Friday, December 26, 2008

“What you remember is not what they think you will remember”

I am currently reading “Annie Freeman’s Fabulous Traveling Funeral” by Kris Radish. I’m about three quarters of the way through it. I almost didn’t make it past the first chapter – some crazy banter about a woman morning the loss of her favorite bra – but I’m oh so glad I did. Every couple of pages there is an amazing line, or paragraph, or thought, or reflection. It will make for some interesting blogging, I think.

So for today, I’d like to share this from page 14:
Katherine thinks then for just a moment about her mother and she has the same pangs of regret, of missing, of loss, of suffocating sorrow. She allows herself to slip an inch down the wall, humbled even now, all the months, eight of them, following her mother’s death. The grieving, she knows, never ends, and all that will remain is the miracle of love. And she holds on to that miracle as if to save her life for the time it takes her to steady herself, to smell, without the reality of it, her mother’s scent – a fine mix of Dial soap, some ancient Avon product, garlic and Tide – her mother always used Tide.

“What you remember,” Katherine reminds herself, “is not what they think you will remember. It is often not.”

What memories are we making with the people we know right now, today? We usually think about making memories with the big things – the trips to Disneyland or the monumental Thanksgiving feast each year. But when you think about someone close to you, who you’ve lost, what is it you remember about them?

When I think about my mom, who has been dead for over 14 years, it is all the little things that I think about. Bits and pieces of the woman she was.

When we lived in Germany and we would go to church every Sunday, I remember her smelling of White Shoulders when we would get in the car. She would be dressed in some amazing suit and high heels and smell absolutely heavenly. I remember nothing of church itself, can’t even picture it, but I remember what my mom smelled like.

She was my Brownie Girl Scout leader and when I was in third grade we had a sleepover at the scout camp on base. We got to make French toast in the morning. And I remember her teaching us the songs, Annie May and Sweetly Sings the Donkey – getting down on her hands and kicking her feet up behind her like a donkey. She always did all the motions to all the songs – and we sang a lot of them.

When we moved back to the states and went back to the small town she had grown up in, we went into a store and a few minutes later we hear from the back room, “I’d know that laugh anywhere – that has to be Lois!” She was known for her huge smile and hearty laugh. My friends were always saying that I had the nicest mom, and she was. I attribute my evolution in parenting to her excellent example – I didn’t have much to overcome.

I remember eating green grapes together at the lake house while watching the impeachment of Richard Nixon. And I remember Santa bringing me things that my parents couldn’t afford and wouldn’t buy for me. I fully believed until I was 13 and my sisters finally couldn’t stand it anymore and told me. I still believe.

When my sisters went off to college I remember one time when they came home and we were playing charades. My mom got SO embarrassed because while she was pantomiming, my sister yelled “Boobs”. My mom was red for what seemed like hours!

I remember waking to the sound of her sewing machine, the always full of homemade cookies cookie jar, her playing the organ, and singing or humming hymns all the rest of the day on Sunday. Oh, and the amazing craft closet, full of wonderful supplies.

Bekka & Gramma feed the ducks

When I was much older and had Bekka, my mom moved to Spokane and worked as a live in care giver for a woman with MS so she could be closer to Bekka. She LOVED being a Gramma. She would watch Bekka as often as possible, and we would go visit her several times a week. She made Bekka the cutest clothes. She had had her own business custom sewing since she had retired from the bank, and she especially loved making clothes for toddler girls. They were always comfortable (never anything scratchy), and completely easy care. Cute dresses with matching diaper covers and hats were her specialty. Bekka’s first word was “hat” because she always had one, and it always matched what she was wearing.

We moved to Houston three months before she died of ovarian cancer. My sister called to let me know that mom wasn’t doing well and that we should come early for our visit we were planning. She died while Bekka and I were in baggage claim at the Spokane Airport, and I fully believe that she didn’t want us to see her at the end - that she wanted especially Bekka to remember her alive, not dying. When we got to the hospital the nurse was completely distraught. We ended up comforting HER, because she had lost a favored patient. She kept saying, “I can’t believe she’s gone, she was joking with the attendant on the way down to radiation.” Well, I could have told her ahead of time that my mom would go out joking. It was just not in her to be all solemn and depressed. To her way of thinking there was just no point in it. I don’t really remember her memorial service, but I do remember part of her burial, the part where all the little ones were running around laughing and playing. They were the first to throw dirt in the hole and were so happy to do so. It was exactly what she would have wanted and there is no way we could have planned it, it just happened. Joyful children celebrating life.

Other than maybe Santa and the sewing, I don’t think my mom anticipated me remembering any of these things, but they are the things I remember about her most readily. This makes me wonder, “What do I do that my kids will remember most?”

I invite you to list some of the things you remember about your mom in the comments section.

Oh, and I hope you read this post as a joyful post! We do not morn death, rather we celebrate life on this Journey of Joy.

5 comments:

Anonymous said...

That was beautiful Joni, thanks for sharing it. I am going to go think about my mom now.

p.s. We still do not have solid plans for New Years Eve -- we are the worst party planners! But I will let you now if any sort of gathering starts to come together.

ps pirro said...

My mom is alive and well, living in Arizona near my brother and sister. Here's a childhood memory: my delight at seeing my mom get out the meat grinding contraption after cooking and serving a ham for dinner. I didn't like ham, but I loved seeing that contraption come out because it meant ham salad, which I loved -- tho I feared for her fingers as she stuffed pieces of meat into the grinder. Ham salad, for the uninitiated, is ground cooked ham, mayo and sweet pickle relish. Yummy. xox, p

Anonymous said...

I enjoyed this too Joni.

As you know, I am very close to my mom, even through the occasional difference of opinion, and she is close to my girls. I know we are very lucky and memories are being made all the time. Many of my memories of childhood are images, smells and sounds, hard to put into words.

There are things my girls remember from their younger years that I've forgotten and that makes me sad, but I do remember a fair bit of sleep deprivation! Some of the memories I do have are the reason I've kept so many toys and clothes from days gone by. Just yesterday Tom and I were cleaning the garage when I insisted on keeping and old doll Sophie no longer wanted because I can hear her tell a friend, "that's MY dawwy!"

Alicia said...

Loved this post. I am fortunate that my mom is still living, and close by. Sometimes I think we are too close...we talk every day...but mostly I am greatful. She is generous to a fault, thoughtful and a great cook. It's the cooking I remember most. She has always been an experimenter in the kitchen. In the 70's when I was young and she was having her hippie days (she got an afro) she would make homemade granola and homemade yogurt and carob chip cookies. I thought it was so gross as a kid, but now I wish I could duplicate some of those things...except the carob chip cookies!...just because they remind me of my mom and it's a comforting feeling.

Anonymous said...

My mom singing gilly gilly ausenpheper cats and allenbogen by the sea and 100 bottles of bear on the wall (which she used to sing S to sleep after she was born, rocking her so I could rest) will probably go with me to the grave. She knows all kinds of songs.

Tamales. Her home-made tortillas. That she came to all my track meets in high school and college.

She used to take me with her to Kmart when I was a kid and we would get root beer slushies on our way out. She was never interested in blue-light specials!

Or we'd go to the big mall in Phoenix, what was it then? Metro-center! And she'd take me to Sam's for a pretzel.

I really have very few memories of much as a kid but you are right that it's the little stuff that stands out. I know we went to disney land but I can't remember being there.

Thanks for the awesome post! My mom went with me and the girls to Live and Learn this year and it has been a truly spectacular memory so far!