Hands Off My Hope!

Thanks Giving

I realize I haven't posted in a couple of weeks. I'm kind of feeling uninspired and every time I think I should post something, I wonder what I would say. It seems that the holidays arrived earlier than usual this year with the decorations going up in some places right after Halloween. And with every reminder that they are indeed coming, I realized more and more how happy I will be when they are over.

But now here it is, the day before Thanksgiving. There is no escape anymore...especially since tomorrow Andy will be making the Thanksgiving turkey at our house that we will (hopefully) enjoy  at my dad's (just kidding Andy...I know it will be GREAT!). I am trying to get into the "holiday spirit" but I can't seem to get there and I don't want to force myself into it.

One night last week as my dad and I had our nightly phone chat, I told him that I am really not looking forward to Thanksgiving this year. Like a good father, he asked "why." I was kind of surprised by that, wanting him to simply empathize with me rather than prompt me to talk about it, but regardless I answered "because...I just think it's going to be really hard." He said "Yes, it is going to be hard...but it's important that we are doing it." Once again, my dad proved to me why I love him so much with his pragmatic and simple answer. It is important that we are doing it.

My family always does Thanksgiving with the Fallek's, close friends of the family, and we always trade off doing it at their place and at my parents' place; last year it was at the Fallek's. Each year before we eat, we go around the table and say what we are thankful for - this is a tradition my mom began many years ago. Last year was especially poignant, given the health of my mom, yet she did manage to announce that "next year we will have Thanksgiving at our place." And so this year we will be at my dad's.

Obviously there will be a void, an absence at the table and a tone to the day. A friend who lost her mom 29 years ago told me that she will be wearing a piece of her mother's jewelry tomorrow in order to feel close to her, and she suggested that I do the same. I thought that was a good idea, and I will, but I don't know if it will settle my uneasiness for the day, and calm my eagerness for the day to be over.

My mom always loved Thanksgiving and the holidays and now we are faced to get through these milestones without her. Such is the nature of the beast. Regardless of how important it is that we do it, as my dad says, I am still looking forward to the dishes being done, the table being put back to normal, and the leftovers being eaten.

Transitions...

It is amazing to me how time passes. One minute, it is early September and it still feels like summer and the next minute, it's mid-November with the holidays making their presence in stores and in TV commercials. Each year, October through December seem to flash before my eyes and so far, even though it's still just mid-November, this year is no different.

Of course, living in Minnesota we get the added bonus of abrupt season changes. It doesn't matter if we are going from winter to spring or summer to fall, the seasons here change at the drop of a hat. This year is no exception. Just two weeks ago it was in the 70s and we were enjoying time outside under the warm, mellow sunshine. Today, however, marks the third or fourth cloudy day with snow flurries dropping from the sky. It's a reminder of what's to come.

This cold, dreary weather means that warm coats are a necessity when leaving the house. A couple of weeks ago when I was at my dad's place, I walked into the front hall closet and started to look. My Mom had a slew of beautiful, warm, fashionable coats that I often admired. Knowing that the cooler and colder weather was on the horizon, I decided to put off the task no longer. I told my dad I wanted some of Mom's coats...but that I didn't want to take them home yet. His response was "well, what good are they going to do you then?" With that, I went back into the closet, took about four or five off the hangers and started to try them on. Stacey was there, too and began to look as well. I felt kind of guilty, but tried not to think too much about it. I ended up with leaving with four coats.

When I got home, I brought the coats into our bedroom and put them on the bed. I didn't want to just hang them up in the closet...I thought they deserved a bit more than that. So, they just sat on the bed for a while until finally I realized I had to move them. I showed them to Andy and tried each one on again. As I put on and off each coat, I got a nice whiff of my mom... along with being wrapped by something my Mom wore, I was also wrapped by the oh so familiar smell of her perfume. It was such a soothing moment for me and I felt happy to have brought them home.

Now each coat hangs in our closet and I've had the chance to wear a couple of them with the cold snap here. And each time I put one on, I smell and feel my Mom. It's kind of weird, but very comforting at the same time.

Birthday Thoughts

Today, November 6, is my birthday. And I'm not starting this post out with that as a plot to have you all leave a comment or drop me an email with birthday wishes. Really. I am starting this post with that because today has meaning for me. Not because I am turning a year older, but because of what has happened on this day in the past.

Four years ago on this day, I was 39 weeks pregnant and in serious "nesting" mode. I cleaned the entire house like a mad-woman and enjoyed a nice dinner out with Andy. Two day later, on November 8, Ethan was born.

Last year on this day, I was in the car taking the kids somewhere when my dad called. Mom was in the hospital. I wasn't surprised, but I was concerned. This, of course, was the beginning of the crazy, intense, uncertain time that culminated with her death two months later.  

I remember being at dinner with Andy on my birthday last year. We were at a newer place in town that was impossible to get into. I think Andy made reservations in early September for our Tuesday evening meal. It was small and quaint. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was perfect. It was at this place that I spoke with Andy for the very first time about my real fears that my Mom was going to die. I had no idea what I was going to do without her, what we were going to do without her. She was, after all, the glue of our family. I remember feeling guilty that I thought she was going to die, like I should be hopeful. After all, she was. But I just didn't see it. I was scared.

The week prior shed some light for me. My Mom could barely move and the things in life that brought her joy - her family and especially her grandchildren - could not even bring motivation or a smile to her. I remember how she barely made it over to our house on Halloween to see the kids dressed up. She came at the prompting of my dad, and stayed for 10 minutes. That, by the way, was the last time she was in our house. I also remember how she barely made it to Ethan's birthday party three days later. Again, my dad prompted her to get up, get dressed and get going. And again, she stayed for a short time. On both occasions, she looked miserable...she looked a way I had never seen her look before. She looked ill, diseased, and she also looked sad. In my mind I wondered if she knew this was her last Halloween, and the last birthday party for Ethan she'd see.

I remember these things now because they are so fresh and were happening just one year ago. I don't know if I will always "associate" my birthday with the day my Mom first went into the hospital to fight her final battle, but I'm sure I will remember it as such. Sure, there are so many other things that I remember about my Mom and my birthday as well, like her singing "Happy Birthday" on my voicemail, or her birthday cards that she always mailed ridiculously early, or our birthday shopping sprees. Of course today, I miss those things.

It's amazing though how today, an entire year after these events happened, I feel even closer to my Mom than I did then. Perhaps she was fighting fate and I was running from it for fear of what might happen, and as a result we just danced around what was really happening. What's that called in psychology...the Avoidance Theory? I guess it doesn't matter what it's called or what we did. What does matter is that I do remember and hope that in time, I will remember will not quite such a heavy heart.