Remember the Green Chair

I have been meaning to blog for months, but just haven't been able to execute it. There is so much to say, and I wonder what's worthy of sharing, what's fleeting, what's too much?

There have been natural cycles of good and bad days. As time goes on, the nature of our missing her changes and takes on new meaning. Where initially there were times we purely forgot, and would dial her number only to find it disconnected, we're now inundated with unmeasurable sadness with the loss of knowing we can't talk away two hours with her. I could have never anticipated how difficult Mother's Day was going to be. The week leading up to Sunday, I was constantly cleaning my email in box of "Buy Mom a New (Choose Your Material Good Here)," and couldn't figure out why I'd burst in to tears over the littlest thing, couldn't sleep, ate a steady diet of cheese and chocolate, and just could not seem to get a grip. What seemed obvious to everyone around me, was that of course I was a wreck. The world was reminding me constantly that I don't have a mother to celebrate, in the traditional way at least.

I spent the weekend celebrating my dear friend Maura's wedding. My mother loved Maura. It was just a few months after we graduated college that Maura lost her father. In a way, it was the safest place I could have dreamed to be. Surrounded by friends, celebrating someone my mother knew and loved, who understood, survived, and was creating her new family. I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

I spent Mother's Day evening at a small burger joint in Boston with Matthew, pouring tears in to my my cheeseburger and onion rings (two of her faves), reminiscing about the mother's days past, and how truly wonderful they were. I realized I wasn't upset because I didn't have a mother to celebrate, I was upset because I'd had the most wonderful mother ever, and had celebrated like crazy with her- I just missed her.

Then it was a week of recovery before Gwennie and I ventured to our aunt and uncle's basement in Canton, CT, for what we fondly refer to as "Remember the Green Chair 2010." After my paternal grandmother died, my father, aunt, and myself flew to Virginia to clean out her things. I was a sophomore in college, still a bit shell-shocked, and handed a box of sticky dots and told to put one on anything I wanted. Needless to say, I wanted EVERYTHING. What I didn't realize, was what I wanted was my grandmother. Instead I ended up with a huge storage space jam-packed full of old lady (sorry Piggy) furniture. When my dad and I went to clean out this unit, he slid the door up, and there, staring us in the face, was the green chair. Leather, shiny, monster, which held my grandfather for years before I existed. I looked triumphantly at my father as if to say, "aren't I the most considerate daughter you ever dreamed of for keeping your beloved father's green chair for you?" But I barely had time to gloat as I realized my father was lugging said chair straight towards the dumpster.

I learned the most important lesson to date that day, one which has served me every day of my life: people are not the things they leave behind.

So, when any debate came whether to keep a certain item of my mother's, Gwennie and I would get dad and speaker and he'd say, "remember the green chair." And we'd remember the green chair. It added much needed humor to a task which could have been painfully depressing. But oh, what she saved...

Gwennie's baptismal candle?
My teeth?
The manual to my graphing calculator from 1995?
A VHS of Bill Cosby stand up?

The Canton Town Dump is in for a rude awakening. We did however, relish going through baby clothes, pictures, cards, etc. But because enough time had gone by, and we remembered the green chair, we were able to separate all her keepsakes from her, and know what was worth holding on to, and what was not.

Gwennie and I unwound after the mass exodus with tuscan salads at Maximia and a soft serve from Carvel for dessert: two standards whenever we were home visiting Mom. We talked about how we missed her and when, and how as much as we know we can figure things out for ourselves, we still wish she was around to act as our sounding board. For as different as Gwennie and I are, we both agreed that she was hands down, the least judgemental, most accepting, impressively patient mother, two children could have ever asked for. For all the things she may have struggled with in her own life, big or small, she was always able to be so objective and walk along side us in our personal journeys, but never tell us where to go.

So speaking of journeys, Gwennie and I are managing quite nicely on ours if I do say so myself. Gwennie's gotten in to every college she applied to for the fall, but is still waiting to hear from UCONN, which has turned out to be her first choice. She toyed with Boston, Austin, California, North Carolina, all for good and different reasons, but when the smoke cleared, she realized that at this point, the idea of completely uprooting and starting over sounds way to overwhelming. Connecticut, although not where she wants to spend the rest of her life, is still home to her.

I am back in school full time, working part time. I presented my master's research work last week, which has been a two-plus year long endeavor for me. I am officially, one year from Monica Talbot, MSN

Thank you for keeping us in your hearts and thoughts. We enjoy the check-ins and shout outs, although even now the effort to respond to all of them is overwhelming, they do not go unappreciated. Spring and sprung around here, and we're looking forward to fresh beginnings.



Still River Cafe, Mother's Day 2009