My Mom is alive . . . and she oughta know

I've written quite a bit about my Dad on our blog. It's been extremely therapeutic for me and the outpouring of love from family and friends has been a balm for me.

One of the nice things about writing about my Dad is that I know that he knows that I think and feel these things about him. I've told him these things. These are not just things I've written in eulogy to him. These are things he's heard me say. I miss him more than words can convey. And dealing with his death has been painful and difficult. Writing about my feelings has been healing for me.

Well, recently, I've been wondering, "Does my Mom know how I feel about her?" I mean, I tell her things and we talk frequently. I even post about her from time to time. I've been thinking that she, too, ought to know my feelings for her, just as my Dad always has. I think she knows these things, but why not make sure?

See, my Dad had a major heart attack several years ago. It wasn't even clear if we'd make it in time to see him alive. So I panicked and quickly wrote up things I've always felt about my Dad but worried I hadn't shared with him. I desperately wanted him to know. DESPERATELY. So, I typed them up, emailed them to my mother, and begged her to please read it to Dad. I knew they were going to perform open heart surgery on him and that he was on an external pump to keep him alive and that he was barely hanging on, and I needed him to know my feelings for him, my profound love and respect for the man that is my father, my Daddy.

I typed up a beautiful tribute to him. One that Jim enlarged and framed with a picture of me, my brother, my mom, and my dad. It was a Christmas present Jim gave me as my Dad lay dying. It made me cry. I love it and haven't been strong enough yet to hang it up and have that constant reminder before me. I'm still getting used to my Dad not being here. I still sometimes think he's in the background when I talk to my Mom. I still sometimes think he's in the other room when my mom visits. I still sometimes think he's alive and then I'm jolted when I recognize that he's not. And that's painful.

I have his sweater. I wore it all the way back from MA after his funeral. It felt like he was hugging me, holding me. I don't put that sweater in a closet or drawer. I keep that sweater behind a pillow so that it doesn't take on the smell of anything else. Because it smells like him. I touch that sweater every day when we make our bed, but I've only had it in me to bring it to my face a few times to smell him, to feel him, to think of him. Did you know that our olfactory sense is the one most closely tied to memory? It's powerful. So, I don't do it often. And when I do, my eyes immediately well with tears.

So, Mom, I want you to know things, too. I want you to know that I think wonderful things about you, too. I want you to know that I'm glad we're not only parent-child, but friends. I want you to know that I'm grateful that you love my husband. I want you to know that I'm grateful that you love our children. I want you to know that I love that you tell us what you think, that you're proud of us. I want you to know that I love you.

She's led an amazing life. There are lots of things I love about my Mom.

She values education and good books
My mom immigrated to the U.S. at the age of 9. She had to drop out of high school to help support the family. She wasn't happy about it. She loved going to school in America. She's always wondered about stuff she's missed out on (prom, graduation, etc.), but she's always valued education far above that stuff. So, she went back. Years later, she went back. She got her G.E.D. and then her Bachelor's (no woman of her generation in our family had done that) and then her Master's (and no one from her generation has done that)! All this without a whole heck of a lot of support from anyone in her family and immediate circle of influence. She didn't care. She did it anyway.

My mom instilled a love of reading in me. She introduced me to great books at a young age. She made sure I knew about Little Women and The Secret Garden. She talked of the beauty of Tom Sawyer and The Little Princess. She got excited when in high school I was assigned to read To Kill A Mockingbird and The Scarlet Letter and Romeo and Juliet. When I was a kid, I loved to find a spot or climb a tree and read, read, read. This love carried me through school, college, graduate school, and continues to be a love of mine that I share with my husband and children. We have a fantastic collection of books, much due to my mom passing along so many of my childhood books on to us. This is saying something, because a lot of stuff got thrown out or given away when my parents moved from my childhood home to their retirement condo. But not the books. We got the books. Lots and lots of them.

She's a fabulous woman
Many told her she shouldn't do those things (you know, go to school, get a driver's license) because she was a woman. My mom has taught me that being a woman doesn't mean you quietly shut your mouth and do what others expect from you. Being a woman doesn't stop you from pursuing your dreams. Being a woman doesn't mean you give up. Being a woman doesn't pigeonhole you or make you weak. Being a woman doesn't mean you do what you're told. My mom has always disliked "silly women" as she terms it. She has little patience for people who stand by and allow others to dictate how they ought to live their lives. She could barely stand it. And she'd speak her mind on that, too. TO the silly women!

I think my mother is incredibly brave. When my mother was 34 years old, she forged her own path spiritually. She gave up the Catholic religion of her parents and extended family and culture and chose what made sense to her. She was met with a lot of resistance and disappointment from family and friends, but she followed her heart undeterred. It didn't matter what made sense to them. She did what made sense to her. And she affords her children that same courtesy and encouragement.

She didn't shelter us from other beliefs in the world--She took us to Mass and Portuguese, Catholic Holy Ghost feasts, we attended Cambodian cultural festivals as she sponsored a refugee family, I was christened Catholic, baptized Mormon, and attended a Born Again Christian school. She managed to forge her own path all the while teaching us a respect for different religions throughout the world.

A lot of people call my mom "strong" and while she is, I sometimes think that's an unfair pressure or burden to put on her, at least in terms of what people often call "strength," See, I have a different take on strength. When I hear her sob on the phone because she misses my dad, I see her strength--the strength and courage to be real, to show emotion, to say it sucks.

She's always encouraged me to be whatever I want to be. I didn't realize it at the time and it's only been recently, in my 30s, that I've recognized it, but my mother is quite a feminist. We never termed it as such, but it's true. And I'm proud of her for that.

She's an amazing wife
My grandmother insisted that my mom marry my dad. It was an arranged marriage. My mom was 18. 18! That is so young!! I grew up thinking that 18 was a typical age to marry since my mom had and my sister-in-law had. And then I turned 18. So young! There was no way I felt ready for marriage yet. (Ready to meet the man who'd become my future husband, yes. Get married at 18, no.) So my mom traveled to her home island of Sao Miguel, the mother country, and met and married my dad. She wasn't amused by the situation in the slightest (until she saw him--hubba hubba!). It is astounding to me that in today's day and age and in this country, you can still find people who have had their spouses chosen for them. Can you imagine?! My mom didn't get that choice--it was made for her. Thankfully, it was a good match.

It wasn't always easy. In fact, it was pretty damn difficult for a long, long time--there were years that many, including myself, would call "hell." But they stuck together for close to 50 years (and counting). And whether or not they'd ever admit it, they didn't stick it out in the name of "sticking it out." They had nothing to prove to anyone else. If you ask me, they stuck it out because they're perfect for each other. Truly perfect. And I saw a profound love in their eyes as they looked at each other when my mom held my dad as he died. It was beautiful, heart-wrenchingly beautiful.

She's a good mother
My mom and I didn't always see eye to eye. My Dad was always the peace maker and the least likely to get riled in our house. My mom and I both have that fiery Portuguese spirit that is lively and ardent and passionate. So we would equally want to get our point across and equally be right and equally want to convince the other (although I've always been the more logical thinker and we all know that I am always right). :P As we've gotten older, the dynamic has changed or we've grown up or my therapy has worked. Something. We are friends. We get along. We enjoy one another. I'm sure we still drive each other crazy from time to time, but you wouldn't know it like you would when I was younger. And it's not about being right anymore. Who cares? It's about supporting one another and being there for each other.

In the Portuguese culture, family is always family. The predominantly American mindset that a child is on his or her own at 18 is foreign in many other cultures, including mine. Parents continue to help children and likewise children help parents--it's all about who is able to do so rather than some "role" or expectation. My grandparents were too poor to help their children very much, so their children helped them. When my Vavo got to where he couldn't really be by himself, family pitched in and cared for him. My parents' generation worked VERY hard and did well for themselves and they in turn help their children. I've heard it's the same in Asian countries and I know it's the same in South American countries and European countries. I'm a part of a beautiful culture and I'm so very, very proud to be 100% Portuguese. Who can claim being 100% anything nowadays in our country? I think it's pretty neat and enriching and I'm very grateful to have been raised bilingually and biculturally.

My mom and dad have been amazingly trusting and supportive of us in all of our choices--they trusted me as a teen, they trusted my choice of college, my major, my going on a mission, my choice of husband, our moving to Arizona to attend medical school, living in a nice trailer, my attending graduate school, moving to PA, buying a townhouse, our handling of dealing with my depression, family practice, homeschooling, quitting residency, starting our own business, buying a farmhouse, you name it and they've never doubted and have always had the utmost confidence in our abilities and passions and dreams.

Any time that we have gone to them with anything, including things we thought they might wig out about or be concerned about (depression, homeschooling, quitting residency), they've been almost immediately supportive. If they were a bit skeptical or nervous at first, it didn't last long, because they know us and trust us and love us. I think they have sometimes believed in our dreams more than we have at times. They are always right there with words of support and encouragement as well as concrete support to help us make things happen. They didn't have a single, solitary doubt about our business. My mom calls me from time to time just to tell me, out of the blue, that though she didn't know what to think at first, how grateful she is that we homeschool and how she sees the good effects from it and how proud of us she is for all we're doing. There's no trying to convince them that what we're doing (all of it) is so right for us. They see it, they see us, they know we're happy and in love and that's enough for them. Which brings me to the next point.

She's a pretty great mother-in-law
I think the person that gushes most about Mark after me is my mom. She adores Mark. My parents have ALWAYS loved Mark. My mom even had us go to Olan Mills and take pictures together (seriously, they look like engagement pictures) after our freshman year at college and she proudly displayed that picture the whole time we were on our missions. She'd talk about Mark as if he were already part of the family and treated him as such. I'm pretty sure that marrying into the family hasn't been so difficult for Mark--the entire extended family loves him and has welcomed him with open arms, both figuratively and literally. The running joke is that they all want to marry Mark! Mark has told me that he's very comfortable when my Mom visits and it's kind of nice to have her "puttering around." We don't ever ask her to do anything around here--she just does. Dishes, cleaning, cooking, whatever. It's comfortable and easy. She has always been open about her love for Mark and has always explained that it comes down to this--she says, "Mark loves you and is so good to you. How could I not love someone who loves my daughter so much?" That's it. No conditions, no tests, no judgment. Pure acceptance.

She's a wonderful grandmother
My mom hasn't always been able to visit much, especially while caring for my Dad. Before and during that time, she would visit more often, but when he got really sick, it was more difficult for them. We've always lived away from grandparents. She doesn't let the physical distance cause a dissociation from us. She calls often, has always talked to the kids all she can, and sends fun packages in the mail.

I sometimes get a little jealous when I read friends' posts that mention how they got to have their kids enjoy grandma's house for a day while they ran errands or had the grandparents over for the day or Grandma taking everyone out for some errands and helping out with groceries, or one of the biggest ones for me--Sunday Dinners at Grandma's house. While we're very happy and wouldn't trade where we live, that is something we know we miss out on by not living close to family. Day to day and even the big holidays, we don't notice so much, but on Sundays and 3-day weekend/BBQ times, we do. Thankfully, we've had families in Utah (Gessels) and here (Leedoms) who have treated us like family and invited us over, but with the Leedoms moving, we're feeling it even more. Well, my mom does what she can long distance.

See, my brother spent the first decade of his marriage living a couple of towns over from my parents and so they got a lot of Sunday Dinners, dinners out, and special treats. I wondered if we'd be sort of "out of sight, out of mind" by living farther away. But nope. Something we appreciate very much is that she occassionally calls us and says, "Buy the kids Happy Meals" or "How can I help with homeschool/school supplies and curricula?" (stuff I know she'd do if she were to live closer) or "Go out to eat on me" to make up for the lack of Sunday Dinner, I guess. Or probably just because. All I know is I love it. Since we do live so far from extended family, we love when family visits because we feel looked out for, treated--the dinners out, fun outings, etc.--we have so much fun! So, these special "just because" treats are also really nice for us. I love eating out without stressing about having to pay for it! What a treat!!!

I have a couple of true confessions, too.

1. I didn't think she'd visit much after my Dad died. She said she would, but I really wasn't so sure. I thought she'd have different reasons or excuses and maybe not really want to despite her insistence while caring for my Dad that if she could, she would. So, I wasn't sure. I'm eating my words. She does visit often and we're glad for that. It feels nice and comfortable. She loves us, our house, our yard, our friends, she loves where we live. She even says things to us like, "If I were to move, and I'm not saying that I'm moving, I'd move there, because it's SO beautiful and there are so many great people there!" It's true. We love where we live. And we love that she DOES visit us often.

2. As much as I love her visits, nothing about them pains me more than taking her to the airport to go home alone. It physically pains me. And it is in that moment that I feel the change happening--the one where you sort of go from being the one cared for by your parents to the one who is caring for your parents. It's poignant and melancholy and bittersweet. We're sort of in the middle of that change, I guess. It's a gradual thing. Because she helps us--she has helped us get our business going, she looks out for us, takes us out to eat, etc. But yet, it is in that moment that I feel that I'm the child caring for the parent. She seems so vulnerable and alone in that moment and it just seems wrong for her to get on that plane alone and go back to her condo alone. I don't want the pain of those departures to stop her from visiting and I think it helps knowing that she can come whenever she wants--it's relatively cheap and easy, but the pain is there. And I feel such love and protection for her.

So, thanks Mom. For everything. I hope you know all this and more. No one should have nice things said about them at their funeral only--they ought to hear those things in life, too. I have no regrets about the things I share about my Dad--he's always known those things from me. And I want my mom to know my feelings for her, too. I love you, Mom.