Mom's last day...taking the long way home....



Mom on her 50th birthday, 1991



Mom's graduation picture

April Showers bring May flowers. 

Except in our family, when April seems to bring funeral flowers....in 2000, it was my own mother.  Last year, it was my beloved Aunt Dot, Dad's older sister, with whom I spent every summer and holiday. Only last week, it was my mom's best friend, "Aunt" Chris. 

People always remember others' birthdays, but unless you've lost someone close you rarely remember the exact date of someone's death.

For me, with the passing of my own mother, April 19, 2000, I acknowledge TWO traumatic dates: the night she actually suffered her cardiac arrest right before my eyes on April 16 and the date we turned off life support three very looong days later. For the longest time following Mom's death, I wasn't sure which date she actually died.  A friend of mine at the fire station later told me Mom was written up in the report as DOA when paramedics arrived, but I was too shaken for the EMTs to tell me this at the time because I was alone, and since we had no DNR (she was only 58) they did their best to revive her as I stood in horror. 

I DO know the date of our final day together, which was April 15, the Saturday before Palm Sunday 2000, so instead of dwelling on the sadness I feel every April on my mother's "anniversary," I choose to remember that final day we shared, because as I grow older, it becomes more vivid to me, instead of more faint, something I find curious. Somehow I feel it was Mom's way of "being there" for me years down the road. Somehow she must've known she would be leaving soon.

My younger brother, Mark, had just returned from his honeymoon in Bermuda.  He married his wife Susie only two weeks earlier. Mom was dog-tired from the frantic pace of wedding planning because she had a lifelong battle with Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and all the later health complications that came with that disease, so I thought little of her swelling joints. These flareups happened routinely with her.  She overdid it, that's all, I told myself.  

She'd had two episodes where she couldn't breathe twice that previous week. First time that had ever happened.  Maybe I should call 911, I asked?  ...No, she said, it'll pass. And that time, it did pass, as did the second.  Damn, I gotta get Mom to quit smoking, I told myself. 

Mom's last day on this earth was an unseasonably warm one and I finally got her to her doctor.  For ONCE in her life, she was actually ON TIME. I mention this because chronic tardiness was Mom's hallmark and guess who she handed THAT baton to??  (hanging head in shame....)

Her doc was equally concerned about the breathing attacks and set up a series of heart tests for the following week.  Who knew she'd be gone by then? But here's the part I like to remember... 

Usually, Mom, who by then rarely left the house and needed a wheelchair, never wanted to drive around and enjoy the sunny weather after an appointment. Let's take a drive, Mom, I told her, expecting her to say no, she was tired, not up to it, yadda yadda.  Then came the unexpected "Ya know what, yes, let's take the long way home today..." 

Pleasantly surprised, I asked where to and the first place she wanted to go was the "old neighborhood." She wanted to drive by her childhood home.  Gramps & Gramm were gone by then and Mom was feeling nostalgic.  As we drove the old route through southwest Detroit, years melted away as I got that excited feeling you get when you drive to Gramma & Grampa's place.  We stopped.  We stared. We reminisced, even though the little house on Sarena Street was, by now, quite run down. We were saddened by the state of Mom's old neighborhood as we pulled away.

From there, Mom said she wanted to visit her parents' graves.  So off we went to St. Hedwig's. It was there Mom said some prophetic things. 

"It's so peaceful here, isn't it," she asked?  I said it was kinda creepy.  "But really, look how pretty it looks in the spring, that's why they call it a resting place."  She wished she could get out and read those headstones.  So...dutiful daughter that I was, I got out & began walking among the graves, reading them one by one to Mom as she pointed out ones that interested her. I kept checking my cell phone.  The man I was dating was supposed to call.  I became irritated and Mom, in her usual manner, began to shell out her unsolicited wisdom. The "mom" speak that irritates the hell out of everyone.  "A watched pot never boils."  "Just ignore the phone, then he'll call," or her best line... "He's not good enough for you anyway."  

Still situated among the dead, we pondered on the sad short lives and marveled at the huge family plots.  We even ran into an old family friend visiting her parents' grave...talk about a small (creepy) world.   After a short visit with the friend, I told mom we should go.  That family friend would be at mom's viewing just a few days later.  But for some reason, Mom was hesitant...in hindsight, she seemed to be surveying the area. "I'd like to be buried near my parents. That is, if you can't afford a mausoleum." Laughing, I told her not to worry, I would be able to afford that by then, since she had years to think about that... and after all, I reasoned, she would die late, since she was late for everything else.

"I hope it rains when I die," she said out of the blue.  When asked why, Mom said "the thought of everyone out there having fun in the sun while I'm dead bothers me."  In true form, Mom was honest to a fault. But guess what?  It rained the next few days as we planned her funeral.  Mom died during Holy Week, so good luck trying to plan a Catholic burial at Eastertime, the holiest time of the Liturgical year. We had to wait till after Easter for her funeral and lived in Limbo for four more days. AND IT RAINED....for all those days, it seemed.

But I digress: back to that last day...Despite my usual multi-tasking nature, it was as if some calming influence urged me to enjoy this ride.  Inside my ever-racing mind, I had calls to return, work I brought home from the office that still wasn't finished and a visit with an old friend planned for later, so many things to DO!  Still, despite my enormous "to-do" list, I felt strangely unhurried that day.  On the way home from the cemetery, we stopped for, what else, a carton of cigarettes for Mom, and I picked up a bottle of her favorite wine.  Then I picked up dinner from Mom's favorite restaurant, Angelo's.

During the drive home, I even remember making Mom gasp as I abruptly crossed three lanes without using my turn signal to get to a gas station I noticed up ahead, selling gasoline for .99 cents per gallon. that's right, I repeat: .99 CENTS!!! (This was, after all, 11 years ago.)  I got quite the lecture from Mom about my risky driving.  "This isn't a racetrack, you know!"  Rolling my eyes, I did not realize this would be mom's last lecture to me. 

Oh, but she gave me some wonderful things to remember that afternoon, as well.  Once home, she lit up a cigarette and we sat at the kitchen table, poured a glass of wine and chatted, but not before I once again checked my phone and was increasingly angered by the nerve of some men! Turns out he had good reason but at the time, I was beyond angry at his seemingly thoughtless manners.

"He's not the one for you, anyway, so why do you even care?" she asked.  (He wasn't). "I'll know the right  man when I meet him." (Turns out she didn't have time to meet him.)  Then, almost chillingly, she turned her dark eyes to me, took a long puff off her cigarette and suddenly became serious.

 "Look, I know your brother marrying before you has you upset (I was already 36)  but I'm not worried about you. You will meet and marry the right man, and you'll do it very quickly." Before I could interject, she added,  "I never believed those long relationships of yours were THE ones, even though you did..."  (Once again, Mom was right.  I did meet my husband a year later and we were engaged within three months, so yes, while my "long romances" were lovely, they simply were NOT "the ones" for me). 

When I showed her a few wedding pictures I'd picked up from the local Photomat, (remember those?) Mom said she was glad I hadn't brought only the bright red lipstick for her to wear to Mark's wedding because she preferred nude lipsticks, even as I argued she should wear a more festive red for special occasions.  SIDEBAR: my dark-haired mom never liked bold colored lipstick and even after I'd given the undertaker that bright red lipstick as her final makeup, I peered into the coffin and gasped in horror during family hour to see that she was right...that bright red lipstick WAS too bright! I had to scramble to ask the undertaker to change her lipstick to a nude shade before open visitation, so typically, Mom won that battle, too. 


And finally, as we sat and pondered about how soon before my brother gave her a grandchild, Mom said 
"I don't care what it costs, promise me you'll put my granddaughter in dance someday. I was always sorry I didn't get you into dance earlier."  (Yep...you guessed it, my daughter started ballet at age 3 1/2...)

But wait.  What??  On that day, how could Mom even assume I'd even HAVE a daughter when I wasn't even sure I'd ever settle down and marry? 

That night, after visiting my friend, I checked back in on Mom and became annoyed because she hadn't touched an ounce of the dinner we'd picked up earlier.  I was angry and said she was wasting away to nothing.  She weighed less than 90 lbs at the time of her death. She chuckled.  "You will be a good mom, you're already acting like MY mother right now," she said as I carried away her plate in anger. 

Those were my mom's last "normal" words to me .... but today, mom's "prophesies" comfort me beyond all comfort.  I don't have the luxury of picking up the phone to ask my mom about anything. I can't ask her if I'm doing the right things or what she might do in certain situations.  But that's OK.  Mom said all she had to say that last day, whether we knew it or not, back then. 

She knew deep down that I'd get married, assuaging my fear of dying alone. Deep inside myself, I thought I was so pickky I'd wind up a bag lady with 6 cats.  Mom believed I'd someday be a good mom...I seriously thought I'd HATE being a mother to anyone but 4-legged creatures who don't talk back.

And her final gift to me was in that last day: learning to enjoy the little things.  I learned that the moments you don't think are so profound become PROFOUND, like taking the long way home and not worrying about rushing back to work on your "to-do" lists.  Like how being spontaneous and stopping here or there, just for the heck of it can be FUN.  I discovered more times than I care to mention that, in talking about everyday things with the people in our lives, we don't think those will be our last conversations with them, but sadly, sometimes, they are. If I've learned anything from an unexpected death, it is this:  as cliche as it sounds, tomorrow is NEVER promised...

My last day with my mother was a warm, sunny and yes, carefree day in April, and aside from the birth of my daughter and notwithstanding the pain of losing Mom in such an untimely manner, it turns out it was the  happiest, easiest day of my life.  For one last day, I was still her little girl. Thanks for the memories,my beloved best friend.  Rest in peace dear mom, till we meet again. 
 


Mommy & me, my first birthday party