I'm sure there are people who think I should get over it. That after 19 months, I should be putting the grief away and getting on with my life. But that's so easy for them to say.

What they don't realize is that I didn't just lose my mother. I lost a huge portion of my life, of my support system. My mother wasn't perfect, neither was I, and yet we had forged a family unit. We cared for each other. Until she became too frail to do it, she fixed me dinner almost every night when I was working. She bought me Diet Coke when it was on sale. She would ask me to go with her to Mervyns or Ross or Walmart, and she would buy me stuff I hadn't even asked for, just cuz she wanted to. I miss that. Not the stuff. The generosity and love behind it. I remember once admiring a pumpkin-colored purse at Mervyns, but not buying it cuz it was too expensive. She waited til it went on sale, and she had a coupon, and bought it for me. And the fur blanket!!! I coveted this faux mink blanket, also at Mervyns, and she laughed at me, and made a point of how useless it was. And yet, there it was, all wrapped up one Christmas.

In return, I loved her. I did yard work she no longer could handle. I ran interference with the repair men we had to hire for the fence and deck and patio cover and garage door. I drove her to doctors appointments and hair dressers, and i sat in the emergency room so many times, holding her hand and keeping her company. I took her to Reno and Tahoe, and brought my grandkids to visit. They loved their GG, and still to this day, the older ones remember.

My Mom loved me. She worried about me. She fought with me. She thought I spent money foolishly, and she hated being lied to. But she loved me. She wanted ME there with her as her health failed. She trusted me to take care of her, she let me handle the most basic of her needs. And when she died, she was holding my hands. Til the day i die I will remember watching the light and life fade from her eyes. Is it any wonder I miss her so?

If a Gramma screams....

I just have to wonder. Why do people ask how you're doing, if they don't want to know? I have so much hurt and sadness bottled up inside me, and yet, I'm not allowed to express it. If I dare to indicate I'm unhappy, everyone tries to talk me out of it. Oh, they don't admit that's what they're doing, but when they tell me what I should be thankful for, or tell me how much they "love" me or need me, or how great I am, I just know it's all a lie.

What they don't realize is that there's almost nothing left inside me. I have no enthusiasm, no joy, no real reason to continue on. I do love my grandbabies with all my heart, but I can't live my life for them. They have moms and dads, and lives of their own. When I'm with them, I'm usually happy, because they give so freely of their love and hugs. But as soon as I leave, the darkness sets in, and I'm lonely and sad again. I just feel useless, worthless, and left behind.

Football and Champagne

Football is back. The 49ers are playing their first preseason game this morning. I made french toast for breakfast, and as I was dishing it up, I felt a tiny pang, wishing I was fixing it for me and Mom in the house in Morgan Hill. Time just keeps moving along, each day taking me farther and farther away from our lives there in the big house. I'm not sure I can remember the sound of her voice. I still get flashes of memory that occur when I least expect them, and bring me to tears. I have so many regrets...all the times I was impatient with her. I would give just about anything to be able to go back to before she got so ill, and be able to tell her how much I appreciate her. I wish I had spent more time recording her stories on tape. I wish she had been more open with me about the ill feelings among my sibs, so I wouldn't have been blindsided by the anomosity. I wish, I wish. Yeah, and I can wish until the cows come home, and it won't change a thing.

I want so much to make something of my life in the time I have left, however long or short it might be. I want to be a successful writer, and get my books published, and be able to help my family. I want to make my dreams come true. If Susan Boyle can do it, so can I. I might not have a singing voice like she does, but I have a voice, and I can use that voice to my advantage in my books. I just need to be disciplined enough to commit myself to a daily writing session. No more getting distracted by other projects.

I owe it to Mom and Dad to make a success of myself somehow. Mom wanted me to be happy, and Dad always believed in my writing. What finer memorial could there be???

Oh, and the champagne? Mom and I had a little tradition if you will, of celebrating the start of football season with a pizza and a glass of Andre champagne. We had pretty simple tastes!

Friday the 13th, and I invite the grandkids over to spend the night. What was I thinking? I babysat them all day, and frankly, by now, I'm over it. They are five ,four, and almost three, and they completely ignore anything I say to them. Don't jump on the sofa bed? No more french fries til you eat the rest of your hamburger? Don't play on the stairs. Stop turning the lights on and off. Stop hitting your brother/sister. Stop screaming. Sigh. Get the picture? They're not bad kids, just undisciplined and wild. It's gonna be a looooonnnng evening.

The Perfect Family???

What do alcoholism, adultery, gambling, overspending, excessive frugality, smoking, and pomposity have in common? They are all things of which my siblings and I have been guilty. Yes, the very same siblings who think they are too perfect, too blameless to hang out with their flawed sister. And just for the record, I plead guilty to gambling and overspending. Guess that leaves all the others for all the others.

An Open Letter to my Siblings

Dear Susan, Douglas, and Joe

First of all, I would like to apologize and ask forgiveness. I know that in the weeks and months after Mom's death, I said and did things that caused you added pain and grief. My only defense is temporary insanity. The grief I was experiencing after losing not only my mother, but my best friend, was so intense, I literally thought my heart wasn't going to make it. Added to that was the shock of finding out that all the things I believed about my family were lies. None of you ever loved me, and things you said and did cast doubt on whether or not Mom had loved me as well. I know that doesn't erase words and deeds, but I am sincerely sorry for letting my grief override my judgement, and allowing me to say and do things I normally would not think of expressing.

But for me, at least, it's all in the past. I also forgive you for all the things you said and did that added to my pain and grief. Mom worried constantly that our family would fall apart after she died, and I never understood why. Now I do. I've tried to reach out to some of you, only to be ignored. I'm trying one last time to heal the rift. I know we'll never be best friends, but I wish with all my heart we could at least be civil to one another. For Mom's sake. Maybe that doesn't mean anything to you. Maybe you hate me so much you can't accept my apology. I hope not. I'm holding out my hand in peace and in hopes that we can put the last 18 months behind us and keep the family bond intact.
I do love all of you, and miss hearing from you.
Love,
your sister

No Manilow For You!!

I was reminded today of that Sienfeld episode, "The Soup Nazi". Remember that one, when Jerry and George go to get soup, and they have to follow the soup nazi's rules for ordering. George gets his soup, but not his free bread. When he complains, the soup nazi gets angry, and refunds his money, while taking away his soup. Elaine, who wasn't with the two at the time, goes to get soup, ignores advice about how to order, and annoys the soup nazi to the point where he not only refuses her soup, he bans her from his store for a year.

Sound familiar? It should. Perhaps the new name for tptb or HWSNBN should be "The Show Nazi".