Remembering my mom

CMC | the naughtiness has just begun

This is one of my favorite pictures of my mom. If you see a slightly naughty twinkle in her eye that reminds you of someone (okay . . . shhhh -- Caroline), you'd be correct.

Today marks the 14th year of my mom’s passing.  It is honestly hard to believe that life has moved on and I have made it thus far without her, something at the time of her death I could not imagine. It certainly hasn’t been easy — we were immensely close, but all that I have learned and all of her is still deeply embedded in me, and also in my everyday experiences in life, moving with me like an invisible layer of love and protection.

My husband recently told me that my super power was empathy.  I gained this power, attribute, way of being from my mother.  My parents divorced but stayed friendly, even though I did overhear some girlfriend moments at my mom’s weekly board conference — by phone — every Saturday morning.  A standing meeting with her dearest friends, a pot of black coffee and a cigarette (I know — it was the 70s and absolutely disgusting). Slight digression : Anyone who even slightly knows me is in awe that I have never EVER tried a cup of coffee or a cigarette, so thank you mom of curing me of those habits, even though coffee isn’t terrible — but think how much money I save Andre by not having that habit — Starbucks is expensive.  Back to my parents, my dad wouldn’t let us say a bad word about my mother — ever, even when we were teenagers and tried to vent.  My father maintained a deep respect for my mother, for her devotion to my paternal grandparents even after the divorce, still calling my grandmother “Mom” out of respect, and her lifelong friendships with his sisters.

I spent my life watching my mom, who did not have extraordinary means, constantly inserting herself in random people’s lives — at one point brokering a deal with our dentist to split the cost of braces for a girl she had only met a few times when she was a realtor.  We often had people/families staying in our home off and on, when they ran across hard times.  My mother was passionately devoted to being there for not only her family and her deeply cherished friends (old and new), but often for strangers that were struggling through something difficult in their own lives.

My mother also believed in my abilities, allowing me the room to grown, and sometimes fail, while quietly pacing along the sidelines.  After my father died and I finished college, my mother supported my decision to move to Europe alone pre cell phone times. While I initially had a plan for an internship in Lyon, I soon realized it wasn’t what I wanted and decided to abandon this idea and try something else.  This did not mean coming home and my mother did not fight me.  She white knuckled it as I moved around from France to Prague, ultimately ending up in England, working at two different pubs as a bartender.  I eventually ended up in the West End of London working in a wine bar.  As a mother of three girls, despite cell phones these days and tacking abilities, I would be challenged to let them make these choices.  But I called every week and eventually came home, deciding I did not want to get a job with only a bachelor’s in English and decided to go to graduate school. For a short bit things seemed calm and I think I gave my poor mother a much needed break.

As soon as grad school was over I moved out to San Francisco, settling into what I thought would be a permanent move across the country.  I later found out that this decision crushed my mom, but she never let on. She supported me even when I left my plan to go for a PhD in English, something I had been passionate about for years.  I later found out this deeply saddened her as well, but she never said a word.  Instead she supported me as I endeavored to work in technology, only recently learning how to code.  When one of the first companies I worked for lost funding and we were all laid off, something that happened often but I was a Midwesterner and expected to loyally work until I got a gold watch, I called my mother crying and she flew out to San Francisco within a day or two.  We drove up to Tahoe, having our much cherished car talks, these were our routine therapy sessions— ritualistically stopping for an iced tea (mom) an a Diet Coke) me, and talking for hours.  By the time I returned to San Francisco a few days later, I had a new job.  Crisis over, my mom boarded a plane to go home and all was well.

My mother taught me how to swim, literally and figuratively, making me make it on my own to the end of the pier and allowing me to ride on her back as we returned to shore.  My mom honestly was like an invisible floatie, adding just enough support to keep me afloat even though it wasn’t as obvious as a life jacket or a massive orange raft.

My mother was intensely straight forward, honest, did not like drama and was a superhero during any crisis (nickname Crisis Connie).  She had the ability to help and support when you didn’t even realize she was doing it.  It was such a beautiful talent and I don’t know what I would have been like if I didn’t grow up with my specific, amazing mother.  She had the ability to hold back her own fear or anxiety and let me grow.  I knew she was always there for me no matter my choices and being believed in so unconditionally was exactly what I needed to challenge myself and grow up on my own terms, in my own way.

A last little acknowledgment . . . I realized later in life that it was very distressing for her when she told her that I was seriously dating  a native Californian, meaning I would never be leaving California (native Californians do not move).  Her greatest relief came when that relationship ended, despite him being a very nice Native Californian. She would soon realize, once she met Andre, that I was deeply head over heels with this Chicago guy and would eventually leave my beloved West Coast and move home.

I am also grateful to Andre.  He didn’t think twice about helping my mother when she was diagnosed with cancer.  He didn’t blink at the idea of her moving in with us to give her the support and care she needed as her disease progressed.  His devotion to family was equal to my mother’s own devotion to helping others and I am blessed to continue to love both, one each and every day next to me, and the other always present within me. The gift of being able to care for my mom when she was sick was immense on both sides of a mother/daughter relationship.  I could give back the unconditional love that she so selflessly gave me, and I could provide the example of devotion and dedication for my own girls.  It was never easy to face those challenges but my mother also gave me tremendous strength and the belief that I would survive this and, in time, remember the great joy and love we shared.