Remembering Ann again

Yesterday was an interesting day for me. I was at my friend Al's Super Bowl party that I look forward to each year. And it was also 30 years to the day that my mom passed away. When it happened I didn't know how to get through the next minute, much less 30 years. But she wouldn't have wanted me to waste any time getting on with my life. She was good that way. Please excuse the repost if you've read it before, but one more time, this one's for mom.

It's not like me to get sloppy in my beer. Alright, who're we kidding - I'm a sap. And the fact that today is 28 years since my mom died isn't helping that any. I'm sad to say I can't remember nearly as much about my mom as I would like. 
I can still hear her laugh. Because my parents had me later in life, I can still hear her almost apologizing to me for being "an old lady." But I never saw her that way. She was my old lady. She was my mom. She was there, frightened and strong in the emergency room at Cedars when I'd been thrown forty-five feet out of a car and knocked unconscious in an accident (many people by the way are still waiting for me to regain consciousness). She was there at the graduation when I walked onstage at the Hollywood Bowl to accept my diploma (yeah, I've played the Bowl). She held me, and the bucket, after my first real experience with a little too much egg nog and bourbon.

The last meal I had with my mom was at Nibbler's on Wilshire in Beverly Hills. Coke, tuna melt, arguements. The sounds of a generation and a half older clashing with a time and world that had changed in ways they didn't completely understand, and my impatience at their lack of understanding. Not my finest moment, and probably the first one I'd go back to change. Three days later, it was my turn to be with her in Cedars emergency room. She had died three times in the ambulance, and had been brought back three times. There was severe brain damage, and ten days later she was gone. I remember going into her intensive care room (can someone really be hooked up to that many wires?), and talking to her for about an hour. Trying to make my peace. Trying to say goodbye. And then, my mother opened her eyes and looked right at me. It was the first time she'd opened her eyes in ten days. Her doctors said it was a muscle reflex, similar to a twitch. They said she wasn't really there, wasn't really seeing me. But after a lifetime with this woman who gave me my sense of humor, sensitivity, temper, and everything I ever wanted (yes, only child), I didn't really care what the doctors said. Because I knew better. Every day, especially today, I'm the one who's seeing her. Bye mom. Before you know it.