I Don't Do Well With Mother's Day

So yeah. It was Mother's Day on Sunday. 

I'm kinda in a bit of a situation, because I live w/ V, who (obviously) is the Mother to our Son, T. So, I have to acknowledge the event. 

However, my Mom has been dead; what, 20 years already? Something like that. If you factor in the end of her life not being great (and that's a blog post for some other person or some other time. I'm not looking for sympathy today, this are my thoughts as I type. I'm not typing about the days leading up to and including her passing right now), and her passing sudden--I don't particularly want to acknowledge the holiday. It brings back bittersweet memories.

I did manage to say "Happy Anniversary",  babe to V. so I was cool in that respect. She got to watch "Game of Thrones" all day, and I took T out to play baseball. So I hope she had some peace and happiness with her day. I love her very much, and I think she is a fantastic Mother.

I shared this with Paul The Therapist today, about something strange (well it was ME talking). Since my Mom has been gone for 20 something years, my specific special memories of my Mom have begun to blur. With time ticking, the great times, laughs, celebrations and stuff....it all becomes one thing; just "I love Mom. She was great". The memories of the great meals, laughs, tears, vacations....they all fade. The specifics get smaller and smaller. 

That's the tragic part of time.

Perhaps that's why the saddest thing in the world is a fighter who has lost the ability to control his reflexes the way he would. "Ethan, you can't beat Father Time", my Dad would always say sadly. I think he's right. Time is a fucker.

I hold on to a couple of great memories of her, that I keep close to my vest (so to speak). However there is one particularly special memory that I feel has to be blogged about:

There was the year (1989 going into 1990?) where I invited 20 friends or so (oh to have 20 friends again!) over from Temple University for a New Years Eve Party.  Everyone who said they would come, would come!

I remember a crowded apartment....just a sea of drunk kids sneaking outside to smoke cigarettes.... and I hear laughter from the kitchen (I'm in the hallway quite a ways away) and I hear "Sandy, I'm tellin' you the truth! C'mon Sandra"....  I look up over the mass of humanity and I see my mother w/ a Kool Mild hanging out of her mouth arguing and busting Mark C's chops about Reagan, "Don't bullshit me, M..you know he was an asshole"...and ashing her cigarette in an empty sink.

I'm not saying smoking is/was cool because sure it's bad for you. And yeah, it did lead to her passing, but Mom and smokes, at least for this blog posting are warmly remembered and synonymous.

They bullshitted for a bit more, as I observed, smoking and ashing in the sink. And then my Mom said "you're an asshole, but I love you anyway" She then wrapped her arms around him and gave him a kiss on the cheek and a hug as she then went over to the over to get some pigs in a blanket onto a tray to serve to everyone like the good Jewish Mother she was.

And of course, the next morning, I woke up to Mom making bacon and eggs for the 20 or so people in the house. Making sure the distribution of food was equal for everyone.

Yeah, that's a special memory I'll hold onto.