"Are you scared?"
"No."
"Have you ever been scared?"
"No, not really."
I asked my mom these words about a month before she passed away. I laid down with her that night, next to her body that she had little control over by then and her face that went from being care-free and always smiling to a face that was beginning to look exhausted. Tired of fighting this disease that took over her brain and now her entire body. Tired of oncology appointments, tired of chemo, tired of it all. It was that night that I first uttered the words "When you get too tired, it's okay to let go. Neal and I will be okay. We'll miss you forever, but we'll get through it, I promise." She cracked a smile and softly said "thank you."
Today I'm laying in my backyard in a small inflatable boat filled with water (quite a topic transition, I know. Ps, did anyone else just realized it's spelled "segue" and not "segway"? Hence why I opted out of using the word completely.) It's the first time since I've lived in Florida that I have not had access to a pool. I forgot how relaxing it is to just be outside in the quiet while also not sweating to death. It's only 90 degrees, which means it will soon get a lot worse. Still, it's hot. As I was laying here trying not to die of heatstroke, a breeze swept across me and immediately, without even thinking about it, I hear my mom's voice saying "that breeze is heavenly." She used that word to describe many things; a cool breeze, the sun beating down on her face, and yes, let's be honest, probably while skinny dipping too. She used it to describe a smooth day out on the lake, when the water was smooth like glass and she could gracefully stay on her waterski until she just didn't feel like it anymore. She used it to describe the rare occasions when Neal or I would give her scalp massages or rub her back, and she used it when she tasted one of her favorite delicious foods...M&Ms, chocolate mousse, French Silk ice cream from Brusters, etc.
My mom always celebrated "mini miracles" in every day. Sunshine after days of dark clouds. A good find on the 3 dollar clearance rack that she'd later take back anyway. The duck that almost getting killed by a weasel but survived, even though she (?) didn't make it in the end. (RIP Stretch.) Getting to spend time with a good friend she hadn't seen in a while. Someone sharing one of their cigarettes with her on a Tuesday night, because everyone knew on Tuesday nights she'd go play darts and smoke one cigarette with her SoCo and lime.
She always described herself as "spiritual but not religious." Our nightly dinner prayer growing up was a line from her favorite Godspell song. "All good gifts around us...." We were raised Catholic, went to Mass a lot of Sundays, and both of us went through CCD (until Neal decided he wanted to be Presbyterian), but I think most of that was my dad's influence. I didn't go to communion for YEARS after my First Holy Communion in second grade because I didn't know which way the sign of the cross went. YEARS! She supported that. She didn't know it was because I was just a dumbass, but she didn't care. I didn't want to do it and she wasn't going to make me. She was also raised Catholic, but also often talked about what a contradiction it was to sit through Mass on a Sunday and then treat people like crap the rest of the week and think it's okay because of that one hour (an hour and a half with Father Bender, let's be honest) they spent in church every week. My mom chose to spend her entire week treating people well and being a good person. I never once doubted that she believed in God, because that was never a secret. But she found solace in that relationship when she was outside walking, not inside a church.
My mom talked about death freely and openly as well. She always used to tell us "when I die, there are two things that I want you to do for me....I want to be cremated so you can scatter my ashes on Raystown lake, and I want you to make sure to get my gold tooth, because that could be worth something. It's pure gold." (For anyone wondering, yes we asked the people from the funeral home who came to the house after she passed if they could remove the gold tooth, yes they did look at us like we were crazy, and no the gold tooth was not extracted.) Neal told my dad, while we were talking about my mom's memorial service, "Listen, Phil. Since we're on the subject, we should probably ask what you want, too." My dad's response was "Oh, I don't care, I'll be dead anyway. Just cremate me, put me in a shoebox and set me out on a windy day." Pretty good summation of both of my parents, actually....my mom, frugal and always worried about saving money, and my dad, a complete smart ass.
I'm thankful that both of my parents believed there was something else beyond this. I'm glad my mom never made it a secret that she was at peace with whatever happened to her and I'm glad she spent her life with a constant awareness that tomorrow is never promised. And I'm thankful my dad always found comfort in religion, and that when I asked for a priest to come give him last rites, 4 priests showed up within 20 minutes of each other, which was comical in a very unfunny time.
Neal and I talked at one point early on in her illness about what would happen if my mom forgot who we were. We both agreed that we could deal with that, as long as she wasn't scared.
We are so lucky to have the peace of mind that neither of our parents were afraid.
I'm sure my mom was delighted to be reunited with Stretch, and I'm sure they're frolicking through the meadows up there. And I'm sure my dad is there, rolling his eyes and trying to keep his distance, because he never did care much for birds.
