The Power of Dates

 Three years ago, I spent September 24th like any other day. It didn't occur to me until days later, that September 24th had passed and I didn't think of it as having been my wedding anniversary. It took a few years of being divorced, but the date no longer held any special meaning. 

It was a date that once held happy memories of not only the big event, but of vacations to celebrate subsequent anniversaries. I was surprised when meaning of the day evaporated. I spent the day as any ordinary day, I didn't even think about it once. I took it as a sign that I was finally at peace with the entire situation.

I have been wondering when, if ever, February 4th would become an ordinary day. Today, marks the fifth anniversary of my mom's death. I've never marked any of the 2/4 anniversaries with tears or depression. Even the first one. On the first anniversary, I headed to Disney World, which I think my mom would have liked. It wasn't a purposeful decision to get out of town, it just worked out that way with vacation planning.

I've not marked any anniversaries or holidays with tears, as one might expect. Missing a loved one is stranger than that, I don't often cry anymore, but when I do, it's set off by unpredictable things, like a moment on a television show. Monica Potter's plot line on the recent season of Parenthood was a trigger. 

So, this year, I didn't cry either, but the day didn't pass unnoticed. Actually, the entire weekend didn't pass without me thinking about it. February 4th wasn't really the bad memory day, the second and third were the worst.

My mom fell into a semi coma on the second. She was talking to us in the hospital, up and fairly perky, we left for an hour to get dinner at Dinah's chicken (She said that she wished she could go with us) and she slipped. It was the last time I spoke to her.  I spent the next sixty odd hours in the hospital with her, leaving once to shower and grab essentials.

I remember details of the room, including the springy cot in I dozed lightly, getting an hour here and there. The hospital staff was extremely nice and accommodating.

I remember discovering one of my favorite authors, Tom Perrotta and reading all his books in a weekend. I also read Laurie Nataro to keep laughing and reading sections of her books aloud to my mom, even though mom didn't respond. 

I remember that when they had to amputate a toe from my mom's left food, a nurse wrote with a marker "This one" with an arrow pointing to the only toe that looked abnormal, it had turned a deep purple.

I remember a middle- aged male phlebotomist unable to find a good vein and shamelessly flirting with my aunt, who is much older and married, while my my mom was shallowly breathing. We actually had a good laugh when he left the room, as the situation was so utterly inappropriate. 

I remember eating Numero Unos Pizza in the lobby. of the hospital, unable to finish a slice. 

I remember walking by the main reception desk, which was run by a guy from my playwriting class that I had to drop to take care of my mom. We never acknowledged the connection.

I remember the view from her window, seeing the 2 freeway and enormous houses on the hill. I could also see the center where she had gone for radiation treatments, where we once saw a woman break down in convulsive sobs in the waiting room. 

I remember when she died. I don't know how long she may have been dead, but I remember noticing that the rattling sounds were gone and I called the nurses station. I specifically remember saying "I think my mom's dead" and not wanting to touch her.

I remember waiting outside in the hallway, while the doctors and nurses removed all of the tubes from my mom.

I remember not wanting to see her body or to be in the room and asking Nancy to use the sheets to cover her. I rushed to grab my laptop and overnight bag to get out of there. without looking over at the bed. 

I remember thinking that my mom wasn't there.

I remember feeling an overwhelming sensation of relief.

I remember driving home to Pasadena and how warm the sun felt during a morning rush hour drive.

I remember the phone immediately ringing when I walked through the door. It was a guy from organ donations. My mom's body was destroyed, but they could use her corneas. I remember the guy had a billion questions and I laughed, telling him how organized my mom was, as I found a binder that she had created with her entire medical History in detail. He said that he had never spoken with such a composed and organized family member. He asked me questions about her sexual history, those were not answerable or in the binder.

I remember Fanny coming over within an hour, we sat on my couch and ate yogurt with granola from Whole Foods. It was the only thing in my fridge.

I remember getting the best news, Fanny telling me that she was pregnant. I love all of my friend's kids, but this automatically made Rachel extra special in my heart.

I remember trying to finally sleep around noon and Julie calling me. She had called earlier and offered to leave work to be with me and was checking in. I have the best friends. I remember feeling so tired and not being able to sleep.

I remember finally crashing around four and sleeping until the next morning. I've never felt so exhausted in my entire life.

I guess that February 2nd, 3rd and 4th, might not be so easy to forget and that's probably a really good thing.

The Purge

At some point in your life, there is a high probability that you will be faced with the task of having to clear out the home of a recently deceased friend or relative. I've done this twice and it is a life altering experience. Naturally, when someone passes, it's a time for self-reflection. I've found that it makes me want to get in touch with friends and check things off my bucket list. However, cleaning out the home of the recently deceased brings about a different kind of self-reflection that I will refer to as The Purge.

It makes you realize that a person can accumulate a lot of crap and sometimes what the crap says about the owner is not such a great thing. The person tasked with cleaning out your home is going to uncover all of these secrets.

Now, you can say, "I'm going to be dead, so what do I care?". Fair enough. However, if you care about the people in your life, get your crap in order.

My mom invented organization. She laminated and filed everything. She made lists for her lists. When she passed, I discovered her secrets.

My paternal grandparents were Mormon and when my parents bought our townhouse, my grandparents insisted on building a food closet for them. It's in the garage and is big enough to hold a years worth of canned goods and supplies. Nice thought, but we never stored more than holiday decorations and  cans of Spaghetti-O's.

I had not been in the food closet for years, until I went in it after my mom died and discovered more Saran Wrap, Wax Paper and Ziplock Bags than my Sixty-Eight year old mother could have used in five life times. It was on every shelf, definitely bought in bulk at Costco, just incase the zombie apocalypse came and she didn't have supplies to wrap up her annual holiday sweets. My mom never touched the kitchen except from Thanksgiving thru Christmas, when she cooked the turkey's and made an addictive butterscotch nibbles. I'm dying to know why my mom felt the need for the stockpile.

I also found out that my mom had a secret affinity for anything sold by The Franklin Mint.

She had thirty unopened decks of playing cards. My mom hosted a card night maybe twice a year.

Mom didn't have anything too bizarre or shocking, but I found a stack of papers clipped together. Each was a list detailing exactly what she would do if she won the lottery or hit a big jackpot in Vegas. Initially, I thought that this was kind of sad, making plans for money that is nearly impossible to win. However, now look it more like a dream list and it was nice to know that she would have been very generous towards a lot of people and organizations. My mom had a big heart. She liked to gamble, but I know she didn't have a problem with it, so this may have been a waste of time, but it's essentially harmless daydreaming.

Yesterday, I helped a family friend clean out the apartment of her deceased daughter. I never met this person, but learned a lot about her yesterday. She was a hoarder and unfortunately, she was also into crafting and costuming, which only made the level of junk in her apartment astronomical. I was rather stunned by the spectacle and swaths of fabric hanging in every inch of available airspace.

I knew things about her, like she was an amazing singer, very vivacious and beautiful. She had many friends who loved her and although she loved children and owned a children's party company, she never had any of her own. I also learned, by finding a box while cleaning her closet, that she was a star in the adult entertainment industry. Skeletons in a box, hiding in the back of the closet. This is the sort of stuff that should be thought through when you know that your eighty-year-old mother is going to be tasked with the clean up. It was graphic. Also, this apartment was in such a mess, that it's going to take weeks to clear out, most falling on a grieving mother.

I feel that people have the right to privacy and to live their lives the way they wish. However, it's definitely something to consider that someday, people you love and who likely be very emotional over your death, with be tasked with combing through your stuff. What will they find? I can't see a stupid roll of Saran Wrap and not think of my mom hoarding it. What will they question?  What extra burdens will be on their back, due to your lack of organization?

Cleaning someone else's house fills me with the burning desire to clean my own. It's time for The Purge and those useless collectibles gathering dust are the first to go!