10 posts tagged “mommy”
Even though this year will mark the 5th Christmas without my mom, I still miss her as much, if not more, than I did the first year. It's created an extra emotional burden in addition to the normal, pre-2004 ups and downs, joys and stresses of the holiday season. I know I'm not unique in missing a parent, but for some reason it really isn't any easier for me. Time is not healing this wound so much. In addition, yesterday was the memorial service for a friend's husband, who finally succumbed to Alzheimer's last week. A very important woman in my life is battling ovarian cancer (and winning, thank God, but it is still difficult -- can you guess who her ghostwriter is? ha ha). And Christmas is my mostest favoritest holiday ever, but the recession means all everyone seems to talk about is money, which is depressing for two reasons. First off, because Christmas, or any holidays this month, are not about money, but about friends and family. Second off, because it sucks having less money available to celebrate Christmas.
Anyway, like I said, emotional. Me. Very much so. (And no, I'm not pregnant)
However, with all these other emotional things competing with my tears, I take extreme exception to my Zune for it is conspiring to make me cry at work.
Since my mother has been on my mind so much, I have been dreaming of her, alive. My imagination has created her as an independent woman, as if my parents divorced, and she comes in and out of scenes, especially when I need her most. It's actually quite soothing, if a little disconcerting to me at first (we usually have some sort of conversation about her cancer and death before I accept that she's "there"), and I kind of look forward to my dreams now. It's the only place I get to spend time with her.
My Zune though... argh.
There are songs that make me cry at the drop of a hat. Ok, don't ask me why I even have them on my Zune, because I can only tell you that, while listening to them makes me cry, not having them available makes me sad.
One of these songs is "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" from The Wizard of Oz. That was "our" movie, my mom's and mine. (Note to anyone who needs a great gift for me, pick something from Wizard of Oz, especially with the Cowardly Lion and/or Dorothy) Thus, the theme song is an overwhelming reminder of her.
Another is "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. Then, the upbeat "All I Have to Do is Dream" by The Everly Brothers, in light of my recent dreams, again reminds me of her. And the worse, most emotionally-wrenching, hardest-to-listen-to song of them all is "This Woman's Work" by Kate Bush. You might remember this if you've watched She's Having a Baby. It's a song about fear, hope, and regrets. Kevin Bacon's character goes through all the great memories with his wife in the scene: I do the same with my memories of my mom.
So, of course... I decide to drown out the sounds of my co-workers and set my Zune to random. Out of the over 500 songs available, the first song is "This Woman's Work". I can't take it, so I skip to the next song: "All I Have to Do is Dream". Argh... fine. Skip - Cake's "Never There" is upbeat enough, but dammit, is this a theme? Cyndi Lauper's voice sings the first verse of "Time After Time" ... Lying in my bed I hear the clock ticking, think of you... Skip. "Surfer Girl" by the Beach Boys, yet another song that reminds me of my mom. Coldplay, "42"... Those who are dead are not dead they're just living in my head...
So the Zune is turned off and I'm listening to the clackity-clack of keyboards and the low rumble of co-workers discussing business, the weekend, and everything in between.
Sigh.
(Almost 2 years to the day before she died, my mom emailed this poem to us)
~~
In loving memory
Christine McClellan
8/11/50-3/3/04
~~
Tomorrow
When tomorrow starts without me
And I'm not there to see
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me
I wish so much you wouldn't cry
The way you did today
While thinking of the many things
We didn't get to say
I know how much you love me
As much as I love you
And each time that you think of me
I know you'll miss me too
But when tomorrow starts without me
Please try to understand
That an angel came and called my name
And took me by the hand
And said my place was ready
In heaven far above
And that I'd have to leave behind
All those I dearly love
But when I walked through heaven's gates
I felt so much at home
When God looked down and smiled at me
From His great golden throne
He said "This is eternity
And all I've promised you"
Today for life on earth is past
But here it starts anew
I promise no tomorrow
For today will always last
And since each day's the same way
There's no longing for the past
So when tomorrow starts without me
Don't think we're far apart
For every time you think of me
I'm right here in your heart
by David M. Romano
Another fun Thanksgiving, full of feasting and family. It never hits me until after, though. You know, how I miss my mom.
For those of you who have never lost a parent (especially the parent you're closest to), imagine never being able to see, hear, talk to, visit, or call your parent. Ever.
Shouldn't time make this easier to bear? Shouldn't I feel better after the years, not worse? I still cry at least once a week. I still ache. I still think about her every day. Every. Day. Wishing I could ask her advice, or know a recipe, or hear one of her stories. Wishing I could feel her hug once more, or look at her doodling on a pad of paper while she takes a call. Wishing I could get her just one more Jamba juice.
When does it get easier? When does it get better? When will the feelings of overwhelming sadness and loss finally become manageable?
There is an ache in my soul that won't go away.
There is a love missing from my life that no one can replace.
I know I've posted this song before, but it is one of my favorite songs (always has been).
Dust in Wind
Kansas
only for a moment
and the moment's gone
All my dreams
pass before my eyes
a curiosity
Dust in the wind
all they are is dust in the wind.
Same old song
just a drop of water
in an endless sea
All we do
crumbles to the ground
though we refuse to see
Dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind
Now, Don't hang on
nothing lasts forever
but the earth and sky
It slips away
and all your money
won't another minute buy
Dust in the wind
all we are is dust in the wind
Dust in the wind
everything is dust in the wind
Dear Mommy,
Happy 57th birthday! A lot has changed since you went away 3 years ago. I still think of you every day, and it doesn't bring me to tears every time, like it did last year. I suppose that is good. I suppose that their saying that it gets easier with time was right. Or maybe it's just that it hurts so much, I can't even think about it, so for self-preservation, I don't allow myself to fully feel that emotion anymore. I'm also remembering further back from when you got sick, which is also good. I still have nightmares about the time you had to spend in the nursing home, and stuck in that hospital bed at home. Did you know that was the bedroom I chose when I moved back in, just so I could be closer to you? It didn't bother me that was the room you died in.
I decided last year that I wouldn't "celebrate" your memory on 3/3/04 because I didn't want to give that date - the day you left - any more power than it had already. It is difficult enough without actually remembering that day changed my life forever, and not for the better. But today, your birthday, now that I can celebrate. I can celebrate the birth day woman who gave me life and taught me how to live. I can celebrate the birth day of the woman who encouraged me and comforted me throughout her life. I still miss you as keenly as ever.
What are the 10 most memorable music performances you've seen? (Remember, "memorable" may not be good.)
Submitted by Bill.
You want ten? Why ten? Some of us have no lives!! Besides, I was usually performing, not watching... argh! Evil QotD! Fine fine...
Honorable Mention. The Strokes. I had an epiphany during The Strokes concert, so that
was rather memorable, even though the 1 hour wait for them to take the
stage, the lead singer bombed off his ass, and the muddled music made
the music less so.
10. U2, before they were famous, came to my church to put on a concert. I don't remember much except that I got to sit on stage.
9. Fiona Apple. Wasted. I think that's redundant...
8. Depeche Mode. Who says you can't relive your childhood? The graphics were great, the songs were great, and the concert was great!
7. David Bowie. Oh. My. Drool. Hot on the heels of my Labyrinth obsession, I went with a great friend (hi Rob!) who was nice enough to make sure that I didn't get trampled in the crowd. Bowie's in-person charisma is just amazing.
6. Marilyn Manson. They opened for NIN. I was in the front row and got to see the band waggle their weenies at the crowd - up close and personal. Pretty freakin' awesome music too, until I um... found some lyrics. LOL. (Manson video is a little ..distrubing, but then again, so is Manson)
5. NIN. In the middle of Hurt, some chick screamed out "I want to f*ck you like an animal!!" and Trent yelled back "Shut the f*ck up, b*tch!" .. and resumed the song without missing a beat. That was such an awesome concert.
4. Muse. Just, wow. I didn't know how much I liked Muse till I saw Muse. Now I'm a Muse groupie. Whee!
3. Coldplay. Entertaining, brilliant, and fun. Coldplay puts on a great show and has great music.
2. Paul McCartney. Seriously, I saw a Beatle -- actually two! Ringo Starr was there as well. Live, in concert. And some guy in front of me flirted with me the entire night, then I got really uncomfy and disappeared into the crowd before he could ask for my number. But the music was sooo spec-freakin-tacular. I loved that those of us in the nosebleed seats were about 2 seconds behind the people on the floor. You'd almost think the speed of sound was slow!
And the #1 most memorable music performance....
1. My mom, playing piano. Ok I'm a sap, sue me. I loved listening to my mom play. She even accompanied me a couple times for school talent shows, but mostly she was just a fun pianist, even if she wasn't ready to play Carnegie Hall.
Only Time
Concerts, plays, and talent shows: the school auditorium hosts them all. Perhaps it doubles as a cafeteria; perhaps it is a performance hall in its own right. Either way, the memories come flooding back every time I enter a school auditorium.
I always get nervous before a performance, but this time I am in a near-panic. I am sitting second-chair oboe in the region-wide honor orchestra and it is a Big Deal – especially for this 16 year old girl.
Even though I have no sense of smell anymore, I can still remember the scent of dust and industrial cleaner in the air, mixed with plastic from the chairs and too-much perfume and cologne from the performers trying to mask their pubescent body odors.
I look out into the crowd for one last look before the concert starts. I don’t know why they schedule performances like this on weekday afternoons, but I guess they figure that if schools have the Spring Break week off, everyone else in the world must as well. Why not an evening concert, so everyone can get gussied up and arrive in full concert gear? But she said she’d be here, and she’s never let me down before.
Hearing an orchestra tune up and warm up is something quite unique and recognizable. As first-chair oboe (and usually only-chair oboe) in school, I was the one that set the tuning for the orchestra. A perfect C note (no, not a $100 bill) brings back all the practice trying to get my embouchure right and to stay in tune while the whole orchestra tried to match my tone.
Suddenly, as if under a spotlight of sunshine in the dreary overcast afternoon, my mother glides through the door just as we are about to start our opening piece. Tears well up in my eyes because I know that she had to leave work early to make my performance, but she still made it. Nobody else in my family showed up. My mother, my hero.
For that concert, and many others before and after, my mother was my best supporter. No matter what else was going on for her that day, she always took time out for me. Now, I have to go on every day without her.
It is memories like these that keep my mother alive in my heart and my mind.
Three years …and counting.
Who can say why your heart cries,
When your love dies?
Only time...
Christine McClellan 08/11/50 - 03/03/04
Goodbye Mommy, I love you
Show us a picture that's worth a thousand words.
Submitted by sami711.
L to R: My mom, sister, dad, and me singing "Brown Eyed Girl" at my sister's wedding
Show us a photo of some(one) that's gone now.
Some of you know, most of you do not, that Somewhere Over the Rainbow is one of my all-time favorite songs (and one of the reasons Catherine McPhee stole my vote (she should've won, not that gray-haired hack who can't sing his way off a stripper pole.. but I digress)).
It goes hand-in-hand with my shared love of the Wizard of Oz with my mother. The Wizard of Oz was her favorite movie and, perhaps by extention, perhaps by nostalgia, it has become mine as well.
So, in light of this, I offer you three flavors of Somewhere Over the Rainbow - the proper Sherbet blend! The original (top) by Judy Garland, the one sung by Hawaiian star Iz (middle), and one my sister found for me today by Cosmic Gate (bottom).
Ok, listen to the Cosmic Gate one if you like techno/dance at all. Seriously.
"It's me, Mom"
"Scooter! (that's what she always called me) Come give me a kiss."
I walk down the hallway - silent now - and imagine her smiling face looking up at me from the hospital bed she has been confined to since one of the small strokes took her ability to walk.
"Hi Mama."
"Hi!! Come, sit on the bed with me."
It's a small bed, but I can still see her making room for me and I sit, curling up against her side and rest my head on her shoulder. She brushes my hair away from my face as we lay there together.
The bed sits empty now and tears stream unchecked down my face as my mind replays this scene in my head.
"I'm going soon."
"Going where, Mama?"
"To Heaven."
"Save me a place, ok? Right next to you."
It is a conversation we've had numerous times, but I always force levity into my voice, just so I can hear her laugh. Her laughter makes everything ok. Oh, how I miss that now!
I can hear the smile in her voice, "We'll have a big 'ol party once you get there, Scooter."
We discussed this nickname once. She didn't start calling me that until I went away to college, and neither of us remember exactly when or why. But I loved it, because it was my nickname from her. Well, and you have to admit it is cute.
I can't look up at her, afraid I will start crying and ruin the moment. I know that these days are limited, but I don't want to face that eventuality just yet. She gives my forehead a kiss.
"How are you today?"
"I'm doing ok, Mama."
I wish I could tell her all the things I want to, but I don't want to burden her with my own sorrows or fears while she lays dying of the things I'm most terrified of. I want to talk of how life will be without her, how scared I am of losing her, how she is my strongest support, my conscience, my confidante, my best friend...
"I love you, Mommy."
"I love you too, honey."
I slip back into my childhood name for her - more often now I notice - and remember her as incinvible. She was Superwoman, truly. Everyone loved her, and I was always so proud she was my mother. My friends were all jealous, or so I imagined, that I had the coolest mom in the world. She was my mom. She always let me listen to my music, and even sang along. Or danced. Oh boy, she couldn't dance - but she did. And we had fun laughing and dancing and singing together. I never cared that she couldn't dance, because she never did. She danced like no one was watching, but reveled in the joy she created when they did watch.
I notice that she is asleep now. She sleeps more, and I am grateful for the time I got to spend with her.
I slowly stand, trying not to disturb her. Looking down on her, I brush her cheek, trying to memorize her face. I lean down and kiss her forehead and smooth her hair back from her face.
"Goodbye, Mama. I love you."
I always say that, right before I go. I don't know if it will be the last time, but I don't want to ever leave without saying it. I pause for just a second more, to make sure she is resting comfortably, then quietly leave.
I lay down on the empty bed, hugging the pillow to my chest, curled in a ball, sobbing and wishing only for just another moment with my mother.
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