The White Board

17...grey and gloomy...perfect

When I was seven, my mom created a pink tea party for me. When I turned ten, the septic tank died a few weeks before my birthday and there wasn't money for both a new one and a party. The septic tank arrived on my birthday and Mom put a big pink bow on it. Until the men arrived a week later (their big equipment had trouble getting up our two and a half mile long mountain driveway) it was the greatest fort in the world with big round windows.

My mom was one of the first lady real estate brokers in the state of NJ and she made me get my real estate licence when I was 19. First class was the day I arrived home from college in the sprig. I was the only female in a class of 30+ men in their thirties and forties. When the time came for the state licensing exam, I finished the test is less than half the time of any of those men and aced it. Mom was so proud of that.

For many years after that, Mom and I rarely got along; it seemed we were always buttingheads over something. I remember calling her right after my eldest daughter was born. In the time between my daughter's birth and talking to her on the phone, suddenly my mother went from being a total no-nothing (in my dumb brain) to the smartest woman on the planet. From then on, we grew closer and closer, and never looked back.

No matter where I was in the world; Alaska when my daughter was born, Scotland on extended vacation or just halfway across the country from her, she was always there when I needed her. She always managed to come where I was if the need arose. As time went by, I, too, was there for her when ever she needed me.

When my dad died I promised him I'd take care of her and I tried my best. Mom always said I'd been the best daughter one could have. We'd joke about my being born on Mother's Day and always wondered about that.

I remember counting pennies to get a Christmas Tree one year with my eldest daughter sitting at the kitchen table inher high chair. Money was her first word, spoken as we rolled $38.00 worth of pennies.

I remember coming home in May to celebrate the Christmas we couldn't because I'd been in Alaska. She decorated the rubber tree plant. We all always had high hopes.

I remember my mom in tears as the doctor told her she had five days, or five weeks, five months at the outside to live due to an aortic aneurism that ran from where her aorta left her heart to where it split in her groin. I remember my mom trying to 'tie up her affairs' and worrying over whether my oldest daughter (now grown) was responsible enough to take care of Mom's beloved grandmother clock.

I remember the eight years following that as mom saw all of my kids graduate from highschool, one jon the navy and one of them get married and have three children. I remember the mom who morphed into Grammy who then became GG or great-grammy.

The spring before my youngest joined the Navy the following January, we were already making plans to go to Chicago when she graduated from boot camp. Mom said she'd never make it to then. I didn't believe her and continued making plans.

Mom passed away two weeks before my youngest graduated boot camp. I mailed the cards that Mom had ready because I didn't want Cara to know until she'd made it through the tough finals there.

The phone call came one evening four hours or so after I last talked. It was a nice, normal, everyday sort of Mom-daughter yark and we ended it as we always did, saying I love you. Mom didn't asnwer her door at the senior complex she lived in, so her neighbor came in and found her. She'd been lying in bed, all relaxed and cozy watching Law and Order. No sigh of pain...no panic or disarray.
I always thought and still think, my dad called down from heaven and said, hey Gini, the kids are all settled and I miss you. Time to get the heck up here...and she did. No sign of her aneurism hemoraging...nothing. Mom simply went to be with Dad.

I went out to settle things and found a letter she'd written before she died. At the end of it she told me she loved me and to quit crying.

Sorry Mom, I'm crying today. You've been gone four years today and for some reason, I am falling apart. I miss you. I love you...and yeah... I'll quit crying. In a bit.


Anyone who reads this who hasn't talked to their Mom or Dad or Grandmother or Grandfather for a while...call them up and say hi, ask how they are doing or go see them. Tell them you love them. Because you still can ........................