Haven't read all your lovely and delightful posts yet, but I just got back from Mom's wake and wanted to leave some impressions before that poor hay gets hit once again. I must get up early for the funeral.
(Parenthetically, before I forget, I got my copy of FS Charles Edward Pogue's novelization of Dragonheart today, and already my thirteen-year-old niece wants to borrow it as soon as I'm done. Yipee! Close paren.)
A large Italian family from all over Brooklyn and Queens plus assorted relatives on Mom's side, Slovaks from Pennsylvania--all conservative, working-class people. Everyone was well-behaved. Incredible.
Cousin Richie, who Joe always said hated and tormented him as a kid--Richie is now a police detective and moved heaven and earth all Wednesday to try to get Joe out for the funeral, but to no avail. I finally met cousin Richie this evening and thanked him most heartily for trying.
Brother Tony, who gave the eulogy. Among other things: "Mom had seven children, nine grandchildren, and now, thanks to Andrea and Debby, a great-grandchild on the way." Particularly moving because when Andrea came out to her parents they told her they didn't want Debby at their Christmas celebration, so Mom insisted they come to her house. This from a woman who, when she had her first period and didn't know what it was, was beaten by her mother. She had come a long way, there are many things she didn't understand, but one thing she did understand was unconditional love.
Sister Diane, who spent the last six years caring for Mom through all her illness while working two jobs and raising her two daughters alone, telling me, "I wanted to be with Mom at the end, but she chose you, and there must have been a reason."
The message on my machine when I came home from our friend and former NYC detective, who spent the day calling from Florida to the DA's office, spoke to the DA and the Warden, to no avail. But the Warden went down to talk to Joe and offer his condolences.
Sister Diane again, "I know Joe is hurting a lot because he couldn't be with Mom at the end. But I finally got some good Aides in the house. And last month when I had the Aide from hell, Joe was here for a week, day and night, taking care of his mother, and that was when she really needed him."
Joe on the phone when I came home, "Every time I close my eyes I know Mom is talking to me, but I don't know what she wants." Me: "She is telling you she loves you, she knows you love her, she is gone, and you have to let go." (Gosh, I sound like John Edwards!)
Sister Marilyn, who flew in from California on a moment's notice last week and finally pushed and prodded the doctor to give Mom something effective for the pain, so that after a week without sleep she finally manage to sleep and pass peacefully.
The brattiest kids in the family behaving themselves admirally for several hours during the wake.
The wife of another inmate who has befriended Joe, calling me to find the time and place of the funeral, because she wants to be there tomorrow.
Our next door neighbor (on the other side!) leaving a Mass Card in my mailbox.
Sister Dorothy telling me I had to have a second helping of lasagne, because Mom would tell me I look thin and push me to stuff my face, if she were here.
Memories. Oy, memories. Mom, being asked by a little girl years ago (who is now all grown up and came to the wake from Pennsylvania) if I were her son too: she hugged me and said, "Yes, he's my adopted son." None of this "he's my son's, uh, er, um, friend," for her.
She would have been 86 on March 26. She wasn't very educated. She never learned to drive. She never traveled. She was raised to be a wife and mother and never wanted more. She probably made lots of mistakes raising her kids--as who hasn't? She accepted me as a part of her family for 23 years. She was stuborn, cantankerous, tactless, outspoken and full of love. I will miss her.
