that Saturday, in telling me to let you go and soar too.

Flying high together, Mom!

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

Twenty Years Ago Today

I woke on October 5, 1996 with the knowledge that I was now grandparent-less. My lone remaining grandparent had died in the late hours of October 4.

I never knew either grandfather -- one passed before my mom ever married, the other when I was 5 months old. My mother's mother died when I was 12 -- and nearly 35 years later, I still miss her terribly. But my paternal grandmother and I didn't exactly see eye-to-eye on many things and so I felt a little conflicted.

Was I sad? Yes, of course, but more for my dad and his siblings. This was it for them. And I felt very sad for myself, because for me, Christmas would never be the same. Christmas was her holiday. Command performance at her place and if you weren't there, then you got the cold shoulder.

But I didn't necessarily feel personal sadness, not the deep bereavement I'd felt for years over Granny P's death. As I said, we didn't often agree and my feelings for and about her had led to years of visiting her when I had to. I didn't make it a point to just go visit because it was something I wanted to do. I went when I was dragged. I'd reflected a lot in my early adult years on her role and influence on certain areas of my life -- and gotten very angry. I couldn't figure out the inconsistencies and match them to the person who I knew her to be.

Nevertheless, at the end of the funeral, I made a sound I have yet to make again -- not even at my own mother's death or funeral. I came close to the same sound at Padre's wake but still nothing like this. It was primal, raw, deep -- a strangled wail that commenced in my toes and in my brain, met in my abdomen, and projected forth from my lungs in one big deep-voiced scream. It was one big squall, and then......

That was it.

In twenty years, I have not grieved, at least not in the same way that I have for Granny P and especially for my mother. As time has gone on and I've gleaned more nuggets of information about my grandmother, there will be no more grief. One gigantic wave and done. Sometimes I wonder if that is any better than those waves that seem to never stop, the ones that lessen over time in frequency and intensity but which never go away.

I still feel for my father who now has lost one sibling and a few in-laws in the ensuing years, along with his wife. But I don't think he's ever unpacked things about his childhood, not the way my generation has, or even to the extent that others in his family have. Dad and Mom both, in their own ways, love the warm fuzzy blanket of denial. I've been there too -- and while it comforts, it also strangles. I am choosing to breathe and daily strive to be authentic. Denial is an okay place to visit but not to live. Once you're out of the tomb, you sort of refuse to go back in, ya know?

So on Friday, I'll pause a few and remember that day and that strange wail. I may try to analyze yet again the place from where that sound came. Twenty years of pondering hasn't helped so far but I'd love to know, for my own sanity.

And when I get to the afterlife, don't worry. I'll find her and Ol' Roy. I got a crapton of questions for them. An interrogation that would make Lennie Briscoe proud.