Mom cooking Vienna sausages and baked beans on a Coleman stove at our Pirateland campsite. The entire family decorating the house for Christmas. The two of us racing up the hill after hanging out the laundry. Giving her a hug after my grandmother made her cry. Taking my brother and I on summer excursions to K-Mart for Icees. Simple things like her reading to me before bed.
Now my fevered mind is the lone repository of all the ephemeral memories that define the Lou that I knew, decades worth of simple but meaningful experiences and moments. But I remembered my Mom, a very specific woman with whom I had my own unique relationship. Thankfully, I was lucky enough to be at her side when she took her last breath, a surreal end to a truly surreal ordeal.Īs the weeks went by, and the initial shock of her loss waned a bit, I came to realize that the most surreal thing about no longer having Mom in my life was that I was now the only one who remembered her. Almost in slow motion, I watched a vibrant, funny, talented woman fade away right in front of my eyes. Mom was in an agonizing decline for well over twelve years due to a particularly insidious form of dementia. Her death wasn't sudden, not by a long shot. That person is Lou, my mom, who passed away five years ago this week. Actually, one person in particular has been prominent in my thoughts. This past week, I've been thinking a lot about the awesome people I've known, those incredible individuals that have brought something special to my life. Connecting with good people connects you to the world. It enriches the lives and souls of those you're with, too. Being present with another human being enriches your life and your soul. (As they'd say back in North Carolina, bless all y'all's hearts for stoppin' by for a visit.) And to me, spending time with people you enjoy, whether it's virtual or in the flesh, is pretty much the most important thing a person can do to stay mentally and emotionally healthy. However long it takes someone to read one of these missives, I consider that sharing some quality time together.
I feel lucky that I've cultivated an eager audience (made up mostly of friends and family, but hey, technically, even one person is an "audience") with whom I get a chance to share choice moments from my life and the associated music that provided the soundtrack. That thought usually flits through my mind a few days after I unleash upon the denizens of the Interwebs a new installment of this column.
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