Goodnight Mama

If you’ve followed me for awhile or know me well, you are aware of the rocky relationship I’ve always had with my mother. I always knew that one day she would no longer be around, and that I would struggle with our relationship when I could no longer do anything about it.

That day came.

In January, I went to California on a trip with my boyfriend. He had lived there for more than fifteen years at one point in his life, and still had a couple brothers and friends that lived there. It was a fantastic trip! We had an amazing time, and it was someplace I had never visited before so I was really excited about it. One of his brothers hosted us and we did so much that week I will never forget it! It also happened to be within days of my birthday, and we dodged a massive snowstorm that hit Detroit quite literally moments after we left. All good!

One day after we got home, I got the call from a social worker at the hospital my mother had passed away at. My mom had her share of ups and downs health-wise, but it was really kind of unexpected. It was kind of a lot to process. Much like when I received the call about my brother, I called my dad. And I simply asked him if he would call my sisters for me.

The dramas that followed with a dramatic family don’t seem worth mentioning at this point.

I remember my mother as being broken after my brother passed away so many years ago. She never had much will to live after he died and it was hard to be living with a mom who wanted to die. She always said “I can’t wait to be with him again” and now she is, wherever that is. I did my best to execute her final wishes. I was met with a lot of haters, but at this point I’m pretty much used to that.

Six months later, I find myself coming to peace with many things. I’m grateful that I never completely shut the door on my mom. I take comfort in knowing I took her for probably her last really nice drive the Fall before she passed away, to view the autumn leaves and listen to Neil Diamond (one of her favorites) the entire car ride. I’m glad I made her laugh on that drive. I remember not wanting to do it, but something made me decide to pick her up that day and muscle through the experience, knowing it might be the last. I’m glad now that I did.

These days I find myself remembering the mom I loved as a little girl, that kissed the boo boos and made everything okay. The one who made Christmas and birthdays extra special even though we lived in poverty. The one who opened my mind to art and theatre, a love I still have today.  The one who exposed me to all kinds of music and made me fully appreciate the likes of artists from Jim Croce and Eric Carmen to Tony Bennett to Bob Segar.  The one who finally admitted in her last years of life that coffee was spectacular, and she had no idea what she’d been missing out on for so many years. I find myself remembering the reason I can parallel park is because of my mother and that I also possess two of the best family recipes around for carrot cake and zucchini bread handed down to me that were from her sisters. I find myself remembering the kind words she told me as an insecure little girl; that she thought I was quite beautiful and quite possibly the smartest little girl she had ever met. I remember a mom who stroked my hair when I was tired or sick and made-up funny stories to help me sleep. I remember the mom who told me as a teenager and adult whenever times were hard to manage to “just give it two weeks, everything changes in two weeks.”

Time has moved a little slower for me since she died in February. I try to keep focus on the good things that I remember. I think about my brother and my mom all the time and how she finally got what she wanted. And I think to myself goodnight moon. Goodnight big brother. And good night Mama. I loved you.