Random Memories of Mom by Denise Domian (Denise's Domain)

Random Memories of Mom (and some of Dad mixed in because you can’t think of Mom without thinking of Dad):

 

·       Hopping into the car to drop off Dad at work in my bunny suit (footed PJs).

·       Packing our one paper bag of clothes for our trip to Cape Cod.  This is the genius of my Mom knowing that there was no way 6 suitcases would fit in our station wagon.

·       The Butt Tree (ceramic centerpiece of peaches piled in a bowl. Andrew coined it the butt tree, because it looked like, well, a butt tree.)  I can still hear Mom saying, “Oh, Andrew…”

·       The scissors, tape, or Mom’s pen hunting sessions because one of us had moved them from their defined place.

·       Mom buying Tang orange juice because I didn’t like real orange juice.

·       Spying on Mom and Dad’s parties when we were young.  Why is that always so fun for kids?!

·       Staying in a seedy hotel in NY on our way to Cape Cod and thinking that we were either going to die in the creaky elevator or in our room because, well, it seemed seedy even to a kid.

·       Mom and Dad taking us to fancy restaurants and allowing us to order a Shirley Temple.  Seriously when I think about where they took us, I imagine the waiters rolling their eyes.

·       Mom and Dad walking holding hands, every time they walked together over 60 years.

·       The butterscotch cut out cookies we made each year.  I can still taste the dough.

·       Mom not telling me it was my birthday when I was in nursery school because they had plans that night.  The teacher blowing it and singing happy birthday to me at school causing me to ask Mom if it was my birthday when I got home.

·       Mom smoking with Aunt Ethel… what?!

·       Mom cutting the rug at any wedding.

·       Mom and Dad taking square dancing?! Dad wore a bolo tie and a pin which read “Big Daddy.” Mom wore one of those dresses with the flouncy layered skirts.

·       Mom and Dad slow dancing in the kitchen regularly.

·       Mom sitting in her rocking chair with a crossword and a glass of wine.

·       How much Mom and Dad loved the Cape and how much I loved going there. 

·       Going with Mom and Dad to the canal to watch the boats float down the canal.

·       Mom’s uniform of a turtleneck and cardigan.  I could never understand why Mom always wore turtlenecks even in the summer, but as an aging woman, I now know.

·       Mom stating, “Denise, I don’t know where you came from” because she didn’t understand my hair, my fashion, my love of rock climbing, etc.

·       Mom comforting me when I was sobbing uncontrollably because of a broken heart.  This happened more than once.

·       Mom wanted to get on any motorcycle:  Andrew’s, my boyfriend’s, and those at the Harley museum.  She loved making people scoff at the old lady on the motorcycle.  It fit her tough persona. 

·       Mom stroking my forehead when I was sick. 

·       The time when I was sick and I told her I thought I vomited blood and she told me I was being dramatic.  Until I fainted and they had to call the ambulance because I vomited blood.  I thought, “Ha, see, that’ll teach you to call me dramatic.”  I was a snotty teenager.  Mom felt bad. 

·       Mom patting my hand when I’d sit next to her.  Me patting Mom’s hands when I sat next to her in her room at The Glen.

·       The last time Mom rallied and became so lucid and conversational, telling Jane and I she loved us, as if she knew that was her last chance to let us know.  In fact, it was for me.

 

I’ve heard people say that when you lose both parents you feel like an orphan.  I don’t feel like an orphan.  I have so many examples, I know I was loved.  We were incredibly lucky to have them as our parents.

The Longest Hug by Andrew Domian (Andrew's Domain)

 

Cocktail hour-No kids allowed!

Since we were not able to have a formal service for our mother upon her passing, we thought it would be appropriate to share some of our favorite memories of her on what would have been her 96th birthday today. 

As my sister Denise has previously said, our mom could be fierce (in a good way), but she could also be extremely loving and caring. 

Our parents were of the very strict, old-school type and you lived by their very well-established rules. 

When we were kids, they had what was called the Cocktail Hour every evening after my dad got home from work. It was understood that they were not to be disturbed unless you had previously made an appointment to talk to them during that hour. The appointments were only to be made for major life decisions and you had to be prepared with your presentation and be ready to discuss all the pros and cons. My parents were excellent debaters. It was serious stuff!

When I was 17, I had this notion that I wanted to join the armed forces. I made my appointment with them and thoroughly presented my case and explained my reasoning.  They were initially very much against it, but eventually acquiesced because they knew I would do it as soon as I turned 18 anyway. I did inherit the stubbornness trait from my mother after all, and I wear it proudly. 

The day I was to leave for basic training in Georgia, my mom announced that she wanted to drive me to the airport herself. I was immediately worried. Growing up in a family with three other siblings made it a rare event to spend time with my mom alone. I spent a lot of time with my dad growing up, but almost never with Mom. 

On the way to the airport we stopped at a Big Boy restaurant for lunch. Another extremely rare event. In my entire life, I only ever ate out with my mom by myself three times - this was the first. The next two were not until over 30 years later when Dad was in the hospital. It wasn't that I didn't want to - it was because my mom and dad were inseparable and I never would have thought to ask to dine out with just my mom. 

Anyway, at that lunch Mom said the reason she wanted to drive me to the airport was because she wanted to spend time with me on the day I changed from a boy to a man. I think she thought that on that day I was not a boy anymore. (Truth be told, I don't think I have matured much since I was 17!) 

I must admit, it made me tear up that day - and it still does now when I think about it.

Lunch went by way too fast and I wished I had a recording of it because I know it was the first time I ever had a conversation with my mom as an adult. 

After lunch we continued to the airport and my mom gave me what I am sure is the longest hug we ever shared. Years later she told me that she cried the whole way home from the airport. 

It is one of my favorite memories of my mom and it makes me wish I had asked her to go out to eat, just ourselves, many more times than we had. 

I have learned to not miss what seem like very small opportunities because they can be the memories that mean the most later. 

My Mother's Hands by Jane Domian Cordova (Jane's Domain)

About a week after Mom died, I caught a cold. And then I gave it to Vince. (I'm good at sharing that way...!)

Whenever I've gotten sick throughout my life, I have always wanted my mom. Even in my adult life, I will utter under my breath, "I want my mommy!" Part of it was me making a "funny" as I knew Mom wouldn't run down to Columbus every time I caught a sniffle just to hand me a tissue. 

But part of it was real - because a mother's love, care and concern for her children help make it better. Always.

When I think about it, it wasn't mom's comforting words I was hearing in my head - it was her hands: her efficient nurse's palm feeling my forehead to check if I had a fever. Rubbing my temples to ease the pain. And patting my head or rubbing my back to let me know it would all be okay.

As an adult, mom would hear in my voice if I was sick during our weekly calls. Sometimes I would downplay it so she wouldn't worry. But she did anyway. And she'd call and check on me until I was better. 

The last time I remember mom comforting me was only last year. She was in truly bad shape after her second broken hip. She could no longer walk and was declining in all ways more than I ever thought my little, tough-as-nails mom would ever decline. 

It was the last time I sat with her in her apartment at Parkside Village. Usually, I met her in the dining room and fed her as her hands were no longer steady enough to hold a utensil and bring the food to her mouth. 

But that day, we went back to her room after dinner. I was sitting in my normal spot and moved her wheelchair close to me so we were facing each other. We no longer had conversations - I would just talk and she would listen. Once in a while, she made murmuring noises as if to let me know she was following along - or trying to, anyway. 

It had been a hard time for me. I was missing my mom even though she was sitting right in front of me. I was missing our conversations and our time together as we drank a glass of wine and I told her the news of the day. 

I was also sad because Vince's stepmother had recently died unexpectedly and we were trying to help his 89-year-old dad maneuver through the mourning process and the business side of handling details following a death.

And I was tired.

So as I was sitting there talking to her, I got overwhelmed and choked up. I put my head down in her lap because I didn't want to upset her by crying in front of her.

Suddenly, she pulled her hands out from underneath the blanket and started patting my head. 

Of course, that made me want to cry even harder...but I got myself under control, sat back up - and said I was okay. And I thanked her and told her I loved her. Back then, she was able to tell me she loved me, too.

It was another poignant moment that mom and I shared that I will never forget. 

But Mom's hands weren't only there for comfort. In my mind's eye, I can see her standing at the stove stirring a pot preparing dinner for her four children and her husband. I see her squinting at the needle in her hand trying to thread it to fix a tear or a hole in our clothes to eke out a few more months of wear. 

And I see her doing laundry and folding clothes in that efficient, no-nonsense manner that told me it was a task she didn't particularly care to do but knew it had to be done. We had no Laundry Fairies that would handle those tasks. Well, that is, until the four of us kids were old enough to help.

But let me tell you about mom's hands. Her fingers were bent and her knuckles were enlarged from the arthritis that plagued them. From the time I was young, I remember her beseeching anyone nearby to open a jar or use the can opener to open the dreaded can of peas or peaches for dinner. (It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned that fruits and vegetables weren't supposed to be mooshy!) But Mom simply didn't have the strength in her arthritic hands to perform these basic tasks.

I remember when I was in high school we had a hand-held mixer that was starting to go on the fritz. So I saw mom start mixing whatever she was making by hand. I could tell it pained her, so I asked if I could help. 

Then, as Mother's Day approached that year, I got the idea to buy her a new mixer. Dad thought it was too extravagant a gift, but I was feeling flush from all my babysitting gigs and I bought it for her anyway. (Little did I know yet that women do NOT want appliances for Mother's Day!) 

But that mixer was well-used and it was still in their kitchen cabinet when my friend Sue and I cleaned it out after Dad had passed and we were preparing to put their house on the market. 

Throughout her life, Mom would say she had ugly hands because of the arthritis and she rarely polished her fingernails with anything but clear polish. Once in a great while, she'd allow us to paint her nails a pale, pale pink - but that was about as bright as she'd go. 

Once Alzheimer's took hold of her and she moved to the memory care unit, polishing her nails became an activity we enjoyed together. 

Mom would look at my bright nail polishes - hot pinks and reds and purples - and she started asking for those vivid colors for herself. I, of course, indulged her and we'd spend a good hour making her nails look pretty. (Of course, Mom would forget what we were doing and she'd run her fingers over her clothes thus smearing her nails and we'd have to start over again!) 

This year - when COVID-19 caused the world to shut down and we could only visit mom outside from six feet away - I rarely saw her hands as they were hidden underneath a blanket. Mom was always cold, even if it was 85 degrees outside! 

But the last image I have of mom's hands was the weekend she died. I was finally able to see her in her room; something I hadn't been able to do for over seven months. Mom was on oxygen and I knew her time was near. I picked up her hand - now bereft of any polish whatsoever - and I held it. I talked to her and told her how much we all loved her. I said that she had been able to see all four of her children only the week before.  I told her it was okay for her to leave - that we'd be okay. And I prayed out loud while holding the hand that had comforted me my whole life. 

Those tiny arthritic hands were the most powerful hands I will ever know. But I know my brothers and sister and I benefited from them. And I will be forever grateful for their remembered touch. 

Jane Domian Cordova

Jane's Domain

10-23-2020