Estate Sale, Walks, Reading and Dinners

Yesterday was a much welcomed fallish day in LA, a sprinkly tiny bit of rain and fog, and I was walking the old gals (Me, and Pickle) mid-morning.  We had slept in, after a long week of work and evening plans (I mean, I can't complain about free tix to the Hollywood Bowl, two dinners with friends but I do get a bit worn out), and I was gabbing with Beth, one of my two elder sisters (I am the youngest sister, the youngest cousin, the baby of the family as my mom always said, I am young young young).  Beth and my other elder sister Kitty had gone on a walk and to an estate sale. I yelled "ME TOO" because I have FOMO but also, Pickle and I were going to do the same!  It's moments like these when I see how much we are our mothers' daughters, except the part about walks.  My mom did not like to walk, stroll, amble, perambulate or meditate.  She liked to go to garages sales, estate sales, flea markets, Elyria City, garden, play volleyball, golf and read.  Not bike or run or such.  Anyway, on this Saturday in September, my sisters and I were doing the exact same thing.

This week I felt my mom's death a bunch--like a gut punch to the belly--she was on my mind, in my dreams and I couldn't figure it out.  Until it occured to me---we are coming up on 2 years from her initial diagnosis and start of treatment.  She had a surgery in October of 2017 and then chemo started in December (I think. I went to her first chemo.  She and I gabbed while my dad read the really thick book on Hamilton.  He had me read a passage and it was heady stuff---and I thought, Lin-Manuel Miranda is incredibly bright and well-read and how the hell did he take this very deep dive into Hamilton and make it HAMILTON?).  I think we went and had lunch after.  I can't remember--those fall and winter days blend in.  We were so relieved that my mom didn't have lung cancer and it was only Hodkins and the plan was that she'd have some casual chemo and be cured.  That was the plan.

Anyway, in the end, it doesn't matter if we were surprised or not surprised that she died.  She died anyway.  It was the cure that got her---the chemo killed her, not the cancer.  But how do you separate it or distinguish it?  Does it matter?  I guess if I had KNOWN she was going to die, I could have asked her how she felt about it, what she wanted to share, and asked her why she liked volleyball so much.

Instead, I'm left with these moments and memories to sift through and find the answers.  And that's up to interpretation, like any moment with someone living or dead.

Kitty (my elder sister) and I enjoy remembering times when my mom wasn't a PERFECT ANGEL  MOTHER SENT FROM HEAVEN like how she hated to walk, and would get pissed in the car and take a corner with wheels squealing on the asphalt.  And when we laugh at her we imagine my mom in heaven saying "Oh you bitches, stop complaining about me already".  Though even that is not entirely true my mom didn't use language like that. One time when I said father so and so was an asshole she got pissed at me then.  Though he was an ass (and it's not Father Cousin Charlie--he is NOT an asshole).

Anyway, a quick update:  Grief group is done, I've started a 9-5 job that'll last for 3 months and has me working downtown LA (which is just wonderful--everything a downtown should be. Old and new buildings, people bustling, lots of diversity of people, poor, rich, working etc) and I'm actually doing some writing and creating.  Who knew?  Maybe I'll even try to date.

15 months since my mom died.  My grief is a walking baby.  She still cries sometimes but is exploring her world.  Cutting back on naps.  her brain is developing as are her social skills. She's starting to put together words.  Is willing to help others.

All of this is true.  I'm less vulnerable and more able to sit at a meal and not want to run back to my dog and tv.   I haven't napped in weeks.  I'm really into seeing new parts of LA and California.

Which brings me back to the estate sale. I should have bought that long turquoise bench.  Maybe I'll go back over there today.  But I did get a Burberry scarf.  One time when the 4 of us were shopping, my mom held up a plaid shirt to show us and I so cleverly said "You can never have enough plaid" and she shoved it back on the rack and was PISSED.  There wasn't a lot to tease my mom about--because, let's admit it, she was an angel sent down from heaven to be our mother, but we could tease her about 3 things:  Her love of plaid, her curly curly hair and that she didn't like to walk.  And I cut a haircut with curly curly curly bangs.  Like, I look almost like a Duggar or O'Brien from Downton Abbey. I love them.  They remind me of my mom.  Like plaid, reading anything and everything, and not walking and volleyball and garage sales.

So, I guess she is with us.