The moments I share with Mom now are simple: I hold her hands and tell her I love her.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Coming Of Age
Ma had a history of being a generous and thoughtful gift-giver. She loved to make people smile. On my 18th birthday, she prefaced my gift with something like this:
"Missy, I've been holding onto your gift for 18 years - waiting to give this to you. It means a lot to me and I'd like for you to have it..."
I'm thinking - WOW...this must be something really special! Some sort of family heirloom, perhaps? A piece of jewelry?! What is it?!
Ma went into her bedroom, dug into her underwear drawer, and pulled out a small canister and handed it to me: "This was the spermicidal foam that was supposed to have worked the night you were conceived...."
"Whaaaat?! Ma - that's gross!"
"I thought about writing the company and thanking them for making a faulty product. It's because of this that I have you."
Such a weird, wonderful and loving gesture. And so perfectly my Mom.
"Missy, I've been holding onto your gift for 18 years - waiting to give this to you. It means a lot to me and I'd like for you to have it..."
I'm thinking - WOW...this must be something really special! Some sort of family heirloom, perhaps? A piece of jewelry?! What is it?!
Ma went into her bedroom, dug into her underwear drawer, and pulled out a small canister and handed it to me: "This was the spermicidal foam that was supposed to have worked the night you were conceived...."
"Whaaaat?! Ma - that's gross!"
"I thought about writing the company and thanking them for making a faulty product. It's because of this that I have you."
Such a weird, wonderful and loving gesture. And so perfectly my Mom.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Headlines
I've read that an Alzheimer's brain in the later stages can be like a lamp with a frayed cord. Moments of light are flickering - depending on the inconsistent power from an unreliable cord.
Mom's lamp has been mostly off for about three years. It's been over three years since I've heard her say my name, or even look at me with some sort of glimmer of recognition. Dad will report an occasional smile, or an even more rare "Hi!". Her lamp cord will get bumped and her lamp light will flicker for a brief moment, and then it's gone. These are grand events for Dad...and if I'm getting an update on his week, he'll report a smile from Mom like a newspaper headline. It's these flickers of light that help to keep him going.
I visited Mom and Dad at the end of September. It's difficult to see Mom. She's lost so much weight she looks almost skeletal. She is now completely wheelchair bound and has difficulty sitting upright. Dad often struggles to keep her awake to feed her. She rarely talks. If she does, it might be one word, or a nonsensical string of sounds.
I pulled up a chair next to Mom and gave her a hug. And then I got in her face. "Hi, Mom...it's me, Missy....I came to see you...."
And then I saw something in Mom's eyes that I haven't seen in over three years. She looked right at me. She saw me. And then her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but no sounds came out. For a few minutes, her lamp light was on. I got to tell her I loved her, and that I missed her, and that I was really sorry that this happened to her. And even though she wasn't able to say anything, it really felt like I got to spend a few minutes with my Mom.
Here's my newspaper headline recapping the event:
Daughter tells her Mother she loves her. Mother understands.
Mom's lamp has been mostly off for about three years. It's been over three years since I've heard her say my name, or even look at me with some sort of glimmer of recognition. Dad will report an occasional smile, or an even more rare "Hi!". Her lamp cord will get bumped and her lamp light will flicker for a brief moment, and then it's gone. These are grand events for Dad...and if I'm getting an update on his week, he'll report a smile from Mom like a newspaper headline. It's these flickers of light that help to keep him going.
I visited Mom and Dad at the end of September. It's difficult to see Mom. She's lost so much weight she looks almost skeletal. She is now completely wheelchair bound and has difficulty sitting upright. Dad often struggles to keep her awake to feed her. She rarely talks. If she does, it might be one word, or a nonsensical string of sounds.
I pulled up a chair next to Mom and gave her a hug. And then I got in her face. "Hi, Mom...it's me, Missy....I came to see you...."
And then I saw something in Mom's eyes that I haven't seen in over three years. She looked right at me. She saw me. And then her eyes filled with tears. She opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but no sounds came out. For a few minutes, her lamp light was on. I got to tell her I loved her, and that I missed her, and that I was really sorry that this happened to her. And even though she wasn't able to say anything, it really felt like I got to spend a few minutes with my Mom.
Here's my newspaper headline recapping the event:
Daughter tells her Mother she loves her. Mother understands.
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Eat! White! Leather!
I played volleyball in my junior high and into part of my high school years, and I had a fan club. And that fan club had just one member: Mom.
Mom came to nearly every volleyball game I ever played. Her devotion to watching me play was tireless. For in-season games, she trekked all over the Twin Cities to neighboring towns at least one night of every week. And for the off-season games, she often would travel with our team for weekend tournaments to glorious places like Iowa City, or sometimes even Chicago!
She and a couple other moms joined us for a weekend tournament in some mid-western city that escapes me. I was probably 15 - so at the height of my eye-rolling teenagerness. Mom had spotted a t-shirt that said: "Eat! White! Leather!" with an image of a zooming volleyball on it...and she thought that was awesome.
So, when our team played, she took it upon herself to be the team cheerleader. Her one cheer?
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
Whenever it seemed appropriate, Mom shouted it out with everything she had...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
My teammate just served the ball and scored our team a point...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
I blocked the opposing team's hit...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
It got to a point where I was getting those "your Mom is weird" looks from my teammates.
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
But she was so tireless and passionate about it, it went from weird to funny...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
...it was even more funny after she started losing her voice from yelling so much...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
...but even losing her voice didn't stop her.
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
"LOVE! YOU! MOM!"
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
Mom came to nearly every volleyball game I ever played. Her devotion to watching me play was tireless. For in-season games, she trekked all over the Twin Cities to neighboring towns at least one night of every week. And for the off-season games, she often would travel with our team for weekend tournaments to glorious places like Iowa City, or sometimes even Chicago!
She and a couple other moms joined us for a weekend tournament in some mid-western city that escapes me. I was probably 15 - so at the height of my eye-rolling teenagerness. Mom had spotted a t-shirt that said: "Eat! White! Leather!" with an image of a zooming volleyball on it...and she thought that was awesome.
So, when our team played, she took it upon herself to be the team cheerleader. Her one cheer?
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
Whenever it seemed appropriate, Mom shouted it out with everything she had...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
My teammate just served the ball and scored our team a point...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
I blocked the opposing team's hit...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
It got to a point where I was getting those "your Mom is weird" looks from my teammates.
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
But she was so tireless and passionate about it, it went from weird to funny...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
...it was even more funny after she started losing her voice from yelling so much...
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
...but even losing her voice didn't stop her.
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
"LOVE! YOU! MOM!"
"EAT! WHITE! LEATHER!"
Monday, November 5, 2012
Griffin Dean
Once again, I blinked and my baby boy turned one year old.
And here is my very (very, very) late Polack Orange interweb-ulous introduction of Griffin Dean Mohn:
Born September 20, 2011 at 10:15 a.m. Our "little" dude was 10 lbs 13 ounces. (Thank goodness for c-sections!) A bold tribute to my Mom would've been to name him Gerald Dean. We went with Griffin Dean instead. He wears that name like a glove.
Griffin is adventurous, feisty, chunky, hilarious, and has a little boy voice that sounds a little bit like E.T. As a new walker, he spends most of his time wandering around our living room waving around a dirty sock or wet dish cloth like a drunk cowboy that's just hopped off his horse. Each Griffin moment is like an unscripted comedic scene. He's our household comic relief. The court jester of Castle Mohn.
Prior to Griffin's arrival, Mom stopped eating. Within weeks of my due date, I was having daily conversations with my Dad about the state of things... "Did she eat anything today? Were you able to get her to drink anything? Has she been awake much lately?" I was simultaneously preparing for the birth of my son and the death of my Mother. I was at a bit of a loss on how to feel about it. I remember saying to a few people that knew what was going on..."It's kinda some intense circle of life shit." (Cue the unrated version of the Lion King song.)
Well, Mom pulled through. She started eating again. She had more awake moments. And since then she continues to have ups and downs. And with her ups and downs with the disease, I have my own as well. But to help me through it, I've got my Drunk Cowboy E.T. son to make me smile and with a middle name to help carry on her legacy.
And here is my very (very, very) late Polack Orange interweb-ulous introduction of Griffin Dean Mohn:
Griffin is adventurous, feisty, chunky, hilarious, and has a little boy voice that sounds a little bit like E.T. As a new walker, he spends most of his time wandering around our living room waving around a dirty sock or wet dish cloth like a drunk cowboy that's just hopped off his horse. Each Griffin moment is like an unscripted comedic scene. He's our household comic relief. The court jester of Castle Mohn.
Prior to Griffin's arrival, Mom stopped eating. Within weeks of my due date, I was having daily conversations with my Dad about the state of things... "Did she eat anything today? Were you able to get her to drink anything? Has she been awake much lately?" I was simultaneously preparing for the birth of my son and the death of my Mother. I was at a bit of a loss on how to feel about it. I remember saying to a few people that knew what was going on..."It's kinda some intense circle of life shit." (Cue the unrated version of the Lion King song.)
Well, Mom pulled through. She started eating again. She had more awake moments. And since then she continues to have ups and downs. And with her ups and downs with the disease, I have my own as well. But to help me through it, I've got my Drunk Cowboy E.T. son to make me smile and with a middle name to help carry on her legacy.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Funny Girls
Here we are in California in 1983. This is one of just a handful of pictures of just the two of us. Mom loved Babs and had a bunch of her records. I did a lot of dancing to A Star is Born in our living room - actually, it was probably more like excited flailing.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Penis Cake
One summer when I was home from college, I stumbled into the kitchen around the crack of noon and I found my Mom making a penis cake. That's right: a cake shaped like a penis.
My sister, Heather, was attending a bachelorette party, and her job was to bring the penis cake. Who does she go to for help? Mom. If you had a crazy and zany task and don't know what to do, Mom was your go-to gal.
So, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need to bring a penis cake to a party, here's Mom's tried and true recipe:
Step 1: Gather your ingredients. Cake mix - white or chocolate (personal preference, I guess - HEY-O!), frosting, red food coloring, and some coconut snowballs. Yes, that's right.
Step 2: Bake your cake according to the directions. Let it cool. And then you need to draw out your penis shape on the cake. Ask a guy-friend for help. They'll love to offer up some advice.
Step 3: Cut sections of cake around your penis cake and carefully remove them. Sample the cake to make sure it tastes ok.
Step 4: Remove the penis from the cake pan and put it on a foil-covered cutting board. Then, you can give the penis a little rest while you work on the balls.
Step 5: This is where my memory gets a little fuzzy (or hairy). I thought that Mom put the coconut balls in the oven on broil to "toast" the coconut shaving to make them look more like hair. My results looked less like hair, and more like some horrible ball-disease. Yikes!
Step 6: So, you can totally skip the ball broiling, I think. Next move onto the frosting. Add just a small amount of red food coloring to give your frosting that flesh tone. Adjust your colors to your personal preference.
Step 7: Frost your penis. Place your balls on top.
And there you have it. A cake shaped like a penis. Mom taught me so many great things.
My sister, Heather, was attending a bachelorette party, and her job was to bring the penis cake. Who does she go to for help? Mom. If you had a crazy and zany task and don't know what to do, Mom was your go-to gal.
So, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need to bring a penis cake to a party, here's Mom's tried and true recipe:
Step 1: Gather your ingredients. Cake mix - white or chocolate (personal preference, I guess - HEY-O!), frosting, red food coloring, and some coconut snowballs. Yes, that's right.
Step 2: Bake your cake according to the directions. Let it cool. And then you need to draw out your penis shape on the cake. Ask a guy-friend for help. They'll love to offer up some advice.
Step 3: Cut sections of cake around your penis cake and carefully remove them. Sample the cake to make sure it tastes ok.
Step 4: Remove the penis from the cake pan and put it on a foil-covered cutting board. Then, you can give the penis a little rest while you work on the balls.
Step 5: This is where my memory gets a little fuzzy (or hairy). I thought that Mom put the coconut balls in the oven on broil to "toast" the coconut shaving to make them look more like hair. My results looked less like hair, and more like some horrible ball-disease. Yikes!
Step 6: So, you can totally skip the ball broiling, I think. Next move onto the frosting. Add just a small amount of red food coloring to give your frosting that flesh tone. Adjust your colors to your personal preference.
Step 7: Frost your penis. Place your balls on top.
And there you have it. A cake shaped like a penis. Mom taught me so many great things.
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