My Mother the Fangirl

My mother was the ultimate fangirl.

I miss her terribly.  This is the 4th mother's day that she won't be with me.  I know she's out of pain and out of that crippling Multiple Sclerosis shell, but it still hurts not to just have her around.

I think about the last couple nights she was alive (everything happened in a jarringly fast 12 hours, from the sudden cardiac arrest to the death).  I chewed her ear off about TV and actors as we waited in the ER for what felt like forever.  I turned on the little TV and left Frasier on.  When we got up to her room, I got the TV going again while I went over paperwork with the nurse.  She was excited to see that Craig Ferguson had started and that Neil Patrick Harris was his guest.  The following day, me and my (at the time boyfriend, now husband) went to visit her and she was excited because that movie Along Came Polly was on.  It allowed her to ogle Hank Azaria.  That was probably one of the last images she saw before she closed her eyes.  My husband joked as we left the room that he would page Dr Jimmy Smits for her.  Anyone who knew Mom can picture the beaming ear to ear smile she did as she moved her head back and forth.

We went to see the first installment of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, and we both knew somehow that we had to go back and visit her that night.  When the movie ended, I found at least 5  missed calls on my cell.  I knew it was the hospital.  I had just gotten a new phone (as my screen cracked that past week) and was still getting used to the adjustments.  The chaplain took us into her in room in the ICU after explaining the dire situation.  I knew I had that brief couple minutes in which I had to say everything I wanted to say before losing her to darkness.  What can you say?  It all sounds so hollow and trite and cliche.  But it was true.  And of course, I had to tell her "I'm sorry the doctors here aren't as hot as House."  That is what I chose to insert in my precious last words.  But I swear I saw her mouth twitch.  I'm still haunted by how she looked on that ICU bed.  It wasn't my mother anymore.  In the space of a few short hours, my mother had turned into a near corpse.  December 12, 2010 at 12:35 am is when the life I always knew changed forever.

I have healed a great deal over the past 4 years.  My therapist works in hospice care part-time and has her practice the rest of the time.  She has helped guide me through some insane revelations and baggage that I've needed to work out for a good 15 years now.  I felt so stupid that I talked about so many superficial things with Mom.  I feel selfish when I walk through Shubert Alley in NYC or see an amazing show or speak with my favorite actor for the umpteenth time, and all I want to do is pick up the phone and tell her.  She always told me she lived vicariously through all my adventures and that she wished she had the nerve to do half the things I did.

Mom may have been stuck in crappy jobs, but she was a musician who loved to dance and sing and go out to concerts and shows.  She followed The Four Seasons and Blood Sweat & Tears through the 70s, she went to as many Anthony Newley concerts as she could, and her favorite Broadway shows were Funny Girl, A Chorus Line, West Side Story, Gypsy, and Company.  I still have memories of her singing in the car while banging out the drum beat with her fist.  The song I can picture most clearly is "Glad All Over" by the Dave Clark Five.  She absolutely loved that song along with Ticket to Ride, Town Without Pity, If I Can't Have You, anything The Association, anything Sergio Mendes, Phil Collins in the 80s, the Back to the Future theme, both Dirty Dancing soundtracks....oh I could go on forever.  Music gave her solace, and I always had a stack of CDs next to her for when she was alone during the day.  I introduced her to new shows and actors, and I ended up making more Raul Esparza CD and video compilations than you can imagine.  She would have been so proud of him for SVU.

I hear these songs, and I'm either completely fine and happy or I get so emotional that I have to pull over to the side of the road.  I don't think Phil Collins intended "Invisible Touch" to elicit that reaction.

I've posted pieces of my mother's writing from the early 80s on my other blog, but in honor of Mother's Day, I wanted to share another piece.  I think she intended on writing a book about me and her life.  Posting exactly as she typed.

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BOOK- 1
"Addicted to --- Reading?"

When Chrissi was about a year old, she liked nothing better than climbing onto Mommies lap to listen to one of her favorite storybooks.  Chrissi would amble to her book shelves and choose about 12 of her favorites for Mommie to read each day.  She had quite a library- fairy tales, animal adventures, and funny stories about other little children just like her.  After Mommie read the books, Chrissi would play with them all day long.  She could barely walk or talk, but her world was full of fun with all her storybook friends. 

By Chrissi's second birthday, she was able to read her first book.  It was a story about all the animals in the zoo.  Reading came easily to Chrissi.  It was a gift and she certainly used her gift every moment she could.  When she finished reading, she would pretend that she was the "star" of her favorite story of the day.  She'd act out the "best" parts with her dolls acting as the supporting cast.  When she felt like building, she would use the books as her blocks.  The larger books also made great tents for her dollhouse families camping adventures.

On birthdays, the only presents she wanted and truly enjoyed were books.  She took a supply everywhere she went.  When her family went to the shore so did the books.  She would read them on the long drive down and insist on playing with some in the sand.  She felt her story friends should not have to miss out on the fun.  After enough wet and sandy visits her books took quite a beating.  Chrissi, acting as a 'book doctor,' did her best to repair them with damp paper towels, tape and glue because they were her special friends.

Chrissi didn't watch a lot of television but when she did watch a program, she'd always sit with a bunch of books to read during the commercials or when the program lost her interest.  When her parents wanted to take a daytrip, they offered a trip to the zoo or a museum or perhaps a movie.  Chrissi would go to make them happy but her favorite place to go was the main branch of the city library.  Floors and floors of huge rooms with thousands of books.  Thousands of opportunities to travel to exciting places, to meet interesting people both real and imagined, to learn and laugh and to read over and over again.  Yes, she was addicted, but it was a wonderful addiction that would help her in school and in every day of her entire life.

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I miss that little girl.  There is nothing wrong with being a fangirl and absorbed in movies, theatre, and TV- after all, it's what bonded me and Mom during those last hard 10 years.  You're never too old to be a fangirl.  But I see the pride and excitement in her words, and I want to go back to my voracious reading appetite.  I remember her through her love of music, and I would want any future child of mine to remember my love of reading.  Even when she's gone, she's still able to exert a strong influence over me.  I can hear her now, "Hey kid- your nose is always in that phone.  Why don't you read something already?"  Ok, Mom.  I promise to knock out a bookshelf this year.  And I also promise to listen to Broadway, actually finish shows on my Netflix queue, and let the oldies take me back to a time of childhood innocence.  And of course, I'll watch The Birdcage every time it's on, and maybe- just maybe- I'll actually watch Charade on my own.  But I'll always have a book on the table next to my spot.