My mom is the person who taught me to knit, among other things. She taught me to persevere. And to rip things out if they weren't going along properly. She said: If you're going to learn to knit, you have to learn to rip things out. I think that's true in life, too. Sometimes things don't work and it's OK to got back and rip them out. We did not always have an easy relationship, mom and I, and I am now realizing just how very much I learned being her daughter.
Mom shared with me her love of music, ragtime piano, choral singing; her love of animals, especially cats and dogs. There are a great many things my mother shared with me and it has been a tough summer and early fall facing her death. I have not felt much like writing because of the loss. Very soon, I'm going to scan a photo of my mom when she was a year or so old. Sitting there in ridiculously frilly baby clothes with two dogs. I'll add it to this post. She did away with frills just as soon as she was able to purchase her own clothing. But the dogs stayed.
Once, when I was about 12, we had a litter of seven English Cocker Spaniel puppies: Alfie, Bertie, Monty, Reggie, Daisy, Marple and Muffin. I was there when they were born. It was the only litter of puppies my mom would mid-wife into existence. She wanted to be a breeder but it was cost-prohibitive.
I started crying just now, writing this so am going to share a really funny story about mom to make me feel better. My mom was terribly afraid of flying which was strange because she'd learned how to fly small planes when she was younger. She really wanted to go to England ... she loved all things English and it is our family heritage. So when I had the financial means, I took her on a trip there. It was my (small) way of paying mom back, of saying "Thank you for being my mom." She loved it and so my elder brother and sis-in-law and I took her again a few years ago. While we were hanging around Logan Airport in Boston awaiting our flight, she had to go to the "loo" so I went with her. She was walking with a cane at this point but didn't necessarily need my assistance. I ended up in the stall next to her.
I heard her pulling out one of those tissue paper seat covers and placing it on the toilet seat. I heard the rustle of her clothes as she turned around ... then I heard the toilet flush [beat] I heard her take a second tissue seat cover out of the holder, place it on the seat, more rustling of clothing ... the toilet flushed. [beat] Mom cursed softly under her breath. I heard her drawing yet a third seat cover out of its holder, placing it on the seat, rustle, rustle, flush. "Shit," mom said quietly. At which point I burst out laughing and then rapidly apologized. Mom did not use that expression frequently. The toilet's auto-flush function was too sensitive so by the time she put the seat cover ON and turned around, the sensor would tell the toilet to flush. Poor mom. At least she had a sense of humor about it. She did chuckle along with me and we agreed that it would make for a funny comedy skit.
That is something else I will miss, already miss, a lot. Mom's sense of humor. She was smart AND funny, droll is the word that comes to mind. I think she was a bit shy about using her humor with people she didn't know well, but I have great memories of my mom saying things that made me laugh ... And when she was in hospital and had been mostly unconscious for a few days, she woke up a bit one day and one of the nurses came in and asked if there was anything she needed: Mom, without skipping a beat said, "a diagnosis?" The docs really didn't have any idea what was going on with her. They argued about what they thought it was. I think my mom had just had enough. Enough of living in a body challenged by Parkinson's Disease, osteoperosis, and a host of other things. She knew that we, her three kids, were doing OK and so, she left. And it is OK. My dad died in 2003 so I am now an orphan.
I am a really lucky orphan. I had two parents who struggled with different physical challenges in their later years (my dad was quadraplegic due to a neck injury) but who toughed it out and taught us, their kids, a great deal about compassion and perseverence and courage. They were both incredibly courageous. They worked together in the best way they knew how--of course they fought and sometimes exchanged harsh words--they'd been dealt a difficult hand, a hand no one would be able to work with without some emotional upheaval. We don't know what happens after we die. But I really like thinking of mom and dad together with a host of animals somewhere out there. I love them and I miss them terribly and I'm OK.
