The Mother I Have Become

As I looked through the drawers, packed tightly with odds and ends, I came across buttons, spools of thread, pins, jewelry, notepads, envelopes, and a hodgepodge of other things. My school ties were a mandatory part of my Catholic grammar school uniform many years before. Many things I hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps, fifteen or twenty. I remembered them as soon as I saw them. They had been relegated into my long-term memory many years ago when I spent countless hours rummaging through my grandmother’s things.

Today was a different type of rummaging through. My mother and I were looking for a broach to put on my grandmother to complete her outfit for her wake and funeral. Getting my pickiness in jewelry from her, I knew we had to find just the right one.

My grandmother was my main care provider during my early childhood years while my mother worked. She had a huge hand in the type of woman and mother I have become.

Her and I were kindred spirits, and we shared the same philosophies on most things. It was no surprise when she chose me as her healthcare proxy.

My perspective as a mother and a midwife really helped me in making her end of life decisions when she was unable to. Death is so much like birth. Protecting her dignity, as I have for so many pregnant women, was of the utmost importance. I’m not sure how I would have handled this before Luna was born. She has been bright spot in a dark tunnel for myself, my mother, and my family. New life has that affect on families. I didn’t know that until now.

On the morning that we paid our last respects to her, Luna wore a white beret in her honor. Berets were her favorite hat, and she wore them often. I stood in front of her casket with Luna in my arms. I whispered to her that I would love her until I took my last breath, and I promised her that Luna would know everything about her.

I stayed behind after everyone left to watch as the men closed her coffin.

At the funeral mass, I performed her eulogy. Encompassing thirty years of love and friendship into a small speech is a difficult task. Here it is:

I remember Marie Theresa Ahearn.

I remember “the grandmotha.”

I remember berets.

I remember her teaching me to be kind.

I remember hanging out with her and my mother’s Christmas cookies in the kitchen.

I remember in the kitchen her making the Bopper dance. On a regular basis.

I remember her allowing me to throw snowballs at a moving car, and saying “Let’s go” as the car stopped and the lady got out of the car screaming.

I remember trying on her wedding dress more than once and imagining how beautiful she was when she wore it.

I remember Grey Gardens.

I remember so many stories about “the twins.”

I remember her dressing up as a witch on Halloween and scaring the kids from her balcony.

I remember her sharing the most intimate details of her life with me.

I remember her letting me stay home from school because I didn’t want to get picked on.

I remember feeling the greatest joy of my life seeing her hold Luna for the first time.

I remember her wearing my clothes.

I remember wearing her clothes.

I remember when she taught me solitaire. And told me it was okay to cheat.

I remember how much she loved Frank Sinatra.

I remember Estée Lauder everything.

I remember English Muffin pizzas.

I remember her always trying to get the dirt from me about her grandsons.

I remember the sheer joy in her voice when I delivered my first set of twins.

I remember playing beauty parlor.

I remember when she came marching into the deli next door to the salon with a hair dye soaked head because I was taking too long to pay.

I remember her way of threatening us was, “I’ll put you over my knee!”

I remember how much Aunt Jessica’s attention to detail meant to her.

I remember when the doctor at the hospital gave her a bag of butterscotch candy, and her saying, “Patrice, would you give her fifty dollars?!” and then reminding her that you don’t tip your medical staff.

I remember white vinegar.

I remember talking about her end of life wishes and as hard as it was, making sure they were carried out.

I remember how much she worried about Larry before he went on his climbing trip.

I remember not to run with scissors.

I remember her brown K-car.

I remember Muffin & Tasha.

I remember her telling me about what a great job Aunt Mima did untangling the bopper’s fur, dying her hair, and doing her nails.

I remember when she was annoyed raising her fist & saying, “un-gawda!”

I remember that she gave Thomas Conte new shoelaces.

I remember her plants.

I remember how she would take a tomato from the garden and bite it like an apple.

I remember every time I called her on the phone and her saying, “Hey, sugarcake!”

I remember our lunches at The Plaza.

I remember Chanel no. 5.

When I told her I was pregnant, she said, “Get out of here!” and cried.

I remember how much she loved that I designed my wedding dress.

I remember how she supported me through every phase, every job idea, every weird clothing choice.

I remember sliced Italian bread with melted American cheese on top.

I remember dress up.

I remember trips to the Metropolitan Museum. Our favorite was the Aster Court.

I remember Central Park trips.

I remember all the scribblings on napkins, notepads, & envelopes.

I remember showering upstairs every school night.

I remember when we didn’t always agree.

I remember when she told me she didn’t want to live anymore.

I remember sick days and watching the Price is Right in her Craftmatic bed.

I remember whole wheat bread with peanut butter.

I remember when she cat-sat Buk and he broke her coffee pot.

I remember being picked up from school everyday with a smile and a hug.

I remember her letting me bring basins of snow into the house to play with.

I remember exercises.

I remember her devastation when she heard about the death of her brother Charlie.

I remember night swimming & her jumping in the pool fully dressed, just to make me laugh.

I remember sleepovers & 3 a.m. “fruit parties.”

I remember already picking up the phone to call her, and realizing I’d never hear her voice again.

I remember house hunting.

I remember playing in the wine cellar on Paulding.

I remember roller skating.

I remember her calling my dad to tell him anytime there was something on TV she thought he would like to see.

I remember Charlie Rose.

I remember her insisting on buying me every special dress for all the major occasions in my life.

I remember her shoe collection.

I remember her throwing me “huggies” and “kissies.”

I remember her calling me “Chicken.” That’s what I call my daughter now.

I remember the way she stroked my hair.

When I’d arrive at Haight Avenue, I remember her opening the door and saying, “Danielle-come up when you have a minute.”

I remember being told not to run with gum in my mouth.

I remember when she met LD for the first time, coincidentally on her birthday. The best gift she ever got, she said.

I remember when she went to Europe by herself & thinking how amazing that was.

I remember when we almost lost her in 2008, and being grateful for everyday after that.

I remember when I told her it was okay to die & that we would hurt, but we would pull through it together.

I remember her always giving Nicky jobs to do.

I remember dancing around together to classical music.

I remember her allowing me to use her Mercedes, which we called “The Roadster”– it’s still my favorite car.

I remember our conversation when I talked to her the first time after I gave birth to Luna.

I remember the sinking sensation in my heart when I saw the hospital calling my cellphone to tell me she had died.

I remember her loving me every day of my life.

I remember telling her that Luna would hear every story, and be raised the way she raised me.

I remember her being so proud of the young man Chris was turning out to be.

I remember the day I lost my best friend.

I remember in the hospital promising her that I of our family, especially Grandpa, Patrice, Larry, in the hospital and Jackie. I promised to carry on her traditions, keep our family together, enjoy every birthday and holiday a little bit extra for her, and raise my daughter in her likeness.

I remember when she came to me in a dream last night, the first dream I’ve had about her in the two weeks since this all happened, and upon waking up, I felt heartbroken when I realized that it was only a dream, and that she was actually gone. But during the dream, we were happy. We were sitting at my dining room table, talking, and she said, “Yeah, it’s fine, do that. I think that’s what you should do.”

We finally chose her butterfly broach. The broach is sitting on my fireplace mantle, since she was cremated. My subconscious has left it there, as if she forgot it and will just get it back from me on her next visit.

I don’t think it was a coincidence that my grandmother slipped out of my life on Halloween, my favorite day of the year. I lost my favorite person on my favorite day.

Every year, I will have no choice but to celebrate the life of the woman who has made me, me.