See You Later, Mom

On November 26, 2008, after a lengthy and courageous battle, mom quietly slipped away while surrounded by her loving family.

On the Thursday before she passed, I received a telephone call from my step-father because he had been in a minor car accident (no one was hurt) and he wanted me to come and get him and mom from the hospital (she was having a treatment) and then drive them both home. When I arrived, my step-father was still dealing with the police and waiting for a tow truck. I sat in the car for about an hour with mom, just chatting -- about nothing and about everything. I didn't know that would be my last real conversation with her. I've said it before and I will say it again and again, "Everything happens for a reason". What a gift I was given.

We had a Celebration of Life for mom at the Staircase. It seems most major events in my life take place there. My daughter told mom she would be a great-grandmother there. I've had various birthday parties there. I was married there. I celebrated my mom's life there.

I can't begin to guess how many songs I have sung at the Staircase. The first time mom heard me sing Cabaret, she told me that I had to sing that for her at her funeral. Of course, I told her I would do no such thing -- that would be inappropriate. She reminded me many times in the next few years of that wish. When the time came, I could not imagine standing in front of a roomful of people and singing Cabaret. I like the spotlight, but not that way. I did, however, find a compromise. I copied Liza Minelli's version to my iPod and printed 25 lyric sheets. We played the song and everyone sang along. Probably none louder than me, when I could. I know she heard it.

I also wrote something for my mom but was unable to read it at the celebration so Bear read it for me. I'd like to share it with you.

********

I remember sitting next to my mom at various family weddings as I was growing up. She would groan and roll her eyes through just about every speech there was. Inevitably I would hear her mutter, “Oh my god. Let’s just get to the good stuff.” So, I won’t take too much of your time.

First, I need to explain that the ladybug is a symbol of my grandmother, it’s a symbol of my mother and I hope one day it will be my symbol.

When I was young, my mom taught me a little verse:

Ladybug, ladybug, fly away home
Your house is on fire, your children are alone

I was horrified. I asked mom why a ladybug, why anyone, would leave their children alone and at risk of danger. Mom explained that mothers couldn’t always be there for children. It was impossible. She said the important thing to remember was that moms might not be there all the time, but they were only ever a whispered “Mom, I need you” away.

And she was. I didn’t even have to whisper it and mom knew. I’d be feeling down about something and my phone would ring. “Kimberly, what’s wrong” and we’d talk.

She’s still there for me now.

When mom had her heart attack, I came home from the hospital in the early afternoon after spending most of the night with mom. I was exhausted but pretty sure I wasn’t going to be able to sleep. I walked into my kitchen and found a wooden ladybug lying in the middle of the floor. It had fallen off a pencil that was stuck on my fridge with a magnet. I took that ladybug into the bedroom with me, put it on my night table next to me and I slept.

Then, just last week, I was leaving work early to pick up mom’s ashes. I was weepy and dreaded going. My car is red and it has a ladybug vanity licence plate. I stopped at a stop light and saw a woman in my review mirror approaching my window. I put it down a bit and she said “Oh my god. A ladybug. How very perfect. How it suits you. All the best to you and your family.” And she walked away laughing and going on about my ladybug car. And I felt better.

Yeah. She’s there for me.

I had a lot of trouble writing these words until I remembered that when I was growing up, I was never allowed to say good-bye to my mom. If I did, she’d say “Don’t say good-bye. Say, see you later”.

So, I love you mom and I’ll see you later.

********

I love you mom and I'll see you later.