To those of you who actually read my blog regularly (and have been checking in or something new for far too long), I must apologize for my absence. I know I've mentioned it before, but I'm (unfortunately) one of those people who is way too busy and all over the place for my own good - physically and mentally - as we live between 2 houses. I also happen to have a healthy does of undiagnosed OCD, and always find something to clean or organize, which ends up taking priority over my creative passions. It's a damn shame, and I really have to work on this. What can I be to the people I love in my life, if I'm not nurturing my own passions first and foremost, right?
I had dinner with a dear friend of mine last night. I told her I need to get this blog out of my system (she happens to read them). You see, I have a list of topics to get to, and if I can't get this one (at the top of the list) out of me, I may forever remain creatively constipated. She even urged me to follow through with my promise through a message she sent me this morning. My husband also told me yesterday morning that the first thing I should do before anything else is write this darn blog (that I've had on layaway for a rainy day for over a year). So, I've been inspired and given a helpful nudge. It's now 2pm on a snowy 'stay in' Friday, and he said that yesterday morning around 8am . I've accomplished a lot since that conversation (just not my blog). Sigh.
So my focus for this one, which should roll off my tongue (or through my fingers as I type) is about how beautiful my Mom was. If you knew her, I'm sure you sensed it. If you didn't, I hope you feel it as you read (and/or know someone like her that you can in turn relate to). Even typing the words takes my breath away, thinking of the energy she created and stole upon entering a room. I mean, she died just over a day after my husband and I had a beautiful wedding ceremony on the rooftop patio at the hospital where she spent her last days, and she was beautiful then. Who else can pull that off? Let alone her as a baby, child, teen, and young adult. She was incomparable (although I do know other women who have been blessed with this gift as well). My favourite part? These types of women often aren't necessarily "textbook beautiful", and usually aren't even the least bit aware of how much they are admired by both sexes. You either wish you could be them, or wish you could be with them. It's like magic.
I used to think that my admiration of my Mom's beauty was like the reverse of a Mother finding their baby beautiful (even if others silently disagree). You know when mothers say that? "I guess I'm partial, but...", or "I know I'm biased, but..." and they genuinely, undeniably find their little rascal to be God's gift among all babies? And sometimes you whole-heartedly agree! But, other times you do the good ol' smile and nod and coo and fuss over them like you're playing for the same team? Well, I thought that was me, just backwards. I thought, "All people find their own mothers beautiful, that's a given". But then over the years things have happened to let me know otherwise. I certainly wasn't the only one.
A couple of circumstances in the past year really stand out to me. First, just over a year ago, I attended a funeral with my grandparents. It was for the grandfather in a family that my Mom's side is very close with. They are well-known in the community, so there was a large turn-out. In a town like the one where they lived, everyone knows everyone, so it ends up being a reunion of sorts. There was a gentleman there who I had only known otherwise through my summer job doing clerical work at an insurance office. He had, in my mind, become the miserable type of guy that makes you cringe when you see him approaching. He always had something to complain about, and his general demeanour and energy was cold and foreboding. I pride myself in being the kind of person who gives people the benefit of the doubt, as I think some of the hardest people to get along with on earth are the ones who need love the most. Or, I'm quite happy to give people a second chance - if they prove they deserve it - but this guy hadn't ever really shown me a redeeming quality. So, when he started toward me my stomach dropped. I thought, "You have to be kidding me. At a venue like a funeral home, under the circumstances we were in? I'm going to have to talk about insurance?"
Well, you know what they say about making assumptions. In short? Don't.
He surprised me so pleasantly. He took me completely off guard. I guess he had been a local for years, and after seeing me with my Mom's parents he connected the dots and realized that I was her child (maybe if he'd known that before, all of our previous interactions would have been less traumatic?)
He said, "You must be Trudy's daughter".
I said, "Yes" (with a smile, but keep in mind, I was still on guard at this point).
Then, he proceeded to gush about my Mom. It went something like this:
Your Mom was so beautiful. I think we all loved her at some point or another. She was so natural, and just had a glow about her. She was so smart, and so fun, too. It's such a shame that she died so young. The world really is missing a true beauty with her being gone.
I somehow kept emotionally composed (not easy when you're me), and, somehow kept my jaw off the floor. I said pardon? (in my head) Who are you, and what did you do with that grouchy old guy mask you typically wear? Not that I was complaining. He has officially been granted his second chance. You're welcome.
Then about a month ago, almost a year ago to the day, I was at yet another funeral. This time with my Dad's side of the family, as it was his aunt who had passed away. Because my Dad doesn't end up back in his hometown very often, and because I grew up living with my Mom, a lot of our extended family and family friends didn't recognize me. You see, I'm all grown up now and they hadn't seen me since I was a child. So, their first reactions weren't surprising. They thought I was my Dad's much younger girlfriend. The conversation would start out almost awkward and then, when my Dad would finally say, "This is my daughter, Caitlin", they'd let their guards down. And, their reactions became complimentary, as the same thing was repeated all day (which I must add was a tremendous compliment). They went something like this:
Well aren't you lucky, you look just like your Mother (I don't bytheway, let me clear that up right quick). Thank goodness you turned out just like your Mother. Your Mother was such a beauty, you certainly have her (insert trait here: smile, eyes, cheekbones). Aren't you glad your looks favour your Mother's side?
Again; I said pardon? Me? Look like my Mom? Listen, I can't tell you enough how lovely that is to hear. And, deep down, I know that I'm a good hybrid blend of both my Mom and my Dad so there are hints of Trudy here and there. But, I'm also so much like my Dad and always have been. His hair. His skin. His nose. His dimples. Even his personality. Being compared so closely to my 'Snow White' meets 'Pocahontas' meets 'Young Elizabeth Taylor' Mom just doesn't feel right. Were they just being polite, because of my loss, so as to not make things uncomfortable? That sure beats hearing "I'm so sorry for your loss". Or, were they secretly just giving my Dad a sucker punch to the emotional gut? A poke in ribs, so to speak? I guess I'll never know.
One thing I do know is that my Mom only needed mascara and her signature red lip and she looked divine. I can't pull off red lips if my life depends on it, and she wasn't often seen without them. And, in the summer months, she tanned up as if she was born at the equator or was of an aboriginal family, and didn't need a lick of makeup because she really did just 'glow' (she did admit that slathering yourself in baby oil helps. Although I wouldn't do it or recommend it).
My Mom's beauty wasn't just physical. Like I said earlier, she wasn't necessarily "textbook beautiful". She often said she struggled with her weight at times (who hasn't?), and had a hard time doing anything with her hair (you'd never have known that). But she carried herself with such poise and assurance. Her whole personality and demeanour demanded attention and held it. Her laugh and voice were loud and vivacious. Her singing was effortless and rich. She danced with a natural rhythm and elegance. She had a brilliant mind (she even skipped a grade and was always top of her class - without trying). Her sense of style was unique, classy, and so well put together (and in her earlier years, was almost entirely DIY). She was charismatic in way too many ways. She was an artist. She was dazzling.
I often think that the reason I heard so much about her many male friends was because women didn't want to be compared to her. They maybe liked her very much, and even admired and looked up to her, but unfortunately women have a nasty habit of pushing women like my Mom away. Instead of being a part of her life, and in turn sharing all of her gifts and making them their own, they denied them out of envy and greed. So, over the years my Mom ended up with a few really fabulous female friends who didn't give a damn (I still keep in touch with a couple of them), and a whole bunch of male friends who weren't so petty and superficial.
How much do you want to bet that most of them were in love with her, but sensed they didn't stand a chance? Many loved her as a friend and companion in life, I'm sure. I mean, she loved to cook, sew, garden, sing, dance, read, go to concerts, was an athlete, etc. She didn't just love this stuff, she was great at it all. But, I wonder how many wished and hoped for a small sign that they may actually have a chance. How I wish she'd been able to keep in touch with them over the years (hard when you move, marry and have a child). I heard so much about them, but unfortunately, can't connect faces to names.
I have some pictures of my Mom that are my favourites. One in particular is of her and a friend (Dorothy maybe?) on a beach. I can't even remember what beach, but that's besides the point. In it they're posing beside a sand castle of sorts. Arms pointing at it as if it's their effort they're showing off with overflowing pride. Ha! Another gift my Mom had; a great sense of humour. Dorothy is quite covered up in a floppy hat and a long skirt. It looks like she isn't as much of a sun bunny, and was likely avoiding a sunburn (which my Mom never got - baby oil and all). My Mom is wearing one of her own creations; red and white plaid bikini bottoms with a short red t-shirt style bikini top. She kept a few of her sewn works of art from over the years, but unfortunately not this one. Excuse my language, but damn she had killer thighs. And that sculpted, slightly voluptuous hourglass shape women would kill for. She is also wearing her signature rainbow coloured handkerchief I've always taken too (and still have), to keep her hair out of her face. She's beaming with her Hollywood smile. I wonder, who took that photo? She looks so carefree. It's a part of her life I was never a part of. A part of her life I wish she'd never lost. A part of her life that will always be considered the highlight. The 'good old days', you might say.
Another picture I love is from when she is only about three years old. My grandfather was a professional photographer, and for some kind of contest (or maybe just for kicks?) he told her that he, my Gramma and my Mom's older brother were going somewhere fun without her (maybe The Exhibition in Toronto
Another photo is a close up of her on a sunny day. Again, whoever took the photo was someone who knew her well, as she has a look of confidence, ease and calm on her face. The sun illuminates her face and hair, with blurred trees in the background. I imagine it was a perfect kind of day. She looks like she doesn't have a worry in the world. Her perfect teeth (another thing I didn't get from her) captivate in a subtle smile she rarely shared. So often her smile in pictures is of the 'go big or go home' variety. I wish I could be a fly on the wall on that particular day. Where was she? Who was she with? What was she like?
Yet another is likely from her first year of teaching. She's barely smiling at all, but still looks striking. Her signature red lips are parted as if she's about to speak, or she was caught off guard. She looks quiet and still, which was a rare occurrence. She also looks youthful and fresh, as if the trials of the career (or being a wife and mother) hadn't gotten their hands on her yet. Her hair is pulled back in a no fuss way. Wispy flyaways frame her face (she even made those look good). Yet again, her big dark eyes steal the show. You can't help but look into them and get lost in them. She looks composed, and sure of herself. Still content and free. And yet she's the thinnest of any time in her life in this photo, which I associate with the pressures of her job and having moved from London , Ontario
I carry a copy of this picture in my wallet. Many people, especially strangers, inquire about the beautiful woman they see. One time, at a licence office in my Mom's hometown, a lady even asked why I had a picture of 'her girl' in my wallet. Baffled, I said 'your girl?', and she proceeded to say my Mom was the reason she'd ever amounted to anything. My Mom had taught her when she was in grade 3 or 4. She'd given this lady confidence and a belief in herself that pulled her out of the rut she'd been caught in. She told me my Mom was her hero, and she'd always been grateful for her guidance. The woman in this picture was already changing lives at the onset of her career, and yet she had another 29 years of life-changing ahead of her. Amazing to think; the version of her in my wallet didn't even know that yet. Maybe she never fully comprehended it.
Lastly, another favourite is one of my Mom holding me in the hospital. The combed hair and painted lips tell me they were getting ready to go out in public and introduce me to the world. The pleather chair she's sitting on even matches those telltale lips, and her cheek bones shine like waxed apples in the big wooden crates at the grocery store. Here's a woman who had just been carrying a 6lb parasite (when you really think about it) inside of her. She gave birth during a heck of a snow storm, too (just to add to the excitement/stress), and she looks like she just walked off of a runway. Granted I was a few days old, I know for a fact I won't look that way 3 days into being a new mom. She looks excited and happy, but also a bit sad and scared (if you really look closely). I guess many new moms feel that way? Again, I wish I'd thought to ask her about this picture. I wish I'd said, "Mom, how were you really feeling at that moment of your life? Had the reality hit you yet that life as you knew it was gone? Were you afraid? Did you have any regrets (yet)?" Even if I didn't like what I had to hear, it's now that I can't ask that I want to know. Take notes, people! Those of you with living family members you admire should be asking these questions while you can.
I know I'm making it sound like being a single mother and a teacher ruined her. It didn't - physically anyway. It took tolls on her mental, spiritual and physical health, that's for sure. But, she always seemed to maintain the kind of beauty I mention. The kind that would have lived as long as she did, if she'd been given the chance. Remember, I already mentioned she looked beautiful at our first wedding, when she was holding onto any life she had left in her with shaky hands. Many people say the same of my Mom's mother (who is still living and is almost 88). They don't look alike at all, but they share that beautiful energy that people admire. If you could buy it in a store and drink it, gulp it down with a spoon, or in a cream you could smear all over yourself, you'd pay big money for it. But you see, that kind of beauty is impossible to purchase or even successfully emulate. You're born with it, or you're not.
I guess what I'm getting at is I miss my Mom's beauty. I wish I'd told her more how beautiful I knew she was. I wish I could see her as an 80 something year old woman and compare her photos over the years (when you compare the ones I do have, her essence never changed much). When someone with such a big spirit and influence on your life leaves it, a big void is left. Yes, you can look at pictures and remember their good old days - to an extent. But, I can't reach out and touch it. I can't breathe it in. I can't look on and quietly admire it from a distance. I can't dig for more.
I turned 29 a week ago, and as I've mentioned before, my birthday is a hard day when it comes to missing my mom. I am always acutely aware that the women who I grew inside of, as well as outside of for 26 years (who gave up so much to nurture my life) isn't there to celebrate me with me. It hurts. It sucks. But, I luckily have tremendously thoughtful and generous people in my life. Surprise after surprise, gift after gift, kind word after kind word carried me through the days surrounding my birthday unscathed. I only cried once in relation to missing my Mom, but it was also a moment of joy and gratitude.
You see, I have this really amazing man in my life. My Mom would have stolen him if it would have been possible (and not so entirely wrong). He is thoughtful and sentimental, generous and creative. Awhile ago, in clearing out the basement in my Mom's house that we've inherited, we found a huge box of slides. They're all labelled in her writing, and range from her teenage years, through university, teaching, and even some from when I was little. A huge portion of her life - that was never physically printed for me to peruse with her - is captured in these little cardboard framed memory pieces that you can barely make out when you hold them to a light. Can you guess what my husband bought me for my birthday?
You got it. Although they don't make slide projectors anymore, he was able to track one down. I of course asked, and he of course answered. He found it on Kijiji. He went to a home in Toronto
We haven't had time to go through that whole big box just yet. It's a big commitment, but I can assure you it will happen - and soon. I can't wait to re-live my Mom's memories (the kind worth capturing on film). I was overwhelmed by joy, excitement, and shock (the good kind). And then I was overcome by a sense of sadness. Not the kind that consumes you and makes you resent that thing that caused it, but the kind that pulls your heart strings, and I'm sure you can bet why; I may see my Mom, timeless and in her element, and her many in sundry friends, who knows where, doing who knows what, but she can't tell me the stories that go with them. And boy-oh-boy did she like to tell a story! I ache for the story behind her happy memories (many of which occurred before I was even a thought), but I'll never get to hear them. There are so many smiling faces whose names I know I've heard, but I just don't know who's who. Talk about bittersweet!
So, do something to honour my Mom and I, if you feel inspired; ask your loved ones to bring out their pictures. If you need a slide projector, I may even be able to help you out with that. Ask the questions and hear the stories while you can. Learn from me and the gaps I now face, and fill yours while you're able. By learning more of the intricacies of your loved ones' lives, even if they're before you existed, you will get a deeper understanding of why they are the way they are, which in turn says a lot of why you are the way you've turned out. It's pretty amazing.
I may not be able to ask my Mom these pleading, prying questions, but you may find me to be a more inquisitive person now that I've come to this realization. I know in the past couple of years I've gotten to know my grandparents on a deeper level, as well as my Dad, my in-laws, and so on.
We all have people in our lives that have that je ne sais quoi worth inquiring about. So, why don't you?
