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April 2, 1976
Well, it’s been a minute as they say. Today is April 2, 2026. Lots of things going on in the world but you don’t need my opinion. We have too many opinions right now that have caused a huge divide among friends, family, strangers. Let’s leave it at that and hope and pray we find a way to come together before its too late.
Today being April 2, 2026 is the 50th year of my mom’s death. It still feels surreal after all these years, no–decades even. I can still see her in her final hour lying in the hospital bed at Valley General. She was skeletal thin but still had thick black hair. Horse hair is how she used to describe it. The nurse gently told me she was unable to get a blood pressure. I had just turned 22 a few days earlier and was ignorant as to what that even meant. Mom was awake but almost frantic with her words. She said vehemently, “I forgive everybody. I forgive everybody.” At the time I was a little irritated. After all, I had been taking care of her for months, changing her bandages, feeding her, sharing the baby’s room with her. So what was to forgive? Yes, I took it personally. She also told me this: “Debbie, quit smoking, tell Billy to quit drinking and get the baby baptized.”
I felt panic rising up into my throat. I hurriedly told my aunt who was with me that it was time to go. Visiting hours were up. My aunt looked surprised but acquiesced. I said, “Bye, Mom, see you tomorrow.” She didn’t respond.
She died a little bit later. I heard the phone ring and of course it was the doctor apologetically explaining that my mom had just died.
Mom died ten minutes after midnight. What anyone who knew her would acknowledge how apropos of my mother’s timing:
First: April Fools Day was her favorite day of the year. She looked forward to it every year with relish. And by relish, you should know it wasn’t against her grain to put some in one of our shoes on April Fools Day. Oh the cackling sounds she made, so very pleased with terrorizing her children.
Secondly: Mom was habitually late. Every.single.time. No matter the reason, no matter the emergency of the situation, she dawdled. OMG she dawdled. She always showed up (well most always, many times I ended up just walking home because she took so long.) So I’ll give her that. It actually wasn’t bad all the time because she was usually about 30 minutes late to church (for an hour mass) so I appreciated the shortness of the ceremony.
So that is why it makes total sense that she died ten minutes later than she would have liked.
And because this is about me all the damn time, I have felt guilty for exactly 50 years for leaving my mother to die alone. I’ve struggled with it for what seems like my whole adult life. I should have stayed. I panicked. Funnily enough, from then on, I tried to make up for it. But nope. When our little cocker spaniel needed to be euthanized, I dropped him off at the vet. Yep, feeling pretty guilty. When my second mom and beloved mentor was dying of cancer, I sat by her side at the hospital every night, all night long. Holding her hand, wishing I could keep her alive. When the time came when her breathing changed, once again I ran. I didn’t feel so bad this time because her daughters were there. This happened to me over an over until the day my son’s aunt died. I held her hand and felt so much love in the room. She slipped away quietly with me holding her hand. It felt better.
So thanks to that aunt’s son, Mom finally has a gravestone. I’ll show it off here. It’s not what I wanted it to say but I love how it turned out.
So that’s April 2, 2026, the day my mom died, the day my dog Abbey was born, and the day my dear friend’s dog Brian died.
If you have a mom, please go spend some time with her when you can. Even if you’re angry with her, make peace. Once she’s gone, your life will be forever changed.
Thanks for reading, she said to the people who never read her blog. LOL
My Christmas Story
My husband’s mother Marie was a remarkable woman. Although we never met, I know she was tall and exuded class. Even as a young mother in the 50’s she had impeccable expensive taste. The phrase, “You get what you pay for” worked in the 50’s. A gift from Marie was a gift of a lifetime, something to pass down to your children and grandchildren.
Unfortunately, Marie died when my husband was very young. He doesn’t remember a lot about her and has only a few cherished possessions to remember her by. And cherished is an understatement.
When he moved in with me years ago, he arrived with an old shoe box in hand. In that shoe box were ceramic figurines wrapped in old tissue paper, each piece carefully wrapped. He quietly showed me the contents: An angel, a donkey, three wise men. Mary and Joseph, and of course the Sweet Baby Jesus in the manger. The angel still held an old birthday candle his mother had placed there in the early 60’s.
This was some reverent shit, man. The nativity scene was one of only a few memories he had of his mother. This was something. I was in awe.
Every year, I would decorate the house for Christmas, red and green gaiety in every corner and on every surface. And always always always I left a special place for his nativity scene, just in case. Every year he would leave it in the box, unwilling to take it out. Being rabidly insecure, of course that meant he didn’t feel we were a bonafide couple, or established, love-everlasting, til-death-do-us-part soul mates. We were just a temporary thing and there was no reason to plant roots.
I’m emotional that way. It was an invisible test he never knew and he failed every year.
Finally one year he did. I was breathlessly delighted. He carefully set the manger on top of the cabinet that was bare every year, a lady in waiting. He gently spread out the angel hair (original of course) and gingerly placed each piece exactly as he remembered. A lovely sight to behold! He even cut holly from Mr. Murphy’s tree to decorate the wall behind the blessed scene.
I have no words to describe my glee. YES! He loves me! Yes, we will be together forever and YES he knows we are a twosome, united forever, dammit. This is PROOF! WE ARE ONE!
On cloud nine, I was happily dusting the living room, listening to Christmas carols, no doubt silently planning my wedding vows. As I merrily whisked through the living room, I happened upon the nativity scene. Why, it hadn’t been dusted in what…40 something years? With joy, I waved my feather duster at the delicate figures. I was all puffy with ego, knowing how my long deceased mother-in-law would admire and approve of me and my impeccable housecleaning skills.
I heard a small thunk.
Oops.
Whoa! There was the Baby Jesus, lying headless and helpless in his manger. WTF? With mounting despair, I realized I had exuberantly caught the Babe’s head with the duster, cruelly severing it from its precious Blessed Baby Jesus’s Neck.
Panic arose. What the hell was I going to do now? Goddamit, I beheaded the Baby Jesus! Fuck! The one precious thing he finally shared with me and I BEHEADED THE FUCKING BABY JESUS!
You don’t get forgiven for beheading.
With guilty fingers I nervously slapped on some super glue. It holds everything, right? It held the quarter on the sidewalk years ago that my little brother put there, so it can hold anything. With a prayer and solemn vow never to swear again, I lay the Baby Jesus down in his sweet bed. Shhh! Everything’s going to be alright and no one is the wiser.
But fuck no, his stupid Blessed Ass Baby Head rolled off, lying in a surprised heap next to his stupid severed Baby Neck. The Babe looked at me accusingly. “He hates you and I do too,” I swear it said.
What to do? The humor route? A bandaid holding the head on? A teensy scarf, after all it was December! Pretend I didn’t know? Or what about those damned crazy dogs? (That one would have worked.)
I had no choice but to come clean. That was a long wait, eons later he came home from his long day of work.
With a trembling voice, I confessed. So very very sorry was I. I recklessly destroyed a precious irreplaceable memory. Selfish stupid me!
“Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “It was already broken. That’s why I haven’t been putting it out.”
Shit.
Lucy Nose You Laughed 