helen's homecoming

Our mother passed away almost 5 years ago. It was sudden but not terribly surprising since she'd been giving away her worldly possessions since her 42nd birthday. I personally think she willed herself sick. It was no secret that her gene pool was riddled with cancer and heart disease. Deep down she knew that she wouldn't live a long life, but I wonder if she'd had a more positive outlook on life, if she'd have lived longer. Instead, she was content being depressed and morbid.





There's another factor here. Her husband, Jack (our step father) was 20 years her senior. Although their age difference was vast, I never once imagined her as the widow---somehow, I always knew she'd be the one to leave this earth before him. He aged her. She liked pretending they were the same age. She would say ridiculous things like, "We can't keep up like we used to..." The fact of the matter was, he was (is) incredibly spry for his age and he continued to run circles around here. Even when she was 55 and he was 75. It was irritating to me that she acted much older than she was, I had little patience for her.





She and Jack moved out of state when I was 17. When they'd come back for holidays or a long weekend. I'd put so much pressure on the visit and I'd have overly high expectations. Disappointment would ultimately ensue. I'd expect that our visit would be similar to all of my other friends whose parents would come for a visit. There would be shopping, there would lots of laughs and cooking of the favorite meals and pouring over photo albums, etc. etc. In reality it would be more like this: Jack would get diarrhea and/or a mysterious insect bite, or a cold, or a broken tooth...and they'd either have to spend the weekend in Urgent Care, or they'd just make the 18 hour trek back home again. From time to time Jack would escape illness and tragedy, but I'd still be let down because then something else would inevitably happen, like mom would get into one of her moods because my phone would ring too many times during dinner, or I'd suggest we do something else besides watch tv and eat chocolate covered raisins, she'd roll her eyes and they'd be on the road by 6 AM the next morning. Happened everytime. Or more commonly, she'd pay too much attention to one of my sisters and I'd get my overly sensitive feelings hurt and we'd get into a fight.





This is just the way my relationship with with my mom. I'd like to look back on our 29 years together and remember them differently, but it is what it is. I don't doubt for one single second that she loved me. I know she did, but often, I was fairly certain that she didn't like me. She didn't 'get me' and that was fine, a lot of people don't get me. I loved her, she loved me, I miss her, I miss her essence, I miss her sense of humor, I miss having a mom, I miss all the good stuff.





Fast forward to April 2008. Jack calls me (I'm going to write this dialogue phonetically as Jack has an old NY accent and the story is much more entertaining if you read it with a New York accent---also, he yells when he talks):





Jack: (on my voicemail) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. LISTEN HA-NEE, I'M ALMOST 84 AND IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN TO ME, I DON'T WANT HELEN'S ASHES GETTING MISPLACED, SO I'M SENDING THEM TO YOU. KEEP THEM AWAY FROM THE KIDS...HEH HEH HEH





(next message) HA-NEE, HI, IT'S JACK. I WENT TO THE POST OFFICE AND THEY WON'T LET ME MAIL OUT YA MUTHA'S REMAINS. I'LL KEEP YOU POSTED.



(next message) HI HA-NEE, I WENT TO THE FUNERAL HOME WHERE WE HAD YA MUTHA'S SERVICE AND THEY TOOK CARE OF HER REMAINS---THEY SHIPPED THEM OUT IN AN AIR TIGHT CONTAINER AND SHE SHOULD BE THERE IN A FEW DAYS.



(next message) HI HA-NEE, I'M WONDERING IF YA MUTHA HAS ARRIVED YET. IT'S BEEN A FEW DAYS AND I HAVEN'T HEARD ANYTHING. I HOPE SHE'S NOT LOST IN THE MAIL AND ENDED UP GETTING RE-ROUTED TO EGYPT OR SOMETHING, HEH HEH HEH.... OH SHE'D LOVE THAT, WOULDN'T SHE DOLLY?



Leading up to that week, I was a wreck. Everytime I heard the UPS truck, I just about threw up in my mouth. I was scared. Of what? I don't know. I deal with death perfectly fine, it's "the dead" that I don't do well with. So, I'm driving home from running errands with the kids after about a week since Jack's original phone call and as I'm pulling up my driveway, I saw a big package hanging from my storm door. I threw the car in reverse and bee-lined down the street. I just kept driving up and down the street until I had the strawn-th to deal with what was waiting for me at home. I finally went home and as I approach the infamous package, I noticed it was from the shoe store where I ordered some wedges online. I had to laugh.



Two days after that, I was running errands downtown with the boys and it was getting close to nap time, so I took them home. I retrieved the mail and there was a yellow notice from the post office stating that I had a certified package waiting for me at the post office. (gulp) Well, no sense going allll the way back to the post office now, she's been traveling all week, surely she can wait until after her grandsons take their naps. So, Lee calls during naptime and I told her that mom was at the post office waiting for me. Picture me sitting on my couch, legs crossed out in front of me, filing my nails, phone tucked under my chin, chocolates next to me.... personifying this whole 'lady of luxury' scene while my mother waits to be picked up from the post office. Lee said to me, half joking, "you. are. the. worst. daughter. ever---GO PICK HER UP'. We were dying. We pictured her standing there, standing on one leg, with one foot propped up on her other ankle, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes, shaking her head, FUMING...and muttering about her youngest daughter being unresponsible and unreliable... Oh, we had great fun at mom's expense that day.



I did arrive at the post office 3 minutes before they closed that day. I had to sign for her and everything. Very official, mind you. My legs got all weak and wobbly walking to the car. I had a hard time accepting the fact that I was carrying my mother's remains. The boys were in the back seat freaking out because they thought they got a present in the mail. "mom, what is it, what is it...is it for me...what is it....who's it from".... I just ignored them. I didn't have the strawn-th to explain the whole cremation process to them.



After I brought her box o' bones home, I wandered through the house for hours wondering where to put her. Not one single place in the house seemed appropriate for her final resting place. So, 9 weeks later, she's still sitting atop my dresser and often the kids will stack their night-night books on her as if to say, "grammy, read to me". I'm sure she wouldn't have it any other way.



So, the moral of the story is, if you have a difficult & complicated relationship with your mother, talk to her about her dying wishes, or else she could end up living with her least favorite daughter, collecting dust on top of a dresser.