Mom's Got Our Back -- And We Have Hers

"Tell Mama all about it
Tell Mama what you need
Tell Mama what you want
And I'll make everything alright."

"Tell Mama," sung by Etta James

Has it really been ten years?

Ten years ago this morning I got a phone call I dreaded but knew was coming.

"Mom died this morning," my older sister said. "You have to come home NOW!"

After a five-year battle with Alzheimer's disease and later an aggressive lung cancer, my mother passed away in her sleep. She was 64.

The last time I saw her was three days before she passed. She was in bed, weak but still recognizing Dad and the kids, even though she couldn't say our names. My younger sister and I were on the bed on both sides. I softly sang Louis Prima's "Jump, Jive and Wail." Mom smiled. Before I left to drive home to Fairfield, I kissed Mom on her forehead and said goodbye.

"Thank you, baby," she said. Those were her last words to me.

There are bits and pieces that stand out in my mind about Mom. There is a black-and-white Polaroid photo of Mom at home in her housecoat surrounded by her six kids. The many records and cassette tapes of her favorite music, from Luther (He needs no last name!) to Sam Cooke, Aretha, the Pattis, Marvin, Billy Ocean. When Dad got saved in the mid-1960s, records and radio music were banned from the house. But Mom made a way. When Dad was at work or at church, Mom would play her records or turn on the radio. She bought me my first record -- "Friendship Train" by Gladys Knight and the Pips.

Her children also inherited her love of dance. Mom could boogie and didn't care who knew it. While cooking dinner or washing dishes, she would play her music while shaking her ample groove thing with that sly smile.

I also remember is Mom coming to rescue us kids when we were in trouble. I had flunked out of college at the end of my freshman year. I was a basket case. Mom took it upon herself to talk to the dean of the college of letters and sciences. She dressed in a navy blazer and skirt with a white ruffled blouse and drove to the university. Three hours later, she said he will let me in if I get at least a 3.5 GPA in the classes I take in the fall. I got a 4.0.

What stands out most was Mom's unconditional love for her children and grandchildren. She would care for her youngest grandson while he was attending elementary school in her neighborhood. She took us adult children in when we needed a place to stay until we could get on her feet.

Shortly after she was diagnosed as being in the early stage of Alzheimer's, she was washing dishes. I told Mom that eventually she would forget who her children are. She looked up from the sink.

"I'll never forget you," she said. "You're my child."

She didn't forget who we were. She kept her promise.

Mom has always had our back. And we'll always have hers.

Writing Diva

My big birthday wish

At 11:41 a.m. 49 years ago, I emerged into the world from Mom's womb. I was probably screaming, "Put me back! I was happy in there! Put me back!"

With the way things are in the United States, I'm thinking the same thing. Too bad Mom has moved on to bigger and better things.

I have a list of things I want for my birthday, which I'll have to get at a later date: a "Scrabble" game, an iPod, a new pair of cross-training athletic shoes, and my carpet shampooed.

But what I want most for this birthday is going to have to come from a whole bunch of people -- voters, actually. I want Sen. Barack Obama elected President of the United States.

Yes, it's a tall order. I never said it was easy. I realize I'm asking for a lot. But I want to see history made before I follow Mom into the Great Beyond.

I want to put the brakes on another eight years of failed policies under Shrub (The late Molly Ivins' nickname for President George W. Bush. Ivins also was a Virgo, bless her heart!) I don't want another (at least) four years of W2 with Sen. John "Prickly" McCain as President and that Stepford Wife Sarah Palin as Vice President. I want my colleague who's been deployed to Iraq to come home instead of being "stop-lossed."

I want someone who's ready to work on programs that will help repair this faltering economy, which former Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan has called a once in a 50- or 100-year event when interviewed on ABC's "This Week with George Stephanopolous."

I want issues and policies to triumph over negativity and innuendo in this Presidential election campaign. I want bipartisanship instead of bickering across the aisle. I want this nation to get its act together and go beyond race and ideology and choose the person best suited to lead this country through the tough times everyone is going through. For me, that person is Barack Obama.

All right, I've said my piece. I'm willing to work to get what I really want. Anything else would be icing on the cake.

Writing Diva

The Eurydice Effect

From Wikipedia: In Greek mythology, Eurydice was an oak nymph who was the wife of Orpheus. They loved each other dearly. On their wedding day, Orpheus played songs filled with happiness as his bride danced through a meadow. According to legend, Eurydice stepped on a snake and fell to the ground. The venomous snake had bitten her, leaving Eurydice dead. Distraught, Orpheus played and sang so mournfully that all the nymphs and gods wept. They told him to travel to the Underworld to retrieve her. Orpheus did so, and his music softened the hearts of Hades and Persephone. Hades then allowed Eurydice to return with Orpheus to the world of the living as long as Orpheus walked in front of his wife and not look back until they had both reached the upper world. Orpheus had reached the upper world, but in his anxiety, he broke his promise before Eurydice could emerge from the darkness. Then Eurydice vanished from his sight – forever.

What I call the “Eurydice Effect” is when a person contacts a former lover and the experience leaves the caller in an emotional tailspin. I made the horrible mistake of calling Helmut last night and experienced the Eurydice Effect firsthand.

I don’t know why I felt I had to call Helmut. I had recent dreams about him and wondered if somehow we could be friends. I’m beating myself upside da hed: STUPID! STUPID! STUPID! When Helmut picked up the phone the first time, I said, “This is (Writing Diva).” (As if I’m going to use my real name! Huh!) He said, “Who? Help me out here.” Then I said I had the wrong number and hung up. I believe that was God’s way of saying, “Don’t do this!” But NOOOOO! I decided to call again. I told Helmut I was sorry for the way I treated him at the Solano Christian Singles ‘60s dance. He said it was an uncomfortable situation for both of us. Later he said that he was sorry for not being truthful about the reason we broke up, but he would not elaborate. Then I concluded that he broke up with me for another woman and that the fiasco regarding the Diana Ross concert was his way out without saying anything. Later, he ended the conversation.

I was sick to my stomach. I couldn’t eat. I threw the kitties Tuff-Punk and Diva out of my room, I was so depressed. It was bad enough that he dumped me and left a lot of damage in his wake, but to finally confirm that the breakup wasn’t my fault, after 17 years, hurt and angered me. We can never be friends because a friend would not have done what he did.

The most that I can do the next time I see him is nod and go about my business. Right now, I have to focus on healing because I injured my heart again. Only then can I continue to live and perhaps love again.

Writing Diva