One year without you. Or maybe 5.

We remembered Mom and Dad here, in this special place, on a freezing cold day last December.

My mom has been gone 1 year. One year without her body here on earth. But she has been gone so much longer than that. A friend texted me today about Mom, sharing some memories she had of her (by the way, always text your friends on the day that their parent has died. Put it in your calendar as “Patti mom anniversary” and then your phone will remind you. Because it means a lot.)

But it’s really hard for me to remember Mom as her full self. Do I erase the years of watching her slowly die to get to the deeper memories of her being healthy? Do I erase the sadness and anger I felt at seeing her disappear, and then die? How do I neatly bundle up the years of angst and hurt and embarrassment at seeing her decline? Embarrassment? Yes friend, because dementia is not without shame for those watching. I spent so long being so mad at her for getting Alzheimers. As if there was some decision point where she could have decided to be healthy and guide us through losing Dad, but instead she chose to get Alzheimers to block it from her memory. Grief is a real bitch, isn’t it? You don’t just get to look back at all of the great times. You must wade through the really terrible stuff to get back to it.

Here’s what I remember:

I remember that she wore a really fuzzy yellow sweater (I would say cashmere but I think it was from Lands End). It was butter yellow and I wish I had kept it. I would pull on the sleeves of it during church as a child- like it was a blankie.

I remember that she just wanted to take walks and talk with me. She would just put her coat on and a ridiculous hat, no matter how cold, and say “let’s take a walk around the block”.

This is my version of “let’s take a walk around the block”. Mine is “let’s cook something together”.

I remember that she loved Mario and always wanted him to feel at home. That she was happy when he slept in because it meant that he was comfortable and besides “he must have needed it”. And then she would make him a fruit cup and breakfast.

While this was an amazing spread, this was also Thanksgiving, and I’m not sure it would be a “mom approved” meal. Not to mention it’s on the coffee table. But that was Aunt Margaret’s plate so maybe Mom would like that? Not the rocket ones. The fancy china one. Not sure if Aunt Margaret liked rockets.

I remember that she made home a home. She stocked it with food and once cried when we attacked all the groceries the second she got home. I so feel that now. I didn’t get it then. She made home safe, consistent, loving, supportive. She balanced us out. I remember I once took a nap in the living room on the carpet and she came in and saw me and I pretended to be asleep because I just wanted to stay in the sun filtering in through the window. That’s home. I remember that she was so so sad when her mother died and she let me come home from college and be with her at Nana’s house. She let me see her grief and be there, even at the funeral home. I know now how difficult that must have been for her.

I remember that she let Dad talk and tell jokes loudly. I remember her happy to have us all around the table. I remember that she set that table, made the food, cleaned the house and organized everything so that we had that space and time to be together. I see so much of her now. Now that I am a Mom I see the joy in making that food and cleaning this house. I also see why she got up so early to have her “Rita time”, not her Mom or wife or principal time.

I remember that when I called her to tell her I was having a miscarriage, she just sat on the other end of the line and cried with me. She didn’t talk about the miscarriages she had suffered through- never even mentioned them. She just let me be and said “I had a feeling sweetie”. That’s Mom power right there. I will always be sad that she missed this crew.

I have to wade through some muck to get to these memories. Because in between these are blocks of terrible things… of managing a life. Of doctors’ appointments and dragging her to assessments. Of her being in bed for days…weeks. Of all of the pieces of her we lost along the way. Of being at her bedside and begging her for a response, or a flash of recognition. Of saying Dad’s name over and over, hoping she would know him. If not me, then for sure, she would know him… right? Of playing his 7 year old recorded voicemail messages for her, or her favorite song… trying to bring her back and free her. Of phone calls to my cell saying she is going to the hospital, or has stopped eating or isn’t doing well. Of her best friend calling to pray over her. Of all of the people that slipped away from our lives before she did…who found it too sad or too difficult to visit. And of the people who did visit - who were let into the inner circle and came and said goodbye- because it meant something to us- if not to her. It meant that her life mattered and that she mattered and that she was worthy and deserving of all of the love in the world.

One year without Mom. A year out I am so thankful that I can pull on these memories of her to bring her back to me, just for a minute or two.

I also remember that Mom loved a good sandwich, potato chips and being outside.