Remembering Ann on Mother's Day

Every year I re-post this piece I wrote on the 28th anniversary of my mom's passing. It's not to bring down anybody, or dampen the spirit of the day. It's to give a snapshot of my mom, and it can't help but being one of the more powerful ones I have.

For me, every day is Mother's Day. She's always on my mind, even more so this year since her birthday was this past Sunday.

Here's the thing - love 'em while you got 'em and let them know. There's no doubt they'll frustrate you like nobody else. But they're the biggest fans and the best friends you'll ever have.

And I'd have given everything to have had brunch with my best friend and biggest fan today. Or any day.

Happy Mother's Day to all the moms. We never say it enough, but we love you to the moon and back.

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'd 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.