Getting here was the absolute worst. The hubby and I got a little cocky about how much time it would take to get to the airport. So we woke up, worked out, finished packing and got in the car to get to the airport with about 55 minutes b4 the flight. Well… Thanks to a misguiding sky cap, we ended up waiting on a “trouble ticket” line for 40 min (there goes my flight) and had to spend an additional 110 dollars to secure a seat on the next flight out which was a full 6 hours later. After I threw a mental tantrum, I recomposed myself to the notion that now I’d be able to complete all that I’d run out of time to do: manicure / pedicure; shop for white shoes; get my toiletries etc. All the while spending more time with the hubby

So we began towards the city, feeling resolved and comforted that there was a silver lining to all of this. As we waited our turn to pay the toll at the entrance of the Midtown tunnel, an airport transportation van that was directly in front of us fancied himself wanting to just…. Back up. Fast. And onto the bumper and hood of my car. We honked and yelled and couldn’t understand what the hell he was thinking but there we were – in the midsts of a car accident. Luckily, about 6 police officers at the gate were our witnesses so we’re totally not at fault. But it cost us another hour or so to detain the guy (um, yeah, cause he was going to drive away) and write up the report. We still kept a light heart. We got to the city where I luxuriated in my long overdue mani pedi then went shopping for white shoes and a carryon bag to pack add’l items in. By the tinme we were done, it was 1:30. Next flight was at 6, but we flew out anyways. I didn’t want to take any chances. Got to the airport around 2 and checked in and cooled my heels till the flight which left on time, was uneventful and quiet.

Upon arriving at St. Louis, I got a cab and traveled to my hotel. The cabbie was wonderfully pleasant and reminded me of Daddy. He gushed proudly about his two boys who are graduating – one from high school and one from college. He was from a country right in the area of Darfur and was making his life and living with his family in the Lou.

Got to the hotel and sought out my chapter. They were hanging out and cutting it up as I expected which put me at ease. The next day was the first plenary and I was ready.

Now… The post about Boule and all the happenings won’t take place publicly on my blog. All I can and will say is that based on the events of this conference I can submit with all assurance that 1) I will NEVER, as long as it’s in my power, miss another conference. 2) if I can help it – I’ll always be a voting delegate. 3) the happenings in session were worth every penny of the 1600+ dollars it took to get me there (not including the shopping it took to get me looking the part). No one could have EVER narrated with sufficient detail and emotion all that took place over this past week. Worth. Every. Penny.

Unlike past conferences, the prevailing feeling for me in the beginning was lonliness. I spent a LOT of time on my own. I ate breakfast alone every morning. Lunches were usually the same with the exception of a few instances. I remember conference time being very busy with visits and hang outs and suite parties hosted by me and sights to see and folks to visit. But… This one was so quiet. The only people that shook up the alone feeling for me were Sharon and her total willingness to drop everything and cool out with me upon request and an impromtu visit from Tiff who hung out with me and we chatted for hours, then danced and strolled at some parties and then hung out till the wee hours of the morning talking some more, drinking cocktails and eating bad food. In a big way, any other time I had to spend alone didn’t feel so bad after that. Yet again, leave it to my original team mates and true heart sisters to unexpectedly and even unintentionally save my sense of sisterhood and closeness. Thanks, Tiff and Sharon

Well, I’m on the flight home now and I cannot wait. I miss my hubby and his skin. I miss NY water and how it doesn’t completely irritate me. I miss knowing where I want to go and getting there of my own volition. I miss the ability to identify crazy in my own home town (cause crazy does NOT look the same everywhere). I miss my mommy and her pictures so I can stop thinking that BAM resembles her and agonizing over that. I’ve not been so homesick in so long and I really hope I have a while before feeling this way again.

*

http://www.nj.com/hudson/index.ssf/2010/04/3_charged_in_murder_of_jersey.html

At the time that I’m posting this… it’s the most recent and updated story about the killings and the captures.

My heart breaks every time I think about Michael and Nia. Even though I did not know them personally… I know people who knew them. I know people who were at the engagement party the night that they were murdered. I feel their pain. And I feel the NATURAL HUMAN EMPATHY. How can you think of the story and not??? 25 and 27. Just starting out their lives. Deciding they wanted to spend that life together. Meet with all their closest friends to celebrate that event. Just to be offed by some MINDLESS FUCKING KIDS.

*taking a deep breath*

That same human empathy leads me to think of those kids. I finally saw their pictures today. Something about looking in the face of a criminal accused of doing something heinous… I need to see if there is any connection between their countenance and their thought process. I’m usually let down. I looked into the faces of these kids… because… they’re kids. 19 years old. When I was 19… I was just getting settled into year 2 of college. Deciding my major. Actively pursuing pleding AKA. Beginning a brand new love relationship that looked promising. THE FURTHEST THING from my mind? Was stealing / killing / carjacking. But then I had parents at home who had migrated here away from their homeland… just to TRY to give me a better chance. And I had to do something with that. Even if it was only up to a point (and that point was my Bachelor’s… after that, I told Mom & Dad that I would do my own thing). I had to do something positive with that…. make that… MEAN something to them… if not me.

So I thought about the support system for those kids. When Darmelia’s mom gave birth to her… when she named her and looked into her face… did she wish greatness upon her? “I hold in my arms the next great Speaker of the House…” or “I’ve just given birth to a future President of the Unites States.” Hell… was her mom even AROUND??? Or was she too busy chasing behind her youth that Darmelia and her brother might have robbed of her to actually RAISE her? I’d have to say no as her brother Ronald “Diddy” Lawrence was also in the family business of taking lives as he did for 2 people in February in Jersey City. I did a search for Latonia Bellamy on Facebook… just to see. But my co-worker told me something about how as soon as your arrested it seems that they take down all your social networking pages. Doubtful? Because I can’t see the government working that fast to do ANYTHING sometimes. A Latonia Bellamy did come up. But it wasn’t one of the assailants. It was a woman my age… who’s Wall was replete with status messages of upliftment and encouragement for the next person. Under her description where folks would normally put their little life’s mission statement, she proudly exclaims that she is all about “helping people in the community facing hardships with Rent, Security, furniture, Food, Clothing, Employment, Resume, Etc.” Maybe the 19-year old Latonia’s alternate reality doppelganger… Who she could have been if steered in the right direction. Maybe? But no. And then there was Shiquan. The boy in the crew. Shares the same last name as Latonia… but they’re both 19… so unless their twins… or Irish twins… maybe different families. They don’t seem to live in the same place according to the reports so I have to imagine they got to know each other the few days they were in school together because they sat one behind the other. I told my coworker that if you put a suit on the boy, gave him a fresh cut and imagined him in an auditorium full of young, eager minds talking about the future and higher education…. IT’S NOT THAT FAR from the imagination. It’s not even far to imagine him having made SOME mistakes in life… maybe having a misdemeanor but wanting to do right… maybe a baby to take care of… and interning somewhere to get his foot in the door to make a better future. Look at his face. Can’t you see that too???

But, no. They’re all just criminals. MURDERERS. THIEVES. The LOWEST of the low.

There HAS to be something said for environment in this. About their upbringing and discipline. The institution of structure where there no longer exists a standard one in society. Parenting isn’t something you can do for a few years and then hope it rides out into the child’s future. My parents were PARENTING ME up until their very last. I was still getting invaluable advice AND structure. (aside… I really? had amazing parents… i am truly blessed and i miss them terribly). It’s also not something that you can slack on for x amount of years and then miraculously show up when the kid is 17 and expect for it to take effect. I’m assuming the worst about their environment. It was the environment of the unreal. Where taking a life is just as significant as it is on the tv shows they watch. It’s easy… look… just pull the trigger. *cut scene* And that stuff they own? They’re too good for that stuff… so take it too. *roll the credits* And if we get caught… “SO. WHAT.” Jail is jail is jail. They’ve likely been in a cell in their minds all their lives. So this is a manifestation of their thoughts. And they’re ready for them.

Look at their picture again. Don’t you SEE the lack of connection between what they’ve done and how they feel?

That’s not Human.

My deepest sympathies go out to the families of Michael Muchioki and Nia Haqq. I have no words to offer that would ever comfort and as far as I am from the situation, I’m hurting deeply.

I hope these people are brought to justice. I hope that maybe one day… perhaps the light of TRUE realization will go off in their minds about what they’ve done… Because it’s probably as surreal to them as it is to the families that have to reconcile the light of bright stars in their lives being mindlessly dimmed.

*

I’m standing very alone in a situation that calls for backup. But I don’t have much anymore these days. Just my own heart and mind telling me I can stand strong and be strong. And may be that’s all I need. I need to assert myself against a claim formerly made by Cary that I was not the stuff of marriage material. I AM… I can be. I’m always ascending. And I can prove it. Now if others besides me could just believe it for a moment. I could change the world.

I hope who I speak to on Monday has a heart. And if not … I am ready to appeal to the bottom lines.

Please God. Be on my side for this.

*

Again in this dream, I focus in on the point where there is a massive pomp and circumstance. We’re in quite a grand ballroom where many a gala are taking place. Parties here… wedding there… and look… they just rolled that maroon casket over to the Veranda room…

Casket?

I’m chasing down the Maitre’d because somethings amiss in our room. There isn’t enough of something… something is missing… something ain’t right… and he has to come fix it now. We enter the room where we’re having our event and I’m having some small talk with the Maitre’d about how many grand affairs everyone is having tonight at this fine establishment and he was sure to agree with everything I said. Our ballroom was the GRANDEST… high ceiling, gold gilded walls, cameo shaped portraits and red velvet curtains with gold tassles. Waiters milling about and all the guests fancily decked out in black. After a few people clear the view… there it is. In the center of the room at the head of the dancefloor… a sight to see… My mother’s casket lifted up on some contraption so it was high up off the ground, exalted for all to see. And the Maitre’d walks right over to it. and opens up the top. The part of my mind in the dream that’s still based in reality and fact holds back an open mouthed scream because… WHY IS HE DOING THIS??? But it’s quickly calmed by the part of my mind that’s completely entrenched in this dream and knows this has to happen and is normal. Out of it steps a lovely… in tact… comfortably slimmer… MOBILE… younger… Mommy. Adorned in the same pretty pink dress… her last dress – the one we buried her in, she steps all the way down the stairs as the admiring audience claps and she smiles and acknowledges them with a very professional Miss America wave. She notices me off to the side comes to hug me. And I hear her say CLEARLY, “Vicky…. Vicky… ” I hear HER voice… as if she was trying to wake me. Same voice I haven’t heard in a year and some… clear as a bell… like I’ve not actually forgotten what it sounds like. And I throw my arms around her. GOD she smells good. Mommy ALWAYS smelled good… And I held her tight… for a long time, yearning for her to say something again, so I could feel that familiar vibration of her voice from her body to mine. That sweet sensation that ALL babies live for. But she broke the embrace first. She touched my face and then went milling about to socialize. I was in a trance. I followed her around like a little puppy dog, always staying one or two steps behind… but just far away enough to see her face clearly… see her smile… enjoy her ways. As the night drew to a close, it was time for her to go back…

Back? Back where??

She started to climb up the display case again and laid back down in the casket. They closed the torso portion… and as they prepared to closed the top part… I saw her face become angry… sad… confused… And I immediately thought “she’s not going to like this part one bit.” They began to crank the pillow down and her face lit up in protest… “What are you doing??” She yelled at the Maitre’d. He replied softly that it was just for the night and tomorrow she’d be back, but they have to “store” her this way. I rushed to her side to assure her that everything was going to be fine and she shot me a look that said, You KNOW it’s not going to be fine… but I’ll let it slip for this once…. They cranked her head down and shut the casket face. Guests solemnly left the scene as someone announced that it would be at the same time and place tomorrow, don’t forget.

As I’m walking out of the ballroom, I get a phone call from a number I don’t recognize. I pick up the phone… “Hello?” It’s her… “Vicky… there’s a bag by the air conditioner, it says something about Safety Deposit on the front of the bag… either way… it’s full of bills from last month and I need you to bring it to me tomorrow so that I can rectify some of these bills that have been laying around since I’ve been gone” Oh no…. how do I tell her… we lost the apartment… and in the process had to throw away… EVERYTHING because there was no way for us to assign meaning and importance to the things that belonged to her and dad w/o their minds and sentimentality to tell us otherwise. I tried breaking the news to her. “Mommy, you’ve been gone for over a year now… we did throw some stuff away…” There was a hearkened silence on the other end of the line. I tried to allay her fears because the last thing I wanted to do was upset this dear spirit. “But you know what, I’ll look anyway – what did the bag have in it again?” She started to speak.. but it was broken up by deep breaths. Almost like …. she’s hyperventilating. “Mom…. Mommy… calm down… you’re losing it because you’re in the casket… try to take deep breaths mommy….” I imitated the deep breaths for her so she could follow… When she calmed down enough, she asked “Why am I in here? I want to go home….” “It’s just for today and tomorrow. Once those days are over, you’ll go back…” “Back to where,” she asked bewildered, “I want to stay here…” Some rule that I can’t articulate in this dimension of real life had me knowing that was impossible. These things only lasted for 2 days and that was it. She started to get irate… “I want the bag with my bills in it… I need to rectify these bills because I know you and your brother haven’t.” Upset and hurt, I raised my voice, “MOM… the bills are gone. We threw all the papers away…” in my mind I lined up all the things I would have to admit to now… moving her china cabinet to Brooklyn, losing her apartment where she lived for the last 38 years of her life, throwing away her precious Home Shopping Club purchased Capodimonte…. I continued “Mommy… you were dead to us for a year… What would you have had us do? Hold on to everything on the off chance that you’d come back and stay? This doesn’t always happen you know… and even in this rare exception, you’re not staying…” Silence. Understanding. She replied softly almost as if … she was fading into a vast distance… “But I want to stay…….”

In the narthex of my mind between the exit of that dream and the entrance of my reality, I comforted myself with the knowledge that she didn’t WANT to stay. Life here on this earth had become unbearable for her between her physical ails, loss of her mom… loss of her husband… She WANTED to leave. And we wanted more for her to stay than she did.

There’ll be no more sleep for me tonight.

*

I know that I’m supposed to be made of stronger stuff…

And that I can weather situations better than most.

I can even find a perfect silver lining in the worst situations so that I can give myself the inspiration to keep on trucking.

Today?

Not so much.

I talked to a few people (who have been through it successfully and unsuccessfully) about what the IVF procedure really entails… in detail. And I found myself thinking… “Why me?” Why must I take the road less traveled just because I’m stronger.

I want to be weak. Just once, maybe. And have things come easy.

I know. I’ll be all strong again tomorrow and find the bright side of this.

But right now?

GOD it sucks to be me.

*

Mother’s day and Father’s day are always going to be a sore spot for me. But not because I am angry about my mom and dad passing. That’s an inevitability that comes with living life. I couldn’t ever expect them to live for ever. But there’s a whirlwind of other things that swoop down over my mind when I think about them being gone. I think about the fact that I was right there when they both died. I had to watch them both fade away… I had to watch the strange things a human body does when it’s at that point. The twitching. The involuntary motion. The collapse of muscle usage. Rather than have a great image of them vibrant and living as my last mental picture. It’s terribly haunting.

Then I torture myself with the things I couldn’t perceivably control. My dad not getting to see me walk down the aisle. My children being raised without maternal grandparents and never knowing the joy of a grandpa at all… And of course there’s the lashings of “I could have done more… I could have acted quicker… I could have fought harder for their care” that come in every now and again to add the extra sting to my little self pity party.

And in an attempt to try to escape these trappings… to air out what’s on your mind and return to some semblance of normalcy – you turn to your friends… and they try to understand if they can. But you can’t get the words out effectively. Or at least… I can’t. And I’m back to square one. Not their fault. But you can only expect so much salvation. Some of it is all up to you.

*

What a horrible paradigm shift that it’s a dream of her that has me not wanting to go back to sleep.

In the dream, for a reason I can’t fully understand, we are funeralizing her… AGAIN. She died once, but she has died again in this dream. And we’ve rented a log cabin somewhere where everyone is coming to pay their respects. And I mean everyone. At least 3 times the occupants of her first funeral. But everything has been haphazardly thrown together and there is no elder family close to speak of – none of her brothers and sister… not my god mother… just me and Dominic. The whole time up to the actual funeralizing, I’ve been greeting and organizing the guests to the best of my ability and then my brother comes to me and says, “Whatever you do, DON’T look in the casket…. she looks TERRIBLE.” At this point we were positioned where looking at the casket was a view down towards the top of her head. And as I did exactly the opposite of what my brother advised, I saw from that angle the bottom rim of her nostril, looking reddish, like there was blood there. And that’s when I realized what was happening in the dream. Because I was so busy organizing and getting everyone else comfortable it hadn’t dawned on me that she had been exhumed from her burial for this “event”. Wearing the same pink dress but there was less of her now. The 8 months of decay had left less of her. And she was a frightful shadow of what we remembered. As I stared from that angle, my brother was trying to explain to me what happened… why she looked so bad. I asked where the funeral directors were and he said that the only person we could talk to was the log cabin director. He started saying “We understood one version of her wishes and they had their own interpretation,” when my mother began to move in the casket. Not just shift around a little… full on reaching up and stretching from side to side as if she was trying to get up and out of the casket. And instead of us rejoicing that she was alive again, we freaked out and tried to find the first opportunity to close the casket so that to us on the outside, she would be dead again. I told Dominic to work on shutting the casket and I was going to track down the log cabin director. I ran up the hill to his residence and explained to him what happened… but he seemed less than concerned. So I ran back to the main cabin where we all were. All the while worrying about how we’ll catalog everyone who came so that we’ll be able to send thank you cards. When I got back to the cabin, Dominic met me at the door and said the casket won’t close…. “it’s stuck” he said. So I went over to it and said, “Did you use the crank?” and started to crank down the top part of the casket… that I realized, as I was cranking was NOT the very super expensive box we put her in, but a shell of a piece of shoddy wood that they must have replaced her in when we weren’t looking. I got the top piece down but for some reason her head was still exposed… as if all we had to do was shift her down into the casket and the problem would be solved… but the problem was… neither one of us could do it.

She was breathing now… consistently… but we were still trying to figure out how to get her back in the casket. We got some help from some of the other patrons to prop the casket up so that she was essentially “standing” hoping gravity would slide her down into the casket. But she wasn’t sliding down. As a matter of fact, now she was blinking and breathing and looking around. And her eyes locked on me and she began to speak. But this isn’t the mother I remember. This person was bewildering and frightening and very witch / ghost like. “I like it here” she began as she looked around. “I LIKE IT HERE….” and pushed her self up out of the casket and started to walk towards me. “I have my 4 children here… everyone is here for me… I LIKE IT, ” as a wicked grin took over her face and she backed me into what looked like a bathroom. My focus left her because a dove had apparantly made it into the cabin and was coming towards the bathroom and I was trying to shoo it away.. wave away with something… even bat at it… but it was relentless and once it made it into the bathroom, i looked down at my mother who was cackling now, full on like a witch.

And I woke up.

I’m so harrowed and haunted by this dream that no matter what comfort my husband gives me, I can’t go back to sleep. All I can do is keep coming to this end result that she’s really gone. There is truly nothing else I can do for her to help her stay alive or to make her passing less difficult. And no matter what I do, the memory of her returns to me in my dreams and is the most disturbing, unmother-like aberration of who she was to me. Why can’t I have peaceful dreams of her talking to and smiling at me like I did with Grandma? Why does her image come to me less and when it does, it’s a horrid painful image. I love my mother. I miss her TERRIBLY. Why is her memory haunting me?

And who is going to pray over me so that I’ll fall back asleep tonight?

*

Because if I let it sit, it’ll fester and I’ll feel worse.

I am NOT prepared for the holiday onslaught this year.

The pink gilded floral announcements have been trickling in since Easter came and went… but now… I’m on the eve the weekend where everyone celebrates motherhood.

It would also figure that day makes exactly 7 months since we lost her.

My plan is to hide. Not tap into any outer conduits: cellphone, internet, television. I’m dreading the onslaught of mass messages “Happy Mother’s Day” to my FB and phone because… I’m not a mother and I don’t have one anymore.

I’m praying for radio silence. I’d just like the day to come and go so that I have the option make myself busy enough to forget for a little while. At least 24 hours longer.

Somehow, I think the “best laid plans” idiom is going to work it’s magic here…

*

I joined my current chapter (Epsilon Pi Omega) in April 2001. Our calendar year in AKA goes from September to June and we have 2 months off. In my chapter they assign you “Heart Sisters”. One woman in the chapter who you will attempt to get to know over the course of the AKA calendar year – someone who can mentor you – or who you can mentor (pending on how long you’ve been in the chapter) – and generally attempt to form a bond. My first heart sister wasn’t active in the chapter and never came to meeting, nor did she reach out during the April – June months of that year. In August, my grandmother passed away. A woman who I loved dearly… and was the first real CLOSE family member I’d lost in my life at that time. In January they assigned me a new Heart Sister. The woman they assigned to me… looked like she may have been my grandmother’s twin. It scared the hell out of me. I knew she wasn’t … but it was too soon. In the meantime, I shunned my Heart Sister duties – calling her, sending letters, acknowledging her birthday, holidays, etc., while she went about doing ALL of the above. On Easter, she brought me some chocolate easter bunnies and a card along with some AKA socks. She said to me as she handed it over “This is what sisters do for each other…” but it was with such defeat… like she felt that she was handed a dud Heart Sister… I really had to go home and assess. I could keep myself busy in chapter and keep my heart to myself… Or I could GIVE my heart to these women and love them fully like a Sister should – despite my reservations. I chose the latter and Myrna Pickens became my official FIRST and FAVORITEST Heart sister.

This note is not about her – THANK GOD… But… I opened up my heart going forward… and let so many of these women into my heart. Women who could have been old enough to BE my grandmother… my mother… my aunt… with great experiences and love beyond compare to share with me. But as the years went by I was slowly reminded about the whole “getting close and losing” part of life… I let several women into my life and got to know them well… depend on their friendship, look forward to seeing them at committee meetings and chapter meetings and hearing their input. Emma Bradford, Gloria Black, Mildred Cooper, Juliette Burnett, Vivian DeLuze, Fannie Dunson, Jerolyn Minter… to name a few. Who were the movers and shakers in my chapter as I reactivated wide eyed and new to the chapter experience. The led the way… they held up the light and showed me what being a dedicated, compassionate sincere AKA REALLY meant.

Then… one by one… they all made this… journey… down a road of unwellness. We’d come to a random chapter meeting and hear that we needed to keep Soror ______________ in our prayers as she was recovering / in the hospital / not well / in need of our support. And then they’d make a final trip to the chapter. Be it at a meeting or a retreat or a founders’ day… whatever they chose – they tried to pick a location where as many sorors they knew could be there… So they could see us all one last time. Hug us. Hold us. Capture that memory of our faces one more time before they made THAT final journey. And when the news would hit about their passing, your mind flashes back to that meeting, where it was the last time you saw them… and your heart aches… because THEY knew… but you didn’t. You thought them coming out and being with you mean that they were on the come up and getting better and would be back in the fray in NO time.

Last chapter meeting, My Soror Delores came to chapter after being away from the chapter for a number of months. She’d been out and everyone knew she was battling something difficult. Without getting into all her business, we just knew she needed our prayers. So when I saw her at chapter meeting, the old failsafe kicked in – She must be getting better I thought… I walked over to her with open arms and ready to compliment her fabulousness as always when she stopped me mid sentence… “You mustn’t even recognize me…” And at that point I tilted my head and looked her… she was gaunt. She was frail. Whatever she’d been fighting had put up a GOOD fight, but she must’ve won…. right?! So I said, “OF COURSE I know who your are… you are my FABULOUS Soror Delores!!!” and I hugged her then thin frame with love and sisterliness and welcomed her home.

She passed away this past Thursday and we’re now going through the process of making sure that she’s properly remembered as per the Sorority with our rituals and what not. And the minute I heard of her passing, I couldn’t HELP but think of the last time I saw her. Spoke to her… told her how much I admired and looked up to her.

It’s such a risk we take to open our hearts to knowing and loving new people…. I wouldn’t change a thing… these women have vastly improved on the quality of my life. I learn as I go along to cherish every moment and let them know how deeply I appreciate them.

Fare thee well, Soror Delores. You will be missed by us all.
Always with sisterly love…

*

“The coffin is now closed and will NOT be reopened.”

On Saturday, October 11th, 2008 at 3:15 PM, the numbers all went backwards on the monitor and let us on the earth know that my mother’s spirit had made it’s final journey from this life. We’d all been watching the monitors since 8:00 AM like a warped ticker… an hour after the doctors called and told me that if I waited until visiting hours, we may be too late. It was all so sudden. She was FINE on Thursday. Then not so fine at all on Friday. Fresh from dialysis, she came back and was worst than I’d ever seen her. Completely dilapidated. Confused. Exhausted. I asked her what year it was. She said 1941. I said… “No mommy… Not the year you were born… what year is it now?” She hesitated. After much poking and prodding for veins for an IV and hospital tv show style doctors running down the hall… they moved her to ICU. Once they had her settled in at ICU, I walked into the room alone. And she was resting. Deeply. Peacefully. I called her name. “Mommy?” She opened her eyes and focused in on me. “You’re still here, petite cocotte?” she inquired through the oxygen mask. “Yes, mommy,” I responded slowly and deliberately so she could understand, “We wanted to make sure that you’d be okay before we left. But we’ll stay if you want us to. Would you like us to stay with you?” “Yes, please, stay with me.” She responded w/o issue. Then drifted into sleep again. Just as deep as if she’d never woken up. I stood still in the same place watching her rest. Taking in her features. Saying a silent prayer. 5 minutes later, her eyes popped open and she focused in on me again. “Baby? You’re still here???” this time more shocked than last. “Yes, mommy. You asked me to stay with you. So I’m right here.” She shook her head. “I didn’t mean like that,” she explained carefully. She took my hand. “I mean… go out there. Live your life. Go be with your husband. Make babies. Work hard and be a good employee. Have fun. And every now and again… come by and visit me. That’s all… isn’t that what you do now?” I nodded. “Good,” she confirmed, “Keep doing that. Go home. Get some rest, petite cocotte.” She blew a kiss through the oxygen mask and I kissed her forehead and went home.

I jolted awake at 7 AM and immediately called ICU… they transferred me 3 times, each transfer preceded by “Did the doctor talk with you yet?” – I knew that was a bad sign already. They had to intubate her the night before. She got that bad. We raced and broke laws all the way up to the hospital. There she was, eyes half open, breathing tube yanking down one side of her mouth; her body unnaturally rising and falling with the insistence of the respirator. We called her name and held her hands. She responded by squeezing and subsequently jerking her arms. She heard us. We got the priest in ASAP. He gave her last rites. After which, she was calm. No more jerking. Hours went by before she left. Giving all 15 of us an opportunity to whisper our loving thoughts and well wishes in her ear. I called Nininne, and put the phone up to mom’s ear so she could hear her words to her. And all our gazes rocked back and forth between her visage and the monitor. We instantly became experts in interpreting the numbers for heart rate, blood pressure and oxygen count. And we watched them… slowly slide backwards all day. Pray that maybe… just maybe… they might reverse their descent.

At 3:14, the numbers spiraled downwards. Everyone rushed to the bed and the list of loving nicknames came out. “Dendon!!!” “Tanti Denise!!” “Mommy!!” “Mammi Ti Den!” As if calling her name would have stopped her ascension. The machine registered all zeros and printed out a flatlined ticker. That was it. My mommy was gone.

Now, there is a much traveled middle passage between my regular every day thoughts and that end results. Lemme call mom… oh… wait…. *insert remembrance of the last week* She’s really gone… isn’t she…. And each time is just as painful as the last. I’ve gained entry into a fraternity of motherless children that I NEVER EVER wanted… and neither did they. But so far – we all speak a common language of loss and sadness and remembrance. Everyone has to go through it for the most part. It’s truly a matter of time.

No matter what your relationship – call your mom. Tell her what and how you feel. If you’re so lucky – go hug her and take in through all senses what that is. What she smells like. How her skin feels and how WARM it is. The real LOVE that she’s expressing to her baby child. And hold that memory for as long as you can.

Li’l mommy? I’ll miss you always. You were the very best mommy anyone could have asked for. Thank you for being mine.

*