another "hello" from mummy

today, i walked into chuck's office and out of the corner of my eye i saw two "ugly dolls" on the couch. (chuck is my creative director. he does not play with dolls. they must belong to his daughter.)

ugly dolls are obscure. and there are at least 20 different kinds.

the ones on the couch were "target" and "wage."

target is mummy.

"Target is the oldest and the wisest of the Uglydolls. He is also the hairiest. The other Uglydolls are a bit scared of Target's body hair, and wonder why he has so many arms. But they come running to Target when there are questions to be answered. Old age may bring Uglydolls extra arms and whiskers, but it also brings wisdom and foresight. Target is often bailing the other Uglydolls out of trouble and getting them into more sophisticated forms of mischief."

and wage is me.

"Wage is a hard worker, just like you! He works at the local Super Mart and wears his apron to serve his customers best. Does Super Mart know that Wage works there? Nope. But Wage doesn't mind. He likes to put things in bags, especially snacks. Wage is best friends with Babo, but there is always room for one more (you). The two of them can often be found on the sidewalk trying to make friends with fire hydrants, phone booths, and other lonely creatures. Wage hates for anyone to be lonely! What's with that look? Is Wage happy? Sure he is! He smiles on the inside. "

babo is magee, icebat is buzzy and tray is maura.

and, again, i think "thank you, mummy."

because i am struggling right now. i am trying really hard to clearly remember things before the cancer.

i climb into bed every night and close my eyes and try to remember a really good time. and it's so odd that i can't, because our life together was a series of good times.

and yesterday i remembered how she loved it when i gave her the target doll for christmas a few years ago. and she loved it the next christmas, when i gave her the "in case of emergency" box with her children's dolls inside.

and i remembered how she smiled when i brought her emergency box into the sunroom when she was sick and put it in a spot where she could see it.

(we sprung them out of her "in case of emergency" box. because sending mummy to gate of heaven cemetery was an emergency.)

babo, wage, icebat and tray (pictured above) are with mummy right now, underneath her pillow.

i brought her "target" doll with me to the hospital and slept on the floor with it every night. i keep a miniature version of it in my purse.

she always bailed us out of trouble and got us into "more sophisticated kinds of mischief."

i'm still having trouble remembering the last time i saw her throw her head back and laugh. and maybe i'm working too hard at it. i don't know.

but seeing target and wage together on a couch at my office was a very sweet "hello."

i don't want to be the cigarette police.

when the part of me that blames mom for her lung cancer creeps up, i shut it down by reminding myself that, if she had really known what was coming, she never would have smoked a single cigarette. i know that she loved us that much.

and about 80% of the people i work with are smokers. it's odd...here in sunny, health conscious california...but it is true.

and i don't want to be the smoking police. if i thought saying something might change them, i would. but they all know that i just buried mom and their minds cannot connect the dots because they have not seen what i have seen.

but some of these smokers that i care about have beautiful children. magical daughters that one day may have to empty their chemo-enhanced chamber pots.

magical children who deserve to have their loving parents around for as long as possible.

and i look at their bright faces when they come to the office and hope that the odds don't catch up with them.

and i know that if i told the smokers everything, everything that we have been through, it still wouldn't sink in. because it is unimaginable to them...as it was unimaginable to mummy. and she was brilliant.

but she quit 18 years ago and i am so proud of her for that. who knows how much time that bought us.

when i get a whiff of a cigarette, it is jarring. because it is the smell of senseless death and if i can smell it...i have breathed it. i don't think i will ever get used to it.

i opened my door this morning and one of the bushes in front of my house has bloomed overnight.
it is full of tiny white flowers.
and the first thought that came to my mind was "how can that be...when she's not here?"

what to say

people tell me that they struggle with what to say to me. ironically, just saying that is enough.

at dinner tonight, my friend hilary said that she does not believe that things like this are "meant to be." and i agree. i don't think that "everything happens for a reason" either.

i only believe that there are lessons in everything.

i'm not a touchy person. you could pretty much say anything to me and i would be okay with it. i understand where people are coming from when they say "it's probably for the best, she was suffering so much." and though my soul is responding with "having her here, healthy, would be for the best," my mind understands their sentiment. lord knows i was begging god to take her that last night.

and when my friends with living mothers tell me that they can't imagine how i am feeling...i have a little flash of relief. because i love them and i don't want them to understand how i feel for as long as possible.

i was having lunch with a good friend in early february. she commented that i seemed to be doing okay and that it appeared that i had gotten some "closure."

and i explained that "closure" is a myth. that my life is now forever divided into two parts "while she was alive" and "after i lost her" and that the "after" part doesn't end until i end.

there is a little bit of relief in that. that the grief has time to spread out so i don't drown in it right now.

right now, my biggest wish is to get some time between me and the past few months. when i look back, the sickness and dying is so huge that i can't see past it. i want some distance so it will appear smaller and so i can begin to see past it to the things that came before it. the good and sweet things.

buzzy saw her in a dream a few weeks ago. and maura sent me these two e-mails this week:

"subject: She's a snuggle bunny...

I finally dreamt about her last night. In the dream I got home from my trip to TN to find mummy standing in the kitchen. I asked her what she was doing here and she said that she had just gotten back from spending a week in the hospital. So, I told her that she should have told me she was going to be in the hospital and I would have postponed my trip. Then the next thing I knew she was holding missymoo so that she was facing forward and rubbing her cheek to missymoo's cheek, and missymoo was looking up at mummy with pure contentment.

That's all I remember. I hope there's a "next time" I dream about her and that I remember to hug her.

much love,
moo"

and then:

"subject: she came back this morning

I had another dream about mummy this morning and got the hug i've been needing from her. Then I told her that she needed to visit you because you really need her too. She said she'd go see you tomorrow.

You have to tell me if you dream about her tomorrow."

but you have to sleep to dream.


if someone you care for loses someone, don't worry about what to say. just say something. "i'm sorry" is enough. while it may seem inadequate to you, it really helps.

my friend lee articulated the situation incredibly well when her mom died. she said that she couldn't understand how the world could still be turning.

because as i said a few days ago, my outsides look normal, but my insides are ripped apart. and i feel so disconnected.

and "i'm sorry" is enough to tell me that you really can see me. and with those words, any words, you acknowledge the catastrophe hidden inside me.
and that is very meaningful.

last night, magee and i went to see john hiatt and lyle lovett at a small theater in redwood city. they sat on the stage with two other singer/songwriters and took turns singing. john hiatt's first song was one of mom's favorites, "perfectly good guitar." and i couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my face. then, lyle lovett was next, and he played the only lyle lovett song that was on mummy's playlist..."if i had a boat." that song selection made me gasp out loud.

i know that i am made of her...and i know that every day i will see her in the things around me. but sometimes the little things come to me in a way that is so special that i cannot help but feel like she is saying "hello" to me and reminding me that she is here with me and that i am not alone.

sometimes i catch myself saying "hi mummy" or "thank you" out loud.

some days i am okay. magee and i talk about the guilt that comes with the functioning days. "how can i feel okay today? did i not love her enough?" and then there are the days when you are always just a breath away from falling apart.

and it's strange, because your outsides look the same as they did before she died, but your insides are ripped apart. and people treat you as if nothing is wrong. it's so incredibly disconnected.

but when i see little signs from her that stand out even beyond the all the things in my world that are already painted with her personality, i really feel her taking care of me. still.

when i was on the red eye back to d.c. when we learned she had cancer, i wrote down everything i thought i needed to tell her. i wrote that i would see her in so many little things:

tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, poppies, winnie the pooh, william morris patterns, glasses, crab balls, convertibles, dogwood trees, boxers, brightly colored socks, swatch watches, geraniums, angels, the string that holds up the lid to my washing machine, flea markets, crossword puzzles, john hiatt's music, mystery novels, hadley pottery, spare ribs, merrimekko patterns, potato chip clips, charles rennie mackintosh, wallpaper, ladders, 26¢ +*, milano cookies, coffee, bandaids, wet naps, cables for cable t.v. on cup hooks, tole trays, ugly dolls, whiskey sours, eloise, london, shrimp with cocktail sauce, smocked dresses, lady bugs, measuring tapes, coppertone suntan lotion, bethany beach, leftover meat in cream of mushroom soup, chanel no. 5, keds, tool boxes, dogs drinking from the toilet, chevy chase circle, the prayer of saint francis, honey mustard pretzels, guacamole, manhattan, turtles and velatis candies, my unfinished red sweater, salmon, felt tipped pens, running bathwater, hurricanes, horses, creamed spinach, ice chewing, rockford files re-runs, tea at fortnum and mason, calder's circus, the color blue, the feeling of safety, rainy days, sunny days, the mirror.

*she gave us each a tiny envelope once. each contained a quarter and a penny. and on the outside she wrote "26¢ +"

i asked her why she gave us 26¢.

she said a quarter for a phone call and a penny for your thoughts. and when i asked her what the plus was for, she said "all your momma's love."

she was really good at loving.

yesterday, maura sent an e-mail telling us that she went to the cemetery and made a snow angel on mummy's grave.

work was exhausting.

when i came home from work last night, fang wasn't waiting for me in his usual spot. i looked for him and found that he couldn't walk on his right front leg.

we spent a few hours at the pet emergency center, last night. i wanted mummy. the thought of losing fang right now floored me.

i called magee at about 9:30, i didn't tell her how frightened i was. but she drove over and sat with me in the waiting room anyway.

mummy made women who make snow angels at cemeteries and who come running to each other without having to be asked.