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| I neglected to get the name of the site where I got this image. Sorry! |
(frowny face)
So far all the "First _____ without Mom" events have been bearable. Christmas, My birthday, her wedding anniversary, these things have all come and gone without any--or much--crying.
Whenever I miss her, I'll pull on the woolen poncho she used to wear all the time. (After Mom died, my sister and nearly came to blows to determine which of us would get to keep it. I resorted to bribery.)
It's a bright turquoise poncho in a woven Mexican pattern. The first time I wore it, my husband's flew open and he said something like "Hola muchacha!" Later at my lovely friend Heather's house, her husband greeted me with "Wow, Jen, where'd you park your burro?"
I mostly wear it around the house now.
Right now, I'm just a little annoyed with myself for forgetting she's gone. While shopping this last week, I caught myself picking up an object and thinking "Wow. I should get this for Mom."
And then I remembered she's dead and I get peeved. I mean, there's all this knowledge about the stuff she likes that I don't need anymore, but can't forget.
Like a month after leaving a job, I still remembered where the matches were kept in the bathroom (for No. 2 aromas), and the name of the office network server, plus the spiel I had to unroll each time I answered the phone all day. It was just taking up brain space that I could have used for better things, like composing wittier hate mail to the old boss.
Anyway. In addition to the phantom gift shopping, frequently there have been times where I'm merely reminded that she's gone and my nose will get all out of joint. I'll see her favorite Werther's butterscotch candies and pout. I'll see an Oprah magazine in the checkout line and get grumpy that I won't be able to borrow her copies anymore. I'll flip past QVC while channel surfing and remember how much she used to enjoy ordering a ring or bracelet. I almost cried in a doctors waiting room because the Ellen Degeneres Show was on and for a split second I thought we were sitting in her kitchen watching together . Great. Now I'm ruined for watching Ellen. Thanks a lot for dying, Mom. Sheesh.
Recently, a friend mentioned she was going to Easter dinner at her mother's.
I did a double take, and then had this fleeting thought: "Oh yeah. Some people still have a mother."
That sounds maudlin, but really I just forget, and "reverse deja vu" happens, where it's so jarring to remember what used to be normal, but isn't anymore.
I told a friend about how I wear Mom's poncho sometimes to feel closer to her. My friend got a sweet "aaaaww" face and said "That's nice. Does it still smell like her?"
Smiling, I replied, "Thankfully, no."
This Mother's day I plan to lounge on the couch with the poncho draped over me and wrapped around my children snuggling up to either side. While they watch cartoon network, I'll close my eyes and feel the fabric wound around us, imagining we're in Mom's comforting arms, as I remember them from when I was a kid, when her body was still full and soft and warm.
