London Calling

Heartbreaking -- it's the only word I can use to describe today

You know when you watch an incredibly sad movie and at the end you are just sobbing like a baby?  That's how I felt all day.  The tears don't stop and that feeling in the back of your throat when you know you're about to hit defcon 5 of crying -- you know, Terms of Endearment or Steel Magnolias level of tears -- it just won't go away.

My mom, my strong, wonderful, beautiful mom is dying.  When I'm around our family or her friends, I see so much sadness in everyone's eyes.  Sometimes the depth of that sadness surprises me. 

Over the past few weeks, I had wondered how my dad could still go to work and leave my mom at home to be cared for by family and friends.  I knew that he's been worried about job security and if he lost their insurance they'd be in trouble, but I didn't know why he wouldn't want to spend every minute with the woman he's loved since he was 16.  Now I get it.  He must feel this same horrible sadness every time he looks at her or thinks of her.  While he cares for her so much, he has to get away for just a little bit so that he's strong enough to care for her when he's home.  If he didn't, the sadness would carry him away.

I'm blessed with small children who want to laugh and play and hug and kiss and who look at me with joy-filled eyes.  I can cry on my drive home and let the weight of sadness be mostly forgotten -- at least for a while -- when I'm greeted at the door with smiling faces, big hugs and wet kisses.  Even the dog smiles and wags her tail when I come home.

If I didn't have this little bit (or lotta bit) of happiness at home, I think that I could completely loose myself.  I will miss her so much. 

Magic muffins

Yesterday, I was working at my parents' house while my mom slept and got the munchies so I raided the stash of great food that their friends have brought by.  There was one package that said "magic muffins."  That caught my attention.  What kind of magic were they talking about?  With boomers it could mean lots of things.  "Hey," I thought.  "Why not?  I wouldn't mind taking a magic muffin ride this afternoon."

I enjoyed one muffin with my coffee.   I soon realized that maybe the magic wasn't what I was thinking.  It was really a stretch.  While my mom does have cancer and medicinal mary jane is well thought of by many, their friends are pretty conservative.

Later in the afternoon I had another muffin.  They tasted like maple syrup and had a little sugar on top.

Last night I learned what the "magic" was all about.  Maybe they should be called "clean the pipes" muffins or "muffintivia" or "muffin-lax."  For sure there should be a warning on the package about eating more than one. 

Comfort food

The words comfort food usually bring to mind meatloaf, chicken pot pie, stew or similar foods.  Something that's thick and warm and makes you feel full and happy.  (My comfort foods are nachos and pizza.)  But today I realized that giving food brings us comfort too.  When someone has a baby, we bring over gifts and food.  When someone is sick we send flowers and food.  When someone has a special event or a party we bring a gift and food.  Giving food makes us feel good.  We've done something nice by shopping and/or cooking.

It's hard for us to know what to do when food no longer brings comfort.  My parents' refrigerator is filled with food from friends.  And don't get me wrong -- it's great to have food around when I'm helping my mom and I'm sure that my dad appreciates that he doesn't have to shop or cook.  But my poor mom can't really eat anything outside of vanilla pudding and jello.  So when friends bring over lunch or dinner, she tries to eat something and often ends up getting sick.  She wants to show her friends that she appreciates their effort, but just can't handle the time sitting at the table and her stomach just isn't what it used to be.

When food is taken out of the equation, what do we do?  Some of their friends planted flowers on their deck.  One friend drops off little gifts -- inexpensive things that just make my mom feel loved.  One friend comes over and cleans their house.  But mostly, they bring food because they just don't know what to do and want so much to do something. 

Mothers

I've been thinking a lot about mothering lately.  What it means to be a mother.  What kind of mother I am or could be. What I learned from my own mother. 

I won the lottery in the mom department.  While our lives weren't very "Mayberry," I think that my mom made our childhood pretty wonderful.  Maybe it was because she was a young mom or that she was just really laid back and fun, but I always appreciated my mom.  Even when I was a teen aged bitch, I knew that my mom loved me no matter how horrible I was.

As I spend time with our spirited three-year-old, I realize how difficult it is to do the very most important things for our kids:  listen to them patiently and sympathize with their concerns no matter how trivial.  Laugh with them and break a few "rules" every once in a while.  Hug them and kiss them and make sure that they always feel loved.  Teach, discipline and enjoy them.

Now, when London is screaming at the top of his lungs in the library or throwing a tantrum about breakfast or waking me up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I pause for a second.  My mom not only put up with our shit, she made us feel like we -- and our trivial problems -- were important.  She made us feel loved no matter what.  I owe it to my mom to treat my kids with just as much kindness and patience and respect. 

And while I'm seconds from loosing my cool almost every day, the idea that I can honor my mom by being a good mom to my kids helps me to keep it together and understand -- at least a little bit -- how London must feel.