Friday, August 06, 2004

three years ago

Today marks the three year anniversary of my mom's passing. Sometimes it seems like three days. But I feel a little blue when I think about the milestones that will occur in my children's lives without my mom and dad there to do the grandparent gloat. And there are still days where I just want my mother.

My mom loved me. I never doubted this for one second. And isn't that a legacy we all want to leave with our children? They'll remember our craziness, our mistakes, our selfishness and our pride. But hopefully, like me, they'll remember the times we laughed together, watched favorite shows, ate Christmas dinners and shopped for special clothes like saddle shoes for cheerleading or long dresses for formals. Hopefully they'll never wonder that they held first place in our hearts.

One thing my kids won't remember doing with me that I remember doing with mom is picketing abortion clinics in the early days of the pro-life movement, chapped hands clinging to the rough wood supporting the placard, getting yelled at and given the finger by motorists driving by. While I'm still involved in the movement, picketing isn't my thing these days, but I'm sure Joy would approve that I still care about the precious pre-born citizens and their moms too. Mom never blamed the women. Marching on Washington, showing films to youth groups, listening to her debate on the radio, driving her -- once she became ill -- to the board meetings of National Right to Life. It's something we cared about together.

Mom played bridge too. She was great at it. She also crocheted lots of clothing for my Barbies and cooked me a hot breakfast every morning. My sister Lori loved cheese eggs on toast. When she left for college, I begged my Mom, "Don't ever make that again, I'm so sick of cheese eggs!" (Love you, Lo!) She didn't. Her Brunswick Stew was the best and could she make a great shrimp salad or crab cake. She could type like the wind and when she was young, she knew all the statistics of the Orioles and liked whiskey sours. White Zin filled in during her later years. She was always on a diet but baked fabulous cinnamon rolls. She couldn't resist a good cheese bun, though. Joy shook her head, mystified at me and my dad laughing our butts off at The Benny Hill Show. But she loved to laugh. She just didn't like to laugh at Benny Hill. She'd go to the theatres to see Julia Roberts or Hugh Grant. Her porcelain skin never once sported a tan for she'd even burn after sitting under the umbrella. She loved shows like The New Detectives and laughed her share at Becker. In fact, her last words were uttered during that show. "That Becker. He's such a jerk." Ha!

She died ten minutes later. Slipping away there on the couch.

This is rambling, I know and maybe I'm oversharing, but sometimes a gal just needs to emote.

I miss you, Joy. Everyday. But especially right now.

love, your daughter, lisa


Blogger Cheesehead said...

Lisa... maybe this is my "profession" coming out, but what you have done is the most healthy thing you can do! Tell her story... and your story! Remember... remember... remember...
My mom's side of the family gets together quite often, my cousins, aunts, uncles, etc... eventually we end up telling a story about grandma... and/or grandpa... although they have been gone from this life almost 25 years, it's almost as if they are still here... and they are, in those stories and memories!
Keep telling your stories....

August 7, 2004 at 10:59 AM  
Blogger hibob said...

Your mom was pretty cool.
I love you Lisa,

August 9, 2004 at 12:42 AM  

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