So first and foremost, I'm changing the voice of this blog back to the way it was in in the beginning, because now that my parents are both gone, I have more and more trouble writing TO them both and not leaving one of them of the conversation. Is that weird? That's weird, isn't it? Also, it's kind of depressing to write to people who are gone and probably don't even have internet access where they are now. Moving on....
"Thank you for the joy you have given me."
Mary Ann's last words to my mom still pop into my head just about daily. They had a lifelong friendship that stood the test of time for these two incredible women who were both free spirited and also a little scandalous. They'd spend hours having breakfast together, which turned into lunch, and maybe sometimes even dinner...but it always ended with an order of Chocolate Mousse for my mom. Unsure of Mary Ann's dessert preferences, but I'm sure they each ordered their favorite, because, well...YOLO. My mom was the middle child and a rebel by trade. She didn't follow the rules even when she was younger, and that carried over into the perfect mom she became. "Clothing required" sign? Yeah, that's totally optional. Coed sleepovers for your daughter and a bunch of her teenage friends in your basement where you'd give them complete privacy? Totally okay. Claiming that all 12 players on your daughter's soccer team are your children so they can all see an R rated movie? Seems fine. When I was in preschool or Kindergarten, my teacher told her I was having trouble coloring inside the lines. (Is anyone really surprised about my lack of artistic talent since basically birth? Didn't think so. Please send requests if you'd like me to draw you a nice stick figure version of your family.) My mom talked to me about it after she gave the teacher a piece of her mind, and told me nobody could EVER make me color inside the lines. When I got older and she told me the story again, it was so much more than a bunch of purple crayon outside of the grapes that were outlined on the page to fill in. It was the motto for her life, and she wanted me and Neal to follow suit and be who we were and not who the world expected or pressured us to be. But I suspect the reason she was comfortable with who she was, even if it wasn't mainstream, was because she knew she always had her best friend next to her and I'd bet money on the fact that they always inspired and encouraged each other to be the person each of them wanted to be.
Mary Ann was a part of our life since I was born, and when she was with my mom around us, they were the same unapologetic trouble makers they were when Neal and I became adults. They didn't try to behave in front of us when we were young kids to shield us from stories of their younger days when they were (still) breaking the rules, they just were who they were, and along with my dad's lifelong friendships, it set the foundation for Neal and me to want to have the type of friendships both of our parents did.
When my mom got really bad toward the end of her battle with stupid F-ing brain cancer, Mary Ann sat with her on the back porch and recounted all of the memories she could think of from all the years they spent together. Sometimes it was me who asked for them. Because I wanted to hear those stories when they were both sitting next to each other, even if my mom could barely form sentences by that point and even though she was no longer able to provide her own memories to add to the stories. Mary Ann would tell a story and say "Remember that, Jul?" God, did they love each other in the most genuine of ways. If my mom were still healthy, she would have laughed her loud and perfect laugh that I probably got from her and said "I sure do, Mare!" And flashed that dimple on her left cheek as she smiled that smile that went all the way up to her sparkly blue eyes. Instead, she just shook her head yes with all the effort she could muster.
Mary Ann visited my mom often, even though each time broke her heart more and more. She and my dad became closer than ever, because I think she of all people knew how much he loved my mom and how special it was that he stepped up to take care of her, even after they had been divorced for 20 years. He always said, "I'd do anything for your mother except marry her again." And damn, did he prove that to be accurate. My dad and Mary Ann both kept brave faces on and tried to smile, probably for my mom and for me and Neal. But I know behind closed doors, they were both broken and struggling with seeing her transformation over the course of a year. By the end, it was even harder to see such a drastic change in speech and cognitive and physical ability in such a short time. But as hard as it was for Mary Ann to see, she came to visit her every chance she got. At one point, I asked her to scratch my back when we were sitting next to each other. My dad looked at her and said "wow, that's quite an honor. Usually her mom is the one that always scratched her back." She was in living room with all of us when the hospice nurse was called over because we were recognizing some of the signs she mentioned we would see and when we saw them, we were to call her immediately. I don't remember what time it was, but it was late and I remember all of us apologizing for calling her at that time. She showed up in beautiful leopard print clogs, a royal cinderella! She took one look at my mom, who hadn't woken up all day, and noticed her purple knees and said "I'm glad you called."
She didn't want to talk about my mom in front of her, so she pulled us all down into the living room. She told us if she were to guess, we were probably looking at about 48 hours, if that. We knew it was coming, but I remember feeling like I had just been throat punched and judging by the looks on everyone else's face, they all felt similarly. We were told to call anyone who needed a chance to say goodbye to her immediately. Mary Ann returned early the next morning, walked into the room my mom was in, leaned down to her bed and said quietly "Thank you for the joy you have given me." Mary Ann pulled up a chair next to Neal as he sat right next to her bed, wanting to spend every last second right beside her. He looked up at me and Aunt Lirda at one point and said "no matter how many times I tell her I love her, it will still never, ever be enough." Mary Ann hugged him and put her hand on his shoulder and then tried to help him through "I'll Love You Forever" as he read it to my mom. It was the book my mom always got him for any momentous occasion, and how much life emulated that book for them, with the boy saying the poem to his sick mother...one last time...at the end of the book.
Mary Ann gave the eulogy at the memorial and it was perfect. She stuck by us through all the difficult days that followed the day my mom finally let go and stopped fighting. She told us more stories about the trouble they got into together. And she opened my eyes to the fact that friendships like theirs are still something I will always strive for; that I'll always try to be the friend they were to each other, and that when my own time comes, someone will be standing next to me, thanking me for the joy I hopefully will have brought to them. Or at least for having an awesome dog....
