Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Happy Birthday, Mom... You Still Make Me Laugh

By Kelly Sinon

 Throughout the day, I reminded myself that it was my mother’s birthday. She would have been 66, today.      One of her deepest wishes was to never age. Not that she was someone who was terrified of losing her looks, really. Not any more than anyone else, but because she didn’t want what happens to people when they age; the invisibility.  Although, anyone who knew my mother, knew that there was absolutely no chance of her ever becoming invisible, with her nasal, perpetually allergy-laced, Brooklyn accent and her contagious Drescher-esque laugh, accompanied by snorts.
 Mom stopped aging at 56 years old, in her happy prime of life. Retired, with her husband and beloved Scottish Terriers, she was free to travel to all the dog shows she wanted in their RV. While driving home from one of their many shows, their RV had a blowout, which caused it to overturn and catch fire. A tragic accident that changed our family forever.
 In the ten years since, I’ve come a long way in the grief process. It was so sudden, that when my husband, who’d gotten the phone call earlier in the day, broke the news to me on my arrival home from a shopping trip, I was appalled that he could lie to me in such a disgusting way.  I wrestled with the guilt that we hadn’t spoken in a few months.  I still do. But I remind myself that she knows, and any wrong between us has been made right by the forgiveness that death can bring for people who truly loved each other beyond condition.
It seemed for a month straight, I cried.
 I cried, as I asked my husband in all sincerity and fear, “Will I ever stop crying?”
 I cried in line in the supermarket, for a reason I still don’t know.
 I cried in the middle of my kitchen with my young children unsure of what to say or do to make it stop.
 I cried the second my eyes opened in the morning.
 But little by little, with encouraging friends and family, the tears stopped and the stories began.
 The time Mom didn’t believe there was a bat in the house, until its whirring wings woke her at 2 a.m. and she and my sister tried to usher it out of every open door we had while I giggled maniacally from my post under the dining room table. 
 Mom’s fearlessness in taking her girls all over the west coast and Canada in a ‘60s era camper without a toilet, which in itself displays amazing courage, to compete in dog shows and introduce us to the land of “colorful money” and metrics none of us could decipher.
 Her quickness to defend her children from harm or mistaken identity, as was the case when my botched haircut at her scissor-wielding hands resulted in the butcher telling my sister to "take care of her little brother."
"How can you think this adorable little girl is a boy?" Grabbing my wrist, she stalked away muttering about how dare he think such a thing. Even though I think in her heart of hearts, she knew it was not a difficult conclusion to jump to. 
 Her talent as a story teller, writer, and painter, her wit and wisdom are remembered still. She was quick to laugh. Usually at me, which infuriated my sister because it seemed I could get out of almost any punishment. But my sister was entrusted with Mom’s respect for her capable nature and brand of fearlessness, herself.
She’s with me when I catch myself snorting when I laugh, or when I’m excited and talking fast, my husband will call me on my “Brooklyn accent.” She’s also with me when I say things like, “Enough a’ready” or standing on a soapbox to get my point across, since she did pass on the gift of gab and her opinionated nature.

Happy birthday, Mom. To me, you will always be forever young, beautiful and unforgettable.