My Boston apartment at 403 Commonwealth Avenue was still cloaked in grayness. The sun hadn't even come up yet when my telephone echoed loudly and eerily in the living room down the hallway. I let it ring and ring, filling my sparsely-furnished place with a sound that made me sick to my stomach. I did not want to answer it. I reluctantly sat down on the cold hard-wood floor and slowly picked up the receiver. It was Papa calling from Vermont, letting me know that mom had passed away peacefully just minutes before. I bent my head low and started to sob. I somehow managed to get out a "thank you for letting me know Papa" before hanging up the phone. I went back to bed and put the pillow over my head. I wanted to stay in that flannel cocoon for the rest of my life.
Mom died 18 years ago today. She was only 52. Her parents lived into their early nineties. There was no cancer in our family. She wasn't a smoker, heavy drinker, or overweight. When acquaintances or good friends early on tried to assuage my grief by saying that she was in a better place, I would whisper to myself, bullshit. What's more important than watching the daughters that you adore go from truculent teens to blossoming, lovely ladies? What's more important than to be Grandma Genie to four gorgeous, plucky, and smart-as-whips grandchildren? Nothing. She just got unlucky and every day our family feels her absence profoundly.
My sister tells me she heard my mother call out her name just a few mornings ago while lying in bed half asleep. It was the first time that has ever happened to Annie. There have been only a couple of instances where I'm certain I've heard her call to me but it's usually in a dream. I'm absolutely convinced she hovers close by watching over me and my sister, making sure we stay healthy and safe and in a very good place. There have been too many close calls and miraculous occurrences to think otherwise. So I know mom has not stopped being our mom - she does what she can from wherever she is. But oh my god what I wouldn't give to have her back in the flesh, being the recipient of her hundred little kisses to the neck. Telling us how proud she is of all that we've accomplished. Being our biggest fan and our loudest cheerleader.
If your mom is still here in the flesh let her know how much you appreciate and love her. Knowing you might be reaching out to your moms makes my sadness today a little bit lighter.