Throwback Thursday: Who Do My Parents Think They Are Lookin' All Party-Cool?

In the early 1980's, my dad was stationed in Hawaii. We'd have friends & family come for a visit every once in a while.

My mom was not close to her family for most of her life (arguably any of it, considering the toxic home in which she lived). On this occasion, her older brother came to visit, accompanied by his lovely wife. 

I came across this photo of the four of them and I'm struck by how dapper my dad looks in that v-neck! WHO SAID YOU COULD LOOK LIKE THAT, DAD?! 

And that halter dress my mom's sporting! GIRL! 

THOSE TANS!

My Uncle and Aunt also looks so playful and relaxed! I want to use the word "festive" but that's not really the accurate descriptor....maybe convivial or snappy would be better?

I don't recall the events of this visit. I am going to ask my Aunt what she remembers about that trip to Hawaii.

Also -- can we talk about my mom's decor choices. What's with that capiz shell lamp and iron castle-style scrolly candle sconce? Did I ever tell you we grew up with a knight of triplefake armor in the house -- AS A DECORATION. It has a javelin or spear or whatever you call medieval weaponry.

I loved Hawaii. 

Cookbooks and Diaries

Mom's been gone over two years now, but I'm still going through things that were left behind. She loved to collect and cook food from recipes in these small cookbooks. You know, the cookbooks that are soft cover, staple-bound, thin and were provided by a food manufacturer. As you can see in the image below, there are some from Skinner, Hershey's, Campbells. There were dozens of them in a box. As I was flipping through them, this little "The Best is Yet to Come" booklet was in the stack. 

I opened it up and turns out it was a journal......

...and the first page I turn to is heartbreaking. 

I keep finding these types of journals everywhere. Most recently, I found a yellow paged legal pad that had diary entries jotted on it. I've found workbooks that accompanied daily meditations where she added a reflection, or just a fact or two of what life held that day. There was one I found that had days and days of words that described my dad's final days alive. 

While it's incredibly painful to come across these in such random fashion, I can't help but consider them sweet gifts. They are snapshots of her life. They were tough time times, grateful days, happy events. When I read them, I hear the words in my head in her voice. I can see her expressions in my mind's eye. 

I also adore the handwriting itself; the mixture of lower case & capital letters in wonky places. I see the diminishing quality of her handwriting through the years as she aged, and as she was sick. I wonder how many generations will go by before handwriting itself is obsolete? The journals I find will eventually be "ancient" like they way of hieroglyphs & petroglyphs.

I really don't know what to do with these journals. For now, I will hold on to them, for they are her. And I can hold her. <3

Missing Mom on Mother's Day

The rings she wore, that barely stayed on her skinny fingers.

Her cackling laugh.

Her dancing.

Her juniors-sized clothing choices.

When her false teeth would unpredictably come loose (she'd cackle!).

Weekend breakfasts.

The annual birthday call to me where she'd sing "Happy Birthday".

Buying My Girls that stupid pre-fab gingerbread house at Christmas!

No matter what, I got a Valentine's Day card from her.

That steadfast support of me when things got tough.

These are a few of the things I miss about my mom this Mother's Day. And every day.

Yesterday was her birthday. Today's Mother's Day. I've done way more crying than I expected; like a useawholekleenexbox crying. That crying you do when you hide in your bed under the sheets, comforter and a sea of pillows just to feel like you're being hugged. Yeah, that's the weekend I'm having.

This means she's missed.

This means she is loved.

Happy Mother's Day, Momma!

Eighteen Years

Dear Dad,

I love you!

I'm writing to wish you a Happy REbirthday. It's a thing, right? I believe you are reborn in some everlasting way, so cheers! 

You died 18 years ago today, in body. I'll always know the number of years because it's the same as Boa's age. You should see her now, Daddy! She's glorious, wonderfully charming, intelligent, funny. She's just like you! Can you believe she'll be graduating this year? She's hoping to go to college in Colorado. *fingers crossed*

That Little One honors you in so many ways. She's keen and witty. She never met you, but she knows you, that's for sure! Just today, she told me a story of finding a penny, heads-up, on the desk next to hers at school. She recognized it was you saying hello to her! She loves you. You'd be so proud of her. 

How are things where you are now that Mom's with you? Probably a little noisier. hehe I'm imagining what that might look like. Are you two reunited? Are you lights in this galaxy? Would you be together in the same dimension? Or are you both apparitions, having drinks, listening to country music and talking about family like when you were amongst the physical living? Or am I writing to nothing, no one? 

I still have mom's ashes. She asked to be spread where you are, so that trip is coming up soon. For now, she resides with me. I talk to her sometimes. She helps me cook and bosses me about how I raise My Girls. She keeps me company when I'm home alone. 

I'm gonna wrap this up and take care of some things, Dad, but you are always with me. I'm always with you.

Miss you,
--Juliette

The Life of A Dead Woman: Legacies

June 19th Mom became ....Infinite. 

Me, my kids, my brother, his wife & kids & the oneandonly great-grandchild surrounded her. Her eyes sunken, her mouth agape, her loyal chihuahua between her calves, the continuous care nurse checking for heartbeat until her gentle blessing, “she’s gone”.

We all told her we love her.

I rubbed her shin, noticing the curl of her big toe, telling her we are all here, no need to wait anymore. We promised to take care of her dog, who is quite old.

Before getting to her bedside, I reassured My Girls that seeing their grandmother in this state is totally their choice. I tried to give them information so as to set a relatively realistic expectation. They both chose to go in but shortly after, My Little One asked to be excused. I am proud of their honest, vulnerable courage to make the choices they did.  It's a difficult task - teaching that death is part of life. 

I'd like to thank my brother & his family for accepting the challenge, embracing the tasks of caring for our mom through her end-of-life. It can be difficult to have a parent living with you, let alone a dying one. They allowed medical staff & clergy to come & go. There were trying times, but in the end, what won was mom's comfort. 

We are left with Her Infinity, Her Legacy. A woman who taught all of us how to LIVE, how to FIGHT, how to LAUGH. We are imprinted with the woman she was before she was our mother. 

For Us Left Behind, all of us in our own way witnessed what smoking can do to one's body: the addiction, the COPD, the hospital visits, the rehabs. We were riding that emotional rollercoaster with her. My brother nor I smoke. Our kiddos all seem pretty disgusted by it (hopefully enough to not do it in their adult years!).

She would say how lucky she is to have lived as long and as fully as she did. I think she figured she wasn't going to have the longevity she had. She was raised in an abusive home & some abusive relationships, living all her life completing school to only the ninth grade. She survived four different kinds of cancers and wore that fact like a badge of honor. (She smoked until the final month of her life, unapologetically!) 

My brother and I will drive to west Texas to spread her ashes among those of our father's. I am looking forward to that event. Writing about it now, I'm tearing up because I can't imagine the feels I'll experience when that moment is real. I'm sure I will feel some serenity, though.

The Living of A Dying Woman: Transitioning

My Mom is transitioning to death. 

According to the nurse, "she isn't actively dying yet". 

I've been granted the wonderful, painful, conflicting, confusing gift of time with My Mom. 

Her little Chihuahua, a pain-in-the-ass but oh-so-loyal sweetheart crotchety old man of a dog doesn't leave her side much. He escorts us back and forth to the bathroom, right along side the walker. He lays between her ankles or knees, sleeping, under the covers. If you try to move him, he's at a point where he will growl and get angry at you. He's a very protective, worried pupperdoggo. As Mom eats less, as does he. I wouldn't be surprised see see them die the same day. It's a little macabre, maybe, but it's also kind of endearing.

Mom loves watching tennis - always has. The TV has stayed on the Tennis Network for the last few days.

None of us gets the choice to not have cancer.  Somehow we trick ourselves into thinking it won't choose us. My reality is that I will very, VERY likely have some form of terminal cancer.  Being afflicted with it somehow, miraculously, spawns gifts....plants seeds of new life. If you *try*. If you can trudge through your feels, surrender the selfishness of the loss, you will see the beauty of death, the sun rising in the body. Weak smiles. Whispery laughter. You can look around and bear witness to the legacies. 

Mom's body will give up soon, and her soul will rise, rise, rise to the great beyond. And I will be standing 'neath the warm sunbeams she will shine down on me, a smile on my face.

I love you so much, mom. Thank you for choosing life and saying "yes" to me.

xo

The Living of A Dying Woman: Pampering!

Mom was feeling strong enough to go out today, so I drove up and we went to get pampered! 

My niece accompanied us. I’m so glad the three of us created this memory!

Dean (pedi) and John (mani) doted on my mother so sweetly! They were so conversational, light-hearted and complimentary! 

Dean serves my mom white wine then sits at the tub to prep her feet.

John, sitting on a stool next to her, prepping her fingers: You look well! You look so healthy!

Me: *sphincter tightens*

Mom: I’m not.

John: You can’t tell.

Dean: How old are you?

Mom: 79

Dean: You don’t look it! You look, maybe, 63!

John: 79?!? Respect! Respect!

Lots of laughter ensued.

Mom originally picked out a taupe color then deck she wanted her manicure to be gel. She had to pick a new color.

Mom to me: Should I try black? I’ve never done black.

Me: Woman! It’s summer! Pick something bright!

Mom picked out a turquoise shade color. John and Dean were so excited! 

John: You happy woman! You need Happy color! You! So full of life!

Yes, mom. Yes. You are. 

The Living of A Dying Woman: Mom’s Baptism

Mom has been given three to six months to live. She has been meeting with the hospice chaplain (pictured above). He’s a good dude. 

Today, mom was baptized and boy can you see how radiant she is! 

Hope

Today My Mother receives news about her condition. It's been suggested to be good news.

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Generous Father,

Thank you for all of your graces, you love, your tender hands. Thank you for your compassion and your miracles.

Father, I pray that today, if it's Your Will, that My Mother hears good news of healing in her body. I pray she has a longer, more full life filled with physical ability and mental sharpness. Please bolster her weaknesses, pouring forth strength. Give her the desire to surrender those things that block her from her best health.

In Jesus' name, I pray.

Amen

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I love you, mom.  xoxo

A Reminder To Be Patient

My mother posted this on my facebook timeline today. I needed to be reminded of her patience, so that I may be patient with her.

Love you, mom.

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LETTER FROM A MOTHER TO A DAUGHTER:

"My dear girl, the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.

If when we talk, I repeat the same thing a thousand times, don’t interrupt to say: “You said the same thing a minute ago”... Just listen, please. Try to remember the times when you were little and I would read the same story night after night until you would fall asleep.

When I don’t want to take a bath, don’t be mad and don’t embarrass me. Remember when I had to run after you making excuses and trying to get you to take a shower when you were just a girl?

When you see how ignorant I am when it comes to new technology, give me the time to learn and don’t look at me that way... remember, honey, I patiently taught you how to do many things like eating appropriately, getting dressed, combing your hair and dealing with life’s issues every day... the day you see I’m getting old, I ask you to please be patient, but most of all, try to understand what I’m going through.

If I occasionally lose track of what we’re talking about, give me the time to remember, and if I can’t, don’t be nervous, impatient or arrogant. Just know in your heart that the most important thing for me is to be with you.

And when my old, tired legs don’t let me move as quickly as before, give me your hand the same way that I offered mine to you when you first walked.

When those days come, don’t feel sad... just be with me, and understand me while I get to the end of my life with love.

I’ll cherish and thank you for the gift of time and joy we shared. With a big smile and the huge love I’ve always had for you, I just want to say, I love you... my darling daughter."

- Unknown



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Hope this serves my own daughters someday when I am old and needing their patience. 

Love you, Daughters!

Not An Ordinary Valentine's Day

With My Mom undergoing diagnostic testing for cancer in her bones and brain, today, she had a CT scan of the brain. (We hope to know something by Monday.) Today isn't just Thursday. It's not just another doctor's appointment. It's Valentine's Day. And it's cancer.  So, definitely not an ordinary Valentine's Day.  Please keep My Mom in your prayers.

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A few years ago, I started a Valentine's Day family tradition. I ordered Chinese food delivery, and broke out the Lenox china and fine crystal goblets. We lit the candles, turned out the lights. I had placed a heart-print tablecloth on our dining room table and that's how and what we ate:  Chinese food on fancy plates, juice in crystal goblets, cloth napkins, by candlelight.

My Valentine's Day Table

I've kept with the ambiance part and the dishes part, but not the food part.  This year, I ran out of time and was a bit sad that maybe we'll just have sandwiches. Then I remembered when I was a kid, My Mom made us peanut butter and marshmallow crème sandwiches.  I decided to stop by the grocery store and buy some marshmallow crème so we can have these crazy sandwiches on fancy china plates.  I had berries and other fruit at home already, which would make for an offsetting healthy option.  While at the store, I bought Promised Land chocolate milk to fill the goblets.

Sounds fun, right?

My car wouldn't start.

I sat in the parking lot of Tom Thumb, waiting. I made a few phone calls, brainstormed, pouted, and prayed. I exhaled - a lotlot. About half an hour passed, and I give the keys a turn and VOILA! Music to my ears!

Marshmallow and crème sammies on Lenox IS going to happen after all! I "lit" the flameless candles - vanilla scented - faaaaaancyyyy, right?

We sat there digesting our silly Valentine's Day dinner and drinks, digesting our day. And although it didn't go as planned, I suspect the memory will be more impactful because of the success in spite of the challenge. Yes, a good day, indeed.

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And then there's this:  Gordon Keith's opening the window of the intimacy of love, the unspokenness of what all of us long for....  Thanks, Gordon.

The Pain & The Wait

"It's the pain I don't want to go through," she whined weakly through tears.

As I drove, I reached over and squeezed her frail, aged hand and nodded in agreement.

"I think I'm ready to meet My Maker, but I just don't want the pain."

Yeah, that part. The part that reminds us we're human and not in control. The part that challenges our bodies in order to soar or spirit, purify our heart and mind. That part. The pain part.  The good part. At least it's supposed to be.....

We all know it. We all know cancer has no mercy. It feasts off the sweet in the body and rots the body from the inside out -- turning the into a virtual cavity. (Ultimately, we all are only a shell anyway....)

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It's not like no one saw this coming, that eventually The Big C would capture My Mom - a lifelong smoker. Smoking and cancer are very nearly peanut butter and chocolate, or peanut butter and jelly, except not as accidental (or yummy). 

This is the exact situation that is the political wrestling of who to blame: Big Tobacco or personal decision.

Both of these have manifested in My Mom.

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Not only has she been told she has lung cancer, there's a possibility that she has bone cancer, too. The PET scan revealed lymph nodes are affected by the two-and-a-half centimeter tumor on her lung. The specific sites of concern now are the right femur and right scapula. The Tiger Woods-like oncologist is requesting an MRI of her brain, too.

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"It's the waiting, too.  The waiting is so hard."

It sure is. 

Love you, Mom.

In Which We Saw A Red Cardinal

Waiting in the phlebotomy lab, My Mom and I had just heard some goodbad news in which she needed blood drawn. We were talking about the words we had just heard from the doctor, how the words were better than she had thought they would be.  I stood next to the sink listening and chatting with her. 

As with most new environments with me, I surveyed the room while listening (I'm sure sometimes I appear uninterested or rude when I do this).  I look down at the items on the counter next to the sink:  paper towels, tissue, magazines, when immediately I noticed a little Christmas decoration pushed up against the splash of the counter.  It was a tin snowman holding a branch. On the branch was a red cardinal. The (no doubt Made In China) artist (air quotes?) painted the tin, so obviously, this cardinal stood out among the white of the snow man.  

I smiled.

I picked it up and showed My Mom.  She smiled too, "hi darlin'", she said. "I might be there as soon as I thought."

She wasn't talking to the bird. She was talking to My Dad.