Yesterday was my Mom’s birthday and this was the first time since she’s passed (6 years) that I didn’t celebrate with Mexican food & a margarita with two of my besties in her honor. Don’t ask me why. I can’t blame the pandemic because even last year the three of us zoomed together.
My mom was fairly simple. She loved margaritas, music, baking, her family, Latin men, lottery tickets, dancing in the car, striking up conversations with total strangers (which horrified me as a kid, but I do it now), The Price Is Right & QVC.
I recall the conversation when I phoned her months before her 70th. “Mom, I’m gonna take you away for your birthday; I was thinking maybe a B & B in the mountains, A cute place on the beach, A spa stay or we could go to Vegas.”
Without missing a beat she said: VEGAS!
Vegas it was. We had a lovely time; we stayed in a nice hotel, enjoyed nice dinners, Mom played the slot machines as much as she wanted and we saw Jersey Boys and LOVE. Since Coach and a bajillion airline points, I met her in ATL and we flew First Class; her first time ever. Boy am I ever glad we had that get away together because just under two years later, she was diagnosed with effing ovarian cancer.
Mexican food and a margarita on her 72nd birthday. She was feeling like hell, but put on a smile for a few hours.
I stayed with her off and on durning her treatments; 2-3 weeks there, go home for a week or so, then back again. It was a good time to be with her and she really appreciated our time together. She never really complained about being sick, but I did see her cry a few times and she would say she was just feeling melancholy. Chemo was a bitch and I know she felt horrible. In hind sight, we should have skipped that altogether.
She passed away 6 weeks after that little birthday celebration and I still miss her terribly. I’ve said it before, my Mom was not a conventional Mom, she was honest when she said that Mark and I were raised by wolves. We were basically left to tend to ourselves, but hey, look how amazing I turned out?
She didn’t have an easy life. She was never financially secure & she was a notorious, self proclaimed: Poor Pecker Picker. She endured a horrible marriage to my father and watched her son slowly lose his battle with AIDS and die at 26.
I still can’t even imagine how she forged on after Mark’s death.
I think of her daily and I know that she would be SO darn proud of our girls and she’d be beside herself with us having a home in the Georgia Mountains. My Mom was born in New Jersey, lived there as a kid, then Florida as a young adult and then moved to Georgia when I was 12. You’d never know she’d lived anywhere other than Georgia as she was the embodiment of a Georgia Peach, right down to the accent. I can still hear her answering the phone: Heeeyyyyyyy
I actually started my blog for my Mom. She and I had not lived in the same state since I was 15, so this was a nice way to keep her updated on our family. My blog brought her a lot of joy, especially when I wrote about my childhood shenanigans. She would call me sometimes and we’d laugh about all the nonsense and how I’d survived it so well.
The Coach and I ended up going out for an early dinner yesterday, so I was able to have a margarita in Bev’s honor. I had to substitute a Greek salad for Mexican food, but she wouldn’t care since I could do no wrong in her eyes anyway.
If you are lucky enough to have a parent or two, call or write a note to them today. When I think of the times I did let my Mom’s calls go to voicemail when I was semi-busy, it makes me want to take a spoon to my eye.