flawless.

The day after my mother passed away my father wanted to bring all of her jewelry to the safe deposit box.

I was assigned the task of sifting through the tower of jewelry boxes to separate the costume from the sentimental from the genuine articles.

When I was done I was a sobbing mess curled in the middle of my parents king sized bed.

I lay clutching a red leather box in one hand....and in the other my mother's engagement ring.

From the time I was very small I was always fascinated by it. She didn't wear it often but when she did oh how I was drawn to it! "Sparkle plenty" she would say, waving her fingers so the diamond would catch the light. She wore it when they went out, or for a special occasion with a matched diamond wedding band. It was dazzling.

A far cry from the plain gold braided band that adorned her finger on most days.

When my sobs began to subside I held it up to the winter sun streaming through the window. It's prisms danced across the bed spread as I turned it this way and that. I examined it from all sides and tried to memorize it's every facet while picturing it on her hand.

It left an imprint in my palm from how tightly I squeezed it. Blood from a stone; tears from a diamond; I felt like I was letting the last little bit of her go when I returned it to it's box. I brought the humble pile of jewelry to my father and fell so deep into depression that there was no light. There were no prisms for longer then I can even remember.

Eventually, I healed. Slowly. I forgot the rings size, it's sparkle, it's details. I reached a point where if asked I could only assure its existence but nothing else.

That was until I found myself sitting on a piece of driftwood on the northern California coast. I felt Then Future Spouse shift beside me and I looked over to see him perched on one knee.

He held a red leather box in his outstretched hand; nestled in it was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. My mothers ring. My ring.

He said wonderful things. I said yes and cried. It was more then I ever thought that moment could have been.

Unlike my mother I wear it everyday. Even filthy from soap scum and lotion it still flashes in the sun. Clean; it could blind you. It still dazzles me.

Riley loves to finger it, she says "prewwy" and tries to pull it from my hand. I tell her how much her grandmother would have loved her, that the "pretty" is a piece of her. I tell her to have patience. Someday...a day further away from today then either of us could ever imagine it will be hers.


Because that is how I want it passed on. From mother to daughter. Sparkle plenty.

twelve.

I wasn't going to write about today because I didn't want to burst into tears. Especially right now. Make-up and hair just so. I'm going to a fancy mall this afternoon and I want to look like a person, not an exhausted mommy.

But from the moment I woke up this morning I just couldn't get it out of my head. 12 years. My mother has been gone for 12 years.

For some reason I just cant wrap my head around that. It feels like I lost her yesterday.

It will always feel like yesterday.

But 12 years? It's not as profound as 10, not as emotional as 3.

No where near as devastating as 30 will be. When I will officially be the oldest she ever was.

12 seems to suggest a kind of acceptance of the years passing. A finality that only time can provide. It reminds me that no matter how much I would like to do otherwise, I measure my life in terms of years without her.

I still dream of her. Its not like it used to be though, the moment of pure elation upon seeing her; "OH! You're not dead!". Still smelling her in those foggy seconds between sleep and awake. The crushing blow of realization upon waking.

Now I feel almost a sense of trepidation upon meeting her. She's not supposed to be there, in the kitchen by the sink. This is my fathers house now. I feel as if I'm meeting an old friend and I don't know where to begin. My mind always snapping back to my father; wondering where he is.

Long before her death my mother told me that if ever one of them were to die, I should pray it was her. That for security, for safety, my brother and I needed my father.

I'm not sure if she really believed that to be true or the trauma of loosing her own father at 15 was so deeply set that she could not imagine that option for her children.

When my father was diagnosed with cancer, erm 12 years ago, I could see it in her eyes. If it was up to her, she would be the one to leave us.

Even then I saw her in my minds eye. Making a deal with God. Her bargain still rings in my head. Little more then a month from his diagnosis; she was gone.

I remember being little and finding my mother crying in her room over her father. It was ingrained in me so young to fear the loss of a parent. I don't wish that for my daughter, but how am I to avoid it? When with each passing year I take her hand to help light the candle in my mothers memory...and the next day light her birthday candle in celebration.

For now I know this, I miss my mother every day of my life.

But never more then today when I lost her.

And never more then tomorrow when I became her.

you can't always go home again; and maybe that's a good thing.

I have finally returned from my last trip to New Jersey for this summer.

Can I get a Hip-Hip-Hoooo-Ray?

Riley and I have spent the last 10 days packed into my childhood home with my brother and his family who were in from California.

I can't tell you how good it is to be home.

And since I can't tell you that, I am going to tell you a little bit about being away.

Namely, about my parents house. Nay, father's house. My mother has been gone over 12 years and while the rooms are still as she left them; her smell and her presence are long gone.

Something creepy happens when a person lives in a house 35 plus years as my father has. You begin not to see things anymore. Items outside of your everyday needs and activities just sit there, unnoticed.

Unnoticed that is until your daughter comes back for a visit with camera and boredom in hand. Each night I tried to see the things that havn't moved (for the most part) in many years so I could share them with you. Because I know you care about this right? Well at least my girlfriends care; this is their drunken teen aged years childhood too.

Exhibit A: The Shelf in the Kitchen.



Lets get passed the wallpaper first ok. Circa 1970's at it's best baby. You would never know that years later my mother would actually become a kick ass interior designer.

Please take notice of the Charms container. When my sister in-law was pregnant she craved Charms sour balls like crazy. She was in New Jersey only once during her pregnancy. However here the balls sit. 5 years later. In the exact same spot they were left.

In addition. We have the NY Giants Santa Claus ornament that broke 3 years ago. Sitting right where it was originally put when it broke. It's severed football hand is in a small dish above the sink.

Oh and no mocking of the duck and chicken. I love those guys and they do actually serve a purpose.

Exhibit B: The Weird Hanging Paper Puppets in the 1/2 Bathroom.

Again...wallpaper, oui!

Not much to say about these guys except they have hung there almost 30 years now.

...and when I was there last week a kid, I made their hands do this:

Funny right?

Exhibit C: The Creepy Clown Bank.

I am terrified of clowns and this freaking thing has been taunting me for as long as I can remember. I hide it and as soon as I begin to feel comfortable again it reappears. I would drive it out to the pine barrens and leave it there but I really think it would try and kill me in the process.

Exhibit D: The Cathy Book.

This is the only reading material in our 1/2 bathroom and has been for over 20 years. It was a gift to me from one of my crazy aunts....do the math, I was 13...what were they trying to tell me??

Today it stands as a shining example how things never move in the house....well that and I honestly think everyone is frightened of the bacteria on the book to even dare disturbing it.

Please don't think less of me...especially since I have more pictures to show you at another time and you will have no where to go with your contempt.

That and my father has a cleaning lady (also around for over 20 years) who dusts everything but the book because we couldn't pay her enough for that these objects while she smokes cigarettes in the house.

Whole other story that.

Now...to finish unpacking. Later this week I will share the trip highlights!!

putting my mom back in mother's day

My mother used to tell me I was a brilliant baby (what happened you ask? Years following the Grateful Dead...nuff said).

She told me I spoke in sentences before words. I knew how things worked. I knew where things belonged.

My brother's play mobile garage was my favorite toy. In the car I would take off my shoes and throw them at him.

She gave me stale bagels to teethe on.

She would make my clothes.

She was an artist.

She drew cartoons on my lunch bags and every year for my school fair would run the "tattoo" booth. She would paint the most fantastic creatures on my schoolmates faces and arms. For a day I was the most popular kid in my class.

When my parakeet died she painted his likeness on a wooden box. We buried him in the garden.

My mother could sing. She sang out loud while she cooked, while she cleaned. While we drove.

She smiled while she sung and I can remember the movement of her lips, the perfection of her teeth. My mother had great teeth.

She was a wonderful cook and an even better baker. She made teddy bear cakes; train cakes. She made my Aunts wedding cake.

She would tell me that she loved me like rainbows and missed me like spring.

My mother was an amazing friend to both hers and mine.

She had a Bronx accent, which I only recognized after she was gone.

Her laughter rang.

I know exactly what it felt like to curl up against her and have her scratch my back.

I remember her scent.

The Lily of the Valley was her favorite flower and I plant them for her. I also still grow the very same Irises from her garden; they are 25 years old.

She told me that love was supposed to make you happy, not make you sob and fight.

My mother was vibrant, she was kind and she took pleasure from life...she made everything beautiful.

That's me on the counter.

This sits on my night stand.

*****************************************

Who is to understand

The winning or the loosing

God needed angels

And that for me explains the choosing

~My Bubbie

and again

I miss my Mother.

I know what you are thinking...."And??" Who doesn't miss their deceased parent?

It has been 11 years and it isn't getting any easier. Not that I ever really expected it to.

I am thinking of her more often now. It may have something to do with reading this, or this, or this. Oh and this one reduced me to tears.

No really, on my own terms I find a reason to think of her 15 times a day. I see what she is missing and it makes me angry. I feel that if I wish for it hard enough, if I will it to happen she will appear. I will be able to hold up my daughter and say. LOOK! Look at her. Isn't she perfect? Isn't she beautiful? Don't you want to see this?

Then other days I thank her. Look at this child you have given me. She was meant to be, I know it.

I understand what love is now. I think that is it.

I know what love is, and so now I really know what I am missing. For the first time I am realizing not how much I loved her, but how much she loved me.

It some how makes her loss fresh. And in that brand newness of sorrow~ I am lost...and I have to mourn her all over again.

The M Factor.

Maybe it's just new Mommy jitters but I am starting to worry.

I am not the 'call the doctor' type...I have never been that girl I don't want to be that Mom.

But...

My baby sleeps.

A LOT.

Like through the night.

Ok, take a minute...hate me.

Done?

Moving on.

At first I thought it was the greatest thing ever. EVER. Whose 5 day old sleeps through the night? The first time it happened I flew out of bed at 6AM thinking something was wrong with her. I grabbed her hand. She grabbed back and snoozed away.

So when it continued I was just thankful for my wonderfully sleeping baby. She would nurse all day so why worry? In fact, last night was only the second night in her all of 15 days old that she was up at 3AM looking for a snack.

And it was a short lived one.

But today....sleeping.

All day.

Really...that can't be good right? She has eaten 3 times since 7AM. How is that healthy?

For those of you that say 'Wake her' let me roll on the floor laughing for a moment.

There is no waking my child.

Seriously we tried to last night. She needed to nurse because she had been asleep forever.
Everyone I talk to is so well intentioned with advice but this is the thing.... I have tried it. I have stripped her, lotioned her, bathed her, made her do sleepy gangsta dances with her hat pulled down low over her eyes.

I did everything short of throwing her out in the snow and nothing, nada, not a peep.

She scootched, she squirmed, there may have been a squawk.
But she never opened her eyes. Not until purely exhausted from trying to feed a sound asleep baby I put her in her bed and turned to mine.

Then she woke up.

So today, since shes been asleep since noon I tried to do the same thing. I went to take a nap.
She is still asleep and with the exception of growing concern I am very well rested.

So I am worried. If it continues I just might call the doctor; however at her check up he said "If she sleeps for 12 hours and is lethargic there is a problem". When she wakes she is anything but lethargic.
Its just the waking that is the problem.

Oh my god how I wish more then anything I could ask my mother. I know I slept like this. I remember stories she would tell of how she would come in and pinch me.

(I still sleep like that)

There is nothing I need more right now then my mothers advice and its just not possible.

That makes me SO angry.

So my solution? Because I just don't know what to do.

The dishwasher is running, the laundry is washing.
Next...the vacuum.

If that doesn't wake her I am going to reconsider the snow option.

...but pedicures will be a bitch.

Our daughter has my hands....long fingers...killer nail beds...

My Mother's hands.

But...These??

When we saw this at 20 weeks we thought it must be some kind of optical-ultra-sound illusion...

Think again....

Monkey toes.

'D' Day +3

I wanted to thank everyone who has been reading and commenting for your support! I have received wonderful advice and a lot of love, it's nice to know I am not alone in this one. I am really loving this bloggy world!!

Originally I composed a whole post this morning about the ins and outs of "home labor induction"...it was pretty detailed as well as being insistent that it was the last I would say on the matter! I was moving on!
It was good! I laughed...I cried..it was better then cats. Not cats (nothing is better than cats) but CATS....which almost everything is better than!

But...we saw the doctor today and after much discussion and a non-stress test (baby is perfect) an induction date was set for a week from today!!! I will get another non-stress on Thursday to be on the safe side.

It's nice to know there is an end in sight. One that works for me (I so want the baby to come only when it's ready) and my doctor (who is not comfortable letting a pregnancy go beyond 41 weeks). I know some of you would say it's not up to her, and I agree...but I trust her and she really listened to what we had to say.
If it were just up to her she would have induced me today but I really was not comfortable with it and insisted on the fetal monitoring! (Thanks for that tid-bit BF!)
Monday is a good compromise.

Then on the way home I looked at the date and got such a shiver!
(Remember I am from Jersey so imagine me saying this in my best Jewish accent "...such a shiva dahlin! You would neva believe!!")
December 3rd.

Odd how some things just happen.
Or fail to happen...as the case may be.

'D' Day +1

Well...that seals it.

You are not like your father.

I have said all along that if you were you would have popped out 15 minutes early with a watch on.

You are late.

Which means...you could be like me.

You are in there procrastinating.
Enjoying the close dark comfort of sleeping late on a rainy morning kind of procrastinating. You know, the kind of morning where you really would not get out of bed unless something forced you to.


Like pitocin.


I am famous for it.
Are you still sleeping??
Yes, yes I am.
And it seems you are too...which is troubling on a few levels.

Where your father is even tempered and stead fast I am dramatic and fickle.

He has the ability to make up his mind on one thing and stick with it. I of course must spend an endless amount of time mulling it over...weighing my options....deciding on something, then half way through totally changing it; morphing it into something that wasn't even on the table in the first place. I will inevitably, when finished, start all over again just so I still have options.

I am impossible.
He is easy going and laid back.

He is a manager and a leader...I can not and will not be managed.

He was content to sit and play with his toys growing up, mechanically inclined he would dismantle them and reassemble them again. He loved his army men and kept them neatly packed in their bucket at the end of the day.

I exploded as a child and my toys were the shrapnel.
I still explode to this day.

What is it we can expect if you are anything like me?

If you are a girl we are very much in too deep already. My mother always wished a daughter on me that was..."just like me". I now realize with growing trepidation how seriously I should have taken that threat at the time..."So"...I sassed back..."she will have great hair".

Although, as impossibly stubborn as I can be, I am also impatient.

For something I know I really want...I rush in. For all the time I can take in making up my mind, when it is set I want immediate action and satisfaction. Just watch me.

My exit from the womb was 3 weeks early.

Yours however....

It's leading me back to the original question which has been nagging these long months.

My impatience growing from an even ebb and flow to a full blown flood.

Who exactly are you?

Countdowns

For the last 11 years Thanksgiving has been a really rough holiday for me. It used to be just a holiday... a day to avoid the turkey and whine that there weren't more veggies on the table. But 11 years ago at this time we lost my mother to cancer. 13 days from diagnosis to death. That was all we got. At the time, my father was battling Non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma that had only been found a month before. So yeah, not such a good time.

10 years ago my father was just ending his radiation treatments. I was on a path of self destruction and medicating myself beyond measure. None of these 'medications' were exactly legal.

9 years ago my father and I began our annual trips to California for Thanksgiving to my brother's house. This would continue for years. It was easier to leave home during that time. Easier to not be in her house and count the years back. To think about exactly what happened on what day. To gauge my memory of her by the standard of how long she had been gone.

4 years ago I think I stopped paying attention to the days. I had begun dating Spouse (who knew and loved my mother) and had finally found peace in what had happened. Acceptance that what I had left of a holiday had to be more then memorializing those 2 weeks in my head every year.

1 year ago I was finishing my last treatment before the holiday. I was going to VT to BFs, both of our traditions broken that year- we decided to be together.

It is the week of Thanksgiving and I am so grateful that from this point forward, this time of year is no longer a battle between what was and what is. I am not consumed by grief or anger. I don't mourn it. I don't turn from it.

Because one year from now I will be preparing for my baby's first birthday.

A day that as I sit in the here and now preparing for- will most certainly occur before December 3rd.

The day that I lost my mother.