Six months… a letter to mum

It seems I post a lot about time recently. Time passing by quickly, or in some cases slowly. Today’s post is a reflection of time in a letter to my mum.

Hey mum,

You’ll never guess what we did Friday night. We went to a bingo game. Gosh, the memories that came flooding back of the times you would take us to bingo. Listening to the caller with “legs 11” or “two fat ladies, 88” from times gone by. They don’t do that here in the US. The numbers only go as high as 75, the number is called, the square is dabbed and you move on. Still it reminded me of you and I realized that it was six months ago that you left us.

So as I sip my coffee this morning thinking of you, I thought I would catch you up on some of what you have missed. I know a lot of people think you are somewhere “up there” watching our lives, but I’m not one of those. We’ve talked enough to know where I stand on that, but I do think talking (or writing) does help, and who knows maybe in this alternate world that you could be living in they have the Internet! 🙂

I’ll start by saying that since returning back to the USA, not a day goes by where something or someone reminds me of you. I’m trying to remember if I thought of you that often before you died. I’m sure I did, but I guess the need to catch each memory was less important somehow when you were alive. Silly that when you think about it.  Anyway, life has been busy and sometimes complicated since August.

I came home to meet Luca, our exchange student, and I’ll just say you would have adored him. He reminded me of myself when I his age. Engaged, not afraid to share his view, a little on the theatrical side! We shared many conversations about world politics, the state of this country, and the way people treat the environment. He is passionate about the things that seem to matter, and my experience with him left me hopeful. He lost his dad a few years back and lives with his mom who is a teacher in a small village in Germany (almost the exact same size as Seymour). He tends to boss her about a little, but he loves her (not that he would admit it to outsiders I’m sure). He left to go back home last month. Like Emile, he was only staying for a semester. I know his mom was happy to have him back. Another reminder of you.

I know how much you loved to travel – it was such a part of what you lived for – and I missed being able to share with you our two trips that we took with Luca to the Pacific Northwest and then the same (almost) road trip we did with you and Leonie from California to Texas in 2014. More memories flooding back on that trip; so many memories. You mentioned to me a number of times that you needed to always have a plan to travel, and it was one of the reasons that I loved sharing our travel with you, and keeping the list of places that we needed to take mum to when she was here next.

We visited many of the same places: Hoover Dam, Las Vegas, Sante Fe and the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon in the winter, with snow all around. A beautiful sight. Oh, and we actually made it to see a proper sunset at the Canyon – more memories of you. It was that part of our journey that I learned about your real illness. I remember how angry I was that you didn’t tell us about it as we pushed you to make to the spot to catch a glimpse of the dancing of the the sun as it caressed the canyon farewell. And I remember the guilt I experienced for that anger, and the understanding that your mind kept telling your body that you could still do so many things, and really you couldn’t. Gosh you were stubborn. A trait I clearly inherited from you. Deep down I knew why you decided not to tell us before your trip, as it was admitting something you weren’t ready to. As it was your last trip to the USA, I’m just grateful that you were able to check so many things off your list of things that you wanted to do. Those memories remain very strong in my mind.

You weren’t here, but we did celebrate your 80th birthday at the house surrounded by friends, some of whom were there back in 2011 when we celebrated your 73rd birthday. It was a tough day for me. You were meant to have celebrated with us. Our goal was to get to your 80th birthday. I still remember the conversation we had in July when I realized that maybe, just maybe, you knew something and weren’t sharing. While chatting on Facetime, you said “if I make it to 80.” You never said “if”, it had always been “when.” That hit me hard, and I realized that I needed to come home. You never asked me to come home. You never did. In all the years I lived so far away from you, not once. And that made this trip so much harder to make. Part of me knew that if I went home, it would be the last time I would see you. Part of me also thought – selfishly – that if I stayed away, you would not have a choice but to live. Foolish, I know, and in hindsight, had I gone home earlier, it would (could) have been more time to spend with you, and really get to know what you wanted and how we were going to handle everything. We did. And I’m sure you knew that we would.

It has been tough, and I’m reminded that if I hadn’t loved you so much, it wouldn’t have been. It was never this way when dad died. It sounds cold, he was my father, but there was little love for him. There was no emptiness, no gaping hole left in my heart, and certainly nothing remotely close to the sadness that I’ve lived with since you left us here on earth. I never fully understood the time you spoke of nana and how you missed her … until now. It is getting easier little by little, as we remember the milestones that we shared, and memories that go along with those.

So this year for our NYE party, you were on our memorial wall. Front and center, surrounded by many others who had passed during the year. Famous people and some not so famous, but only one was on that wall that I loved with all my heart. A toast was made, champagne was consumed in your honor and some tears. Gone, but never forgotten.

And if by chance I got it wrong and you are up there watching down on us all, please remember to avert your gaze from time to time.

I love you mom, and miss you everyday.

Your number three son,
James