There is a story I love to tell about my mom. One Sunday morning during my senior year of high school we were driving in the neighborhood and Howard Jones “Thing can only get better” was playing on the radio. She turned down the radio and said “I hate that song, things can always get worse”. My mom also hated it when people said “Everything happens for a reason”. She could give you lists of things that happened that had no reason and finish her little lecture with “Sometimes shit happens”.
This rather fatalistic philosophy of life allowed my mother to be happy because in some way it freed her. She never spent too much time railing on the injustices of life and lived in gratitude because “be thankful for what you have” always proceeded “things can always get worse”. Her world view allowed her to ride out a personal economic disaster in which she lost everything. Through all the turmoil and uncertainty she was able to enjoy her life, without spending too much time being bitter. Some of the more joyous and beautiful things happened during this time and she never lost the ability to feel true delight in those moments.
I try to focus on the positive and try to not be bitter. I cannot imagine how she made it through without wanting to kick someone repeatedly and scream at the gods but she did and I wish I had her grace.
My parents came through their economic turmoil and the triumphant symbol that they had finally made it back was their town home. For almost twenty years it was the center of our family. It was where we celebrated Christmas Eve (which was also her birthday) and had summer parties in the garage. It is the first place I went, with a mile wide smile, when Brian proposed. It was the only place I would take my precious newborn babies sometimes just so I could get a nap or a few hours of adult conversation. It was where we met before our epic shopping days. If a relative from Ohio came to visit and we would all end up there, gossiping about the latest family news. It was the place we gathered when we found out she had cancer and the place we ended up the morning she died. It was a shrine to her as Dad did not change one thing. It was where we went to be with Dad, where he and I had a million conversations about politics, hockey and baseball. Just 4 months ago I sat on the couch at two in the morning trying to convince him to go the hospital not realizing it was the last time I would ever sit on that couch with him.
Today, their town home sits empty, devoid of the life that made it beautiful. I signed the papers this morning and now it is the center of another family’s life. I am thankful that we were able to sell it so quickly and smoothly but it is still bittersweet. It was a closing in more way than one.
As tears run down my face,I’ve also got a smile. Your Mom and Dad were wonderful and I am so lucky that I called them my Aunt and Uncle.
I can remember many of those good times we had there. I remember the turmoil they went through and the many tears we cried together over the phone. They were always there for us and we were there for them. When it comes to sisters she was the best. We took turns calling each other I can remember Jim or Charlie saying you know that is long distance, we didn’t care, we just needed to share our love over the miles. I thank God for every minute we shared with each other. I am glad the home sold fast. It is a sad ending, but hang on to all those wonderful memories. Life continues on and remember everything Mom taught you. She had a goodness that God had given to her since birth. Love
I was thinking about you today. I am sure it was very difficult and that you felt conflicted. My heart goes out to you. Remember it’s only a space, while the structure belongs to someone else, the memories and the home are yours, and always will be.
Your Mom and Dad was always hard workers. They never was one to give up. They was always kind to others. Your Mom had a loving forgiving heart and always came 3 steps forward. I remember staying in every place they lived in at least once. I will never forget the wonderful food she made and great Christmas diners. Nor the time your Dad got her a beautiful fur coat. Am gonna miss your Dad calling me Asshole.