One Down . . .

So the first year has come, and gone.  Twelve months without Mom.  One year of "firsts" without Mom.  No more, "this is the first birthday without Mom".  No more, "once the first year is over . . ."   That's it.  It's done.  And you know what?  I made it.

A year ago, I really didn't know what was going on.  I, unfortunately, had the surreal experience of watching my mom die.  Watching the woman who brought six children into this world, cared for her dying mother and sister, managed friendships and relationships with ease - watching this woman fight for every last breath when her body was nothing but a shell.  I don't talk about those last hours all that much and I'm very thankful that I could be there, but I'm also very pissed off.  I just can't, and never have been able to, get my head around the fact that a woman who did so much for others was made to leave this world in such a cruel way.  And a year later, that hasn't changed.  I have made it through the first year without Mom, but it made me realize that there may be at least 20, maybe 30, more years of my life without my mom.  And that just pisses me off.

I began the anniversary of Mom's death rushing out of the house to catch a flight to my 20th college reunion.  And I ended the anniversary of Mom's death, laughing and crying with my dearest girlfriends - we were gathered in this old dive bar we used to frequent in college and the song "Dancing Queen" by ABBA came on.  I lost it.  Could have been the handful of vodka tonics I had but I'd like to think it was pure sentimentality at the playing of that song (one that Mom and her gang loved and we all played at our weddings).  The first notes came blaring out of the speakers in this bar and my best friend pulled me to her shoulder while another grabbed my hand, and I completely lost it.  Sobbed like a little baby while "Dancing Queen" played and all these drunken alums danced around us. Someone handed me a napkin to wipe away my tears and very little words were exchanged.

There, in that very moment, Mom was present.  She was present because she was the type of person who would have handed me the napkin, pulled me to her shoulder and grabbed my hand.  She was the type of person who would not have to say anything to make those around her feel better - she just did.  And in all of my anger and self-pity and sorrow and mourning, somehow I have managed to keep those friends in my life.  Mom has made sure that they have not left me, just when I needed them most.

I've been a pretty crummy friend, and a pretty lousy wife, and not such a great mom myself this past year.  I've taken these twelve months and I've suppressed my anger and sorrow, and that's made me not such a great person to be around.  However, sitting there in this crappy bar crying huge tears of sadness, I realized that the first year is over.  And I made it.

To all of you who have put up with me this past year, thank you very much.  Mom thanks you too.

Blueberry Muffins
(I have no relevance here other than the kids and Pete deserve something a little special for breakfast tomorrow)
1/2 C margarine or butter
2 C flour
1 C sugar
2 eggs
1/2 C milk
2 tsp baking powder
1/2 tsp salt
1 tsp vanilla
2 1/2 C blueberries
2 tsp sugar for top

Preheat oven to 375.

Cream butter and sugar together.  Add eggs one at a time, mixing well.  Combine flour, baking powder and salt.  Add alternately to creamed mixture with milk and vanilla.  Mash 1/2 C blueberries with a fork and add to batter, mixing well.  Fold in the rest of the blueberries.  Pour into greased muffin tins.  Sprinkle with sugar and bake for 30 minutes. Let cool for 15 minutes before removing from pan.