I won't forget, mom

I just finished closing out my mom's estate. It was a modest estate, we dispersed her possessions to various family members and friends, converted her investments to cash and once I was satisfied that all the bills were paid, I divided up the cash between my sisters, my brother and myself. Mom designated me to be the executor of her estate, and I did my best to follow her wishes. I was kind of dreading the final acts of being the executor. For the last 5 months I was getting regular reminders of Mom, her mail having been diverted to my house. As executor I was obliged to go through everything, make sure the Social Security and pension checks stopped arriving, and pay the few bills she had. Now the mail has stopped arriving. Her possessions have been scattered to the wind, the money she had in the bank is dispersed, and those that survive her continue to grieve in our own ways. I worry that I might drift apart somewhat from my siblings, as some of those ties that bind are gone. I wonder if now I could be called an orphan, as both of my parents are gone. I am sad.

Among those things of mom's I found what used to be a nickel. It's been flattened and curved, and you can just barely make out Jefferson's head and other markings. When I found this, I thought what an odd thing to keep. Then I remembered that I had given this to Mom when I was a kid. Our house was just a block from the railroad tracks, and I would often stack some coins on the rails as a train was approaching. The odds of finding these coins after the train had passed were small I discovered. Maybe it has to do with a train traveling 70 miles per hour, weighing several hundred tons, and the coins are somewhat smaller. Physics I suppose. Never took that class.  I probably lost a fair amount of my allowance money on those tracks, maybe I felt obliged to give some back to Mom, in the warped shape of a Jefferson nickel. Mom kept that nickel for the better part of 40 years in her jewelry box. I was somewhat astounded, as Mom was not necessarily very sentimental, but she certainly had that soft side. That nickel laid next to her rings, jewelry, and other treasures she had. It meant something to her. She never mentioned it to me. It's odd to think of parents keeping little treasures, we forget that they were young and and idealistic, had romances, and collected memories.

It caused me to think, mom did a lot of things that she never called much attention to. She was collecting memories. Growing up, Mom was the disciplinarian. Dad was tough on the outside, very soft on the inside. Mom had some inner grit that kept her going. She could get cranky at times, and sometimes she was a real PITA. Then, she would surprise you. When I was 17, I had a real POS car. But it was my car. I was having a lot of trouble with it, and no money to fix it. Mom and Dad never had much cash, so I was left to my own devices to get things fixed. One day, I was particularly upset with my car, and was sitting on the front porch being miserable about it. Mom came and sat next to me, and starting weeping. I asked her what was wrong, she said she just wanted me to have a good car, and was sad it wasn't working out for me. It made me think that maybe car problems are not so important in the whole scheme of things.

Much later in life, Mom and Dad were retired and living alone in northern Minnesota. Dad had cancer, and it as it turned out, not long to live. Mom didn't have a driver's license, but she got dad moved from one hospital to the next, rented a room nearby so she could be near him during his treatments, and never once complained to any of us kids. She didn't want to worry us. It's the dead of winter, she's lugging suitcases, helping my dad walk around, getting cab rides, dealing with doctors, and keeping my dad's spirits up the best she can. Never a complaint. We would forget about these things when she would be a PITA.

Mom kept things that meant something to her. She did things that she would not call attention to. She was being a mom. When I was little, I wondered how it was that she would always have an answer to my questions, she knew how to treat me when I was sick, how to get to school, what to make for dinner, you name it she had the answer. I thought, I will never know this much stuff. What will I do when I have kids? How can I get ready for that? I was worried. I would fail as an adult. Better to leave society now before I cause any permanent damage.

Well I survived child rearing, they turned out ok mostly. I realized as I was going through those years, we do the best we can and then make it up as we go along. We don't call attention to a lot of the stuff we do, probably because we are too tired. We just do. We collect memories, little mementos and treasures that would not mean much to anyone but ourselves. And without realizing it, we turn into our parents. Sort of. Maybe that is the final revenge of parents. Our kids start channeling us. I hope mine are around to wheel me out in the sun when I'm too feeble to do so. And maybe call me once in awhile.

Mostly, I hope my kids remember me when I am gone. As a parent, I was constantly reminding my boys about this or that. Don't forget I would say, which was just ensuring they would. Mom would do the same to me. Don't forget this or that, remember to do this. Yes mom, I will. No really mom I will. Then I would inevitably forget. She would get after me, tell me I need to be better about remembering things, then she would give me the same reminder in a day or two.

Now the long goodbye is over. I put off writing about this until now, I wanted to save these thoughts and have some closure. I'm still sad, and probably will be for a long time. That's normal, and probably even a little healthy.

Mom, I did learn those lessons. I won't forget. I have a flattened nickel to help me remember. I'll won't forget, Mom.

Goodbye Mom. Say hi to Dad for me. When you see Aunt Max tell her we miss her too. If you see Gene tell him I'm really pissed he's not coming back. You all can have a laugh about that. I won't forget any of you.