It’s two months today since my mother passed away.
I wrote a blog at the one month mark, but it was lost when robots hacked into my site a few weeks ago. A fact I learned only after several 4:00 AM hair-pulling hour-long conversations with my “hosting” company. Since I pay my bills as a web site project manager, I understand how broken websites are the universe’s perverse reminder that we are all hanging by our fingernails when it comes to security, waiting for some weird energy to push our lame password protected information into the netherworld. For example, at the end of last year, The Hackers got into my Yahoo account. (I know, my fault for having a Yahoo account). I already felt overwhelmed by work and my mother’s illness during the holidays. So, naturally, on top off that I had to explain to every person I’d ever met why I didn’t need them to give me $2,000.
I lost a few blog posts about my mother and her passing. A part of me felt bad, but another part wondered if maybe she just didn’t like what I wrote. I am a half-believer in the after-life and, truth be told, feel comforted by the idea that my mother and grandmother have special powers to control my world. My grandmother will whisper to me to enter a store where a “cute top” awaits for me ON SALE. Or, and this happened, NBC called to schedule an interview for the Late Night Writer’s Workshop. (I didn’t get accepted, but THANKS MOM).
But my mom would never have my website hacked into and taken down because my mother loved my blog. She loved everything I wrote. I will never have a bigger fan. SO PLEASE EVERYONE CHANGE YOUR PASSWORDS.
I’m allowed to have weird thoughts and beliefs these days. My mother died two months ago today and I am, after all, a Pisces. Everybody processes grief differently and if I need to contact mediums and blog and Facebook myself our of sadness, then so be it.
I don’t know how people processed death before the invention of the camera. And I am grateful that my family took hundreds pictures before we went down this creepy obsessive rabbit hole of selfies. Since my mother’s passing, I’ve started to see things in them I never saw before. Like the evident love between my mother and grandmother. They obviously adored each other. And I know they both had that love for me. I grew up being loved by very strong women and I can’t help but believe that shaped me into the person I am. As much as I struggle there must be this core of security this gave me in my femininity. I don’t know if I have the wherewithal to recall that without pictures to prove it.
My Grandmother loved clothes and was by all standards a fashion plate. Look at her rock that 70s dress! (What is that pattern?) She never graduated from high school, as she had three kids by the time she was 21. But she was a very powerful person in my life and took great fashion risks. I am going to write a separate blog post dedicated solely to her jumpsuits.
She taught me always wear a nice outfit on the airplane. OH, PEOPLE HOW FAR WE HAVE FALLEN. She also told me that “being young” was the worst thing in life. I took that as evidence that she, if not loved, at least enjoyed being “old.” She certainly didn’t let it stop her from laughing, dancing or looking sexy. I can say that she was right.
My cousin insists that my mom and grandmother are together now. I can’t imagine that, if possible, they wouldn’t be. I guess it’s hard to recognize the truth in the people who loom so large in your life. But it’s clear to me now that my mom and grandmother could not stay apart and be happy.
I miss them both so much.