Still Cheering

Notre Dame's trouncing last night was tough for me to handle, tougher than my usual remorse over their losses. Last night's game ended a season that, in some small way, kept Dad alive for just a bit longer.  It was hard to watch a game this past fall without thinking about Dad and his relationship with the Irish - how he would curse their mistakes, applaud their victories and doubt the entire season if they would win the following week.  As the Saturdays wore on and their record improved, all six of us would exchange texts/calls/emails and share the many tales of Dad's love for the Irish. Sadly, this "miracle season" opened a few weeks after we lost Dad.  He didn't get to see one minute of it - not the scrape past Pitt, the goal line standoff against Stanford in overtime, Teo's run for the Heisman, a number one ranking, the build-up to the BCS Championship.

The six of us would joke on one hand that God wanted no part of Dad's foul mood when the Irish lost and lament on the other how much it pained us that Dad missed such a phenomenal season for his beloved men in gold and blue.  He would have relished seeing the Fighting Irish return to the days of glory he knew as a lad growing up in the shadow of the dome, a young student attending the university, and a proud father who spent countless Saturdays tailgating with his daughters and their roommates.  Oh how Dad would have loved to be around for this season.  And we would have loved to have him, tantrums and all!

So the Irish packed up their jerseys and put away those cherished golden helmets until they begin training in the summer.  We Artz kids packed up our memories as well.  You see, this is just another of the many chapters that will close for us.  Dad's "miracle" season is over and as much as we clung to the thought that he had something to do with Notre Dame's success, we know it was the hard work, determination, grit and drive of those young men who proudly donned those golden "domes" every Saturday.  While Dad may not have a hand in the 2013 season, it will be his nonetheless...at least as far as I'm concerned.

Go Irish!

Daddy's Girl

I was digging through the "organization" station on my desk today, hunting feverishly for a birthday card as one of the kids was running out to a party.  I always buy a stack and leave them in there because I am very far from organized.  I pulled out this card and it made me stop in my tracks - it was a card I bought for Dad two years ago on Father's Day and I just completely forgot to give it to him.  Guess I tucked it away thinking I may need it next year.  Guess not . . .

The card was perfect and it summed up our relationship as only those jokers at Hallmark can do "Dad, your love and support have carried me over the years.  You've helped me to become the person I am today."  I am keeping this card.  I am keeping it because it is such a beautiful reminder of how much my dad impacted my life.

He called me Big J and I adored the times we spent together:  going on Indian Princess camping trips, swimming in the ocean early on a Friday evening after he had arrived in Bay Head from the city, chats we had on the car ride home from high school sports practices.  I wanted to go to Notre Dame and be a lawyer, just like my father.  Life had a different path for me and Dad was always there along the way, counseling, supporting, loving.

Losing Dad, while painful and sad, is very different than losing Mom.  In some ways, Dad's death has helped me close the chapter on losing Mom.  Sounds weird, I know, but I have this erie calm about it all.  Dad and Mom really were one in the same even though they impacted my life in very distinct ways.  They were the love story of all love stories and he was lost without her.  He tried, he tried really hard, but his place was with his dear Mimi and no one could stop him.  It's not to say he didn't want to be with his children and grandkids, he just knew we were all in a good place and could move on without him.  He knew he had done his job well.  While we are all far from perfect, Dad taught us to be respectful, confident and loving adults.  He taught us how to raise our children to be the same and once he knew his work was done, he could go join Mom.  We'll slip up along the way, hit some bumps in the road, but we will always have the foundation of our Dad supporting us every step of the way.

Love you Dad . . .

Round 2

Just when you think all is quiet in the world . . .

I haven't blogged in a bit because the loss of my mom is settling into my life.  And now that I am more comfortable with that, I am stuck in the precarious position of assisting my dad through his last days.  Cancer is an amazing and somewhat awesome disease.  Just when you think you have it beat, it rears its ugly head, flips you the proverbial "bird" and takes hold.  I am really, really, really tired of this shitty disease.

Dad is undergoing his last treatment in a little over twelve hours from now and then he will begin the journey to join Mom.  I know it's what he wants and where he wants to be, but I'm selfish and I want him here.  I want to have one parent around.  I want my kids to have one grandparent to show up at the communion, confirmation, prom, graduation, wedding.  Sadly, I won't get what I want.  God only gives you what you can handle and I'm really sick of his decision that this is what I can handle.  My brothers and sisters and I deserve a break.  But we're not getting one this time.

All this crap just brings up the worst memories and images for me, for all six of us.  Once you know how tough this all is, you really don't want to revisit it.  That, unfortunately, is not an option for us now.  I guess the only light at the end of this tunnel is that Mom and Dad will be together again.  He is pretty lost without her, so it's about time she came to get him.  I just wish she would wait a bit longer.

Memories

Two years ago tonight, I was going about my business of cleaning up the kitchen, putting the kids to bed, folding laundry.  I had this huge weight hanging over my head, the fact that my mom was dying, but this night two years ago I forgot about all that and got lost in the simplicity of my weeknight routine.  All of that was shot to hell when I got "THE" call - the call that I had been anticipating for about two weeks, the call that put me on edge every time the phone rang, the call that I finally figured wasn't going to happen on this mundane weeknight.  Then it did.

It was 12:30am, June 3, 2010.  I shot out of bed and said, "Oh shit."  I knew what a call at this time meant and I was completely caught off guard.  That's the funny thing about waiting for someone to die.  You think you are totally prepared, you get tired of waiting and then the shoe drops catching you by surprise.  I got the call.  I got in the car.  I drove like a bat out of hell.

I remember exactly what I was wearing.  I remember hitting every green light in my path.  I remember the gas gauge reading "72 Miles to Empty" when I left Ridgewood and somehow I managed to make the over 90 mile drive without running out of gas.  I remember walking into Mom and Dad's house and every light was on, but no one was downstairs.  I remember walking into their bedroom and I remember every detail of watching my mother die.  I really wish I could let that memory go.

The one thing I will say about my Mom's untimely departure from this earth is that she fought like hell not to leave while anyone was watching.  Mimi was so damn proud, she couldn't even die with us in the room.  The hospice nurse was amazing and gave Mom so many drugs it would have put a thoroughbred down four times over.  Mom would have none of it.  It wasn't until she was restful and quiet and we left her alone that she would finally let go.  She just didn't want to do it while we were in the room.  I am really glad she handled it that way.

I have said before that I am very thankful I could be there when Mom finally left, and I truly am.  But the part of it all that haunts me so much is coming to the realization of how sick she really was.  Mom powered through the last six months of her life putting on a brave face and enduring more pain than I can ever imagine.  She didn't want anyone to feel sorry for her, dote on her or worry about her.  She was always like that - putting everyone else first, to the detriment of her own health sometimes.  She was the consummate caregiver and until the very end, she never gave us a reason to care for her.  I just wish we had known how bad it was before it got so bad.  I wish she would have let us comfort her the way she comforted us.  I just really wish she was still here.

I am left with a lot of memories of my mom, the most harrowing of which is her last hours with us.  I am also left with three great kids who hold on to their own memories of Mimi, and bring them up at the most random and perfect times.  I am blessed that my children have these memories and they fight to keep them alive.  Although my last memory of Mom is not my best, it is a memory nonetheless and it reminds me of what a strong, gracious and tough woman Mimi was.

Love you Mom.

Being Mimi

The week leading up to Mother's Day is very challenging for me.  On one hand, I relish being a mom and getting showered with all the homemade gifts the kids make each year.  On the other hand, there are constant reminders of the fact that I no longer have a mom.  It seems as if every writer who has lost his or her mom publishes a piece about how painful this time of year can be, and somehow I end up reading every single one.  This week, I came upon an article written by a woman who lost her mom and her struggle to cope with the fact that she and her mom shared many characteristics.  She came to the resolution that instead of mourning her mother each Mother's Day, she was going to celebrate the fact that her mom lives on IN her.  I like this one, I really like this one.

Mom and I were very alike, and very different.  We shared the same smile, the same voice and the same penchant to have a good time (I strive every day to have as much fun as Mimi!).  Mimi was an extremely patient driver; I have critical heart palpitations every time I get on the Parkway and engage in some nasty road rage in my own neighborhood.  Mimi was an excellent seamstress; I shamelessly have the dry cleaner sew on buttons and fix hems.  Mimi always put everyone else first; I like to claim the inside post and make sure no one gets in my way.  Mimi could turn the worst situation into a positive one, making "lemonade" out of whatever "lemons" were thrown her way; I like to take the lemons, squeeze the life out of them and complain the entire time.

I no longer have a mother, but that is just part of who I am.  Not a part that I relish or enjoy, but a part nonetheless.  I cannot change what God decided for me, but I guess I can change how I view his choice.  It's a crappy one, albeit, but apparently he had his reasons, or she.  Reality is reality, and reality sucks.  That said, I decided this Mother's Day to quietly celebrate the fact that Mom lives on in me, and Regan, and Jack, and Thomas . . .and her other nine grandchildren.  I decided that I should be a bit more like her (more patient, more kind, more forgiving) and maybe a bit less like me.  She was the example I had for being a mother and I think she did a fairly good job.

So this Mother's Day I am a mother and a daughter, and even though I don't have a mother here with me to celebrate, I am celebrating the fact that she is hear IN me.  I love you Mom!  Happy Mother's Day.

Lemon Squares

Crust:
2 cups flour
2 sticks butter
1/2 cup confectioner's sugar

Topping:
2 cups sugar
4 eggs
2 tsp baking powder
4 Tbsp flour
4 Tbsp lemon juice

Preheat oven to 350.  Mix crust ingredients together and press into a 9x13 pan.  Bake for 15 minutes.  Mix all other ingredients together and pour over crust.  Bake for 25 minutes.  Sprinkle with confectioner's sugar.

Scars

I haven't blogged in several months, largely because the fact that Mom is gone has become a part of my daily life.  It's just something that I accept, something that is and something I cannot change. The saying goes, "time heals all" but I think that is a bunch of crap. Time just makes it slightly less painful.  There really is no healing.

I had a moment tonight.  One of those great motherly moments with my amazing daughter.  She came down to the kitchen, sat at the island and finished her homework.  Lately these days, Regan has taken to her room like it is a full-service suite at the Ritz.  She goes up there and never comes down.  I actually ventured up to the third floor this morning to check out "the-cleaning-lady-is-coming-so-clean-up-your-room" progress and I was totally disgusted.  Diet Coke cans, half-eaten bags of SmartFood, and dirty laundry piled high.  The advantage of moving her to the third-floor was that I don't have to see this shit every day.  The disadvantage is that raccoons could easily live off her trash.  God bless the cleaning lady!

Anyway, Regan has blown us away this year.  She started at a private school in the fall and the work load has been insane, but that has not phased her one bit.  She works her tail off in the classroom and on the sports field, coming home at 6:30 most evenings, grabbing some bit of dinner and heading to her room to plug away at her homework, oftentimes not hitting the sack until well after midnight. Which basically means that we don't really see her Monday through Thursday.  Tonight, however, was one of those rare moments when she wanted to be seen.  And I relished every minute.

We chatted about the boys, the friends, the school, life in general for a seventh grader.  She was funny, witty and more mature than I could ever imagine.  She jokingly tossed me the worksheet, diagrams included, from her health class where they are discussing all the topics that parents fear most and then rolled on the floor laughing when I glanced at it and squealed in disgust.  Yes, I am the 42-year old who birthed three children but I really don't want to go over that with my 12-year old daughter.

All-in-all, it was just 40 minutes of pure motherly bliss.  And there is no one, not a single person in this world, who would have enjoyed my euphoria more than Mimi.  But, she's not here.  So when Regan bounded out of the kitchen, with her lacrosse uniform still on, school books and laptop tucked under her arm, I was left here at the kitchen island all by myself.  As much as I would have loved to call Mimi to tell her about this moment, because I know she would have understood exactly how I felt, I couldn't.  She's gone.  And while the wound has healed, the scar remains.  It always will.

I guess the upside is the scars remind us that we have to move on, but we don't need to forget.

Family Ties

I love Christmas.  I really do.  And I love it more year after year.  I love watching my children embrace certain aspects of the holiday. I love making new traditions with our family and friends. And I just love celebrating all the things that are good, and special and monumental in my family.

I am blessed, so crazily blessed it scares me sometimes.  I have this really cool husband who works his tail off (but he does love his job so it's not too much work) to give his family a really great life full of wonderful experiences and moments.  He is, by far, the most generous person I have ever met and he is the master of picking out gifts.  I think he loves Christmas more than I do, and I know nothing gives him more pleasure than to see the joy on someones face when they open the gift he selected for them.  Although he may not like it, he's a lot like my mom.  Always thinking about others, thinking about the expression when they open that special gift, the joy of the holiday.

Don't get me wrong.  Two more different people you could not find.  Mimi and Pete clashed quite frequently over the years.  But they clashed for the exact same reason - loving me.  Mom wanted the best for me and so did Pete.  He went about it in a way that didn't quite fit Mom's formula, but he did it all the same and he did it his way.  Pete has provided for me and our three beautiful children an amazing life.  Mom didn't quite get that at the outset.  He was a trader, unconventional in his mode of providing.  He went back to business school with an 11-month and a nagging wife (yep, that's me).  But he did, and he kicked ass along the way.  And, he provided for our kids an outstanding example of work ethic and ambition, which I know they will embody as they embark on their own careers.

Mom was hard on Pete, really hard.  I am the oldest, first married, first to have a grandchild - blah, blah, blah.  And Mom fulfilled the role of the stoic, hard-ass, Irish mother-in-law.  She did not cut him one damn break.  But in her last few days, she told me how proud she was of the family we had and the life we had built.  She told me she did not need to worry about me and Pete.  I knew it was in there, she just liked to give him a hard time.

But here's the twist - I'm not so sure Pete would have had it any other way.  He always loved the challenge and Mom sure provided one for him.  Hell, he could have given her the Canary Diamond and she would have some snarky comment about how it didn't match her earrings.  But, I know they loved each other.  I know they respected each other.  And I know this because I am the one thing they had in common.  Kind of a special gift to each of them, huh?

Melting Moments (World's Most Tedious Holiday Cookies)

Cookie:
2 cups flour
3/4 cup butter
1/4 cup butter flavored Crisco
2 Tbsp powdered sugar
1/2 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1 tsp lemon juice
1 tsp almond extract

Filling:
1 cup powdered sugar
1 Tbsp butter
dash vanilla extract
milk added a little at a time until right consistency

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix all ingredients for cookies together to form dough.  Refrigerate to make dough easier to work with.  Roll into small 1/2" balls, flatten with fork and bake for 10 minutes.

Mix all ingredients for filling and sandwich between cookies.  You can add food coloring to the filling if you like.