Rice Krispies Treats.

My wife and I made Rice Krispies Treats last weekend. Throughout the process, I thought of Mom. I can't remember any specific time that Mom and I made them, but I also never made them with anyone else. They were always one of my favorite treats when I was a kid, and I loved the first few days after we made them and they were still gooey and soft. 

This most recent batch was a dud. They turned into a block of concrete within a couple hours. The internet tells me we probably did three things wrong. First, I pressed them too hard when I was putting them into the pan. Really you just want to let the mixture find its own way and shape. Second, not enough marshmallows and butter. Third, marshmallows were probably too old. 

I want to make the Rice Krispies Treats again. I want to see if I can make them the way they turned out when Mom was the head chef. But I know that no matter how they turn out, they'll always make me miss Mom. 

This Was a Big One.

Today is Mom's 70th birthday. I wonder what we would have done to celebrate her birthday if she were still here. My parents have always gone out of their way to make my birthdays special, but we've never had a big blow-out party for either of them. I remember some large gatherings at our home for my parents' 50th birthdays, but nothing beyond that. For my 30th birthday, my parents (with Mom taking the lead) put together a huge surprise party at a fancy restaurant for me. They invited people from all parts of my life to come out and celebrate my 30 years of life. Designed invitations and place mats, debate over what the entrees and appetizers would be... Mom did it even though it wasn't easy for her given her health. And then, she wasn't even able to make it out because she had fallen and injured her tailbone. For all the work she had put into making my birthday special, she was stuck at home in a hospital bed, unable to see me enjoy the celebration she had put together for me.

I've never had a hard time remembering the date my parents were born, but I sometimes have forgotten to keep track of the days so that I actually remember their birthday when it matters. I feel sick about that. This year, I had thought to myself for a while about my mom's birthday, which falls just a few days after my wedding anniversary and a few weeks after my wife's birthday. I thought about what it would be like on her birthday, and how this would be her first birthday not here. And yet, despite those thoughts, somehow the days managed to slip past me and suddenly my dad was mentioning on a call that he would be heading to the cemetery to see Mom on her birthday. I couldn't believe I hadn't remembered today sooner.

If Mom were here today, I'd like to think that I would have been stressed out for the past month planning something for her birthday.  I'd be in Michigan today, flown in to be a part of a big birthday party that we were throwing for her. It would be at a fancy restaurant, and there would be fancy invitations, custom place mats, and debate about entrees and appetizers. I'd wear a suit, the same one I got married in, and I'd have bought Mom a gift that I hope would have brought a giant smile to her face. The evening would dwindle, the guests would slowly thin out, and we'd take Mom home to get some rest. And that night, after the excited had worn down, and from that day on, Mom would be able to cherish the memory of our outward expression of how much she meant to us.

Mom's Note To Son At Death.

When Dad was going through Mom's personal files, he found a photocopy of a poem from a book. I don't know why Mom made a copy of this, it may have brought her comfort when she missed her mother; it might have been something she wanted to give to me some day when she thought her time was up. 

I want to live life to its fullest, so that Mom never thinks she held me back. But it is not easy. Sometimes the only place I find comfort is wrapped in the loneliness that comes with thinking about Mom.

The Scar.

I have a scar on my chest. The remnant of an in-grown hair that I dug out.  Years ago, when I first noticed it, it felt like an inconvenience, but I knew if I waited long enough it would disappear. Years have passed, and I've realized that it is a part of me. If it does go away, it will probably take years to do so.

At some point, Mom started falling. She had episodes where she would freeze, her strength would vanish, and she'd crash into the floor. If she got hurt, it meant a trip to the hospital and often an extended stay in a rehab facility. At-home occupational or physical therapy would follow. It was hard work for Mom, but when it started she would tell me how she knew that she would work through this time and she would get better and have the life she was used to living. But the cycle stretched on for years, and it started to feel as if there would never be a return to normalcy. When it started to become difficult to get Mom motivated to exercise, I asked her why she didn't do it. She told me she was depressed and feeling sorry for herself because she knew that exercising wouldn't make her better, it would only slow down her deterioration.  What had seemed to be temporary had slowly crept over her and taken over her life.

When I think about Mom, the helplessness that creeps in can be suffocating. At the same time, I have a feeling in the back of my head that this will all go away one day and life will go back to normal. I'll come home for Christmas and Mom will be there, brimming with joy to see me. We'll open presents, and maybe I'll have gotten her something that brings tears of joy to her eyes. It feels like if I wait a little while longer, my life will find its way back. 

Burned or Tanned?

Last week I was in Austria, cruising down the Danube river with my wife and a some of my best friends. The sun was punishing us and after almost two hour in it, I had an angry looking sunburn down my shirt collar. But it wasn't a painful burn, and it wasn't long before it had shifted into a light tan. 

My mom's skin burned so easily that she couldn't go out in the midday sun. She wore a hat everywhere she went during the summer. When she was a little girl, she had gotten so sunburned that she had to lie in bed all day on top of the sheets and couldn't move an inch.

Mom's Scandinavian skin sometimes made life difficult for her. She joked that she had married my dad so that I would be able to go outside and enjoy the sun. Though it was a joke, she also knew what a difference it would make for me to have darker skin than her. It means I can enjoy a leisurely cruise down the Danube without worrying about the rest of my vacation being ruined. 

When I do get burned, I think of Mom. I think of her relationship to the sun, and how her marrying Dad let me have a better one. 

The Long Phone Call.

Not long after my wife and I moved into our new apartment, we figured out that we would need to make a copy of our keys to lend out to people who visited us. Annie was out of town one weekend, and I decided to walk to the closest locksmith. Knowing that I would be walking for a little while, I decided to take the opportunity to give my parents a call. My mom picked up after a few rings, and we chatted during my walk. 

Our habit at that time was to spend about five minutes talking about what we had done during the day. For me, it was almost always that I had worked a long day. Mom had usually done some housework and perhaps had a hair or doctor appointment. After some words of encouragement between each other, Mom would hand the phone to my dad.

Today though, Dad was out running errands. At the point our conversation would normally be running out of steam, Mom keep breathing it full of new life. I had arrived at the locksmith, but I sensed that I needed to stay on the phone. For some reason, Mom didn't want to hang up, and I was going to stay on as long as she wanted. I wandered in and out of a row of bikes as we talked. The call stretched past an hour. Finally the conversation wound itself down. We hung up, both of us acting as if this had been like any other call.

I don't know why our conversations normally lasted 5 minutes and why this one lasted over an hour. I don't remember anything that we talked about. But I always think back to that day when I walk past the locksmith. The day had felt different. Now, with Mom gone, I'm just happy that we were able to spend that time afternoon on the phone.

The Selfless Gift.

While I was writing a blog post the other day, I went back through my old e-mails and chats with Mom. Looking back through those conversations, I wasn't always the son I would have liked to have been. Too easily, I let conversations die. Mom would reach out to me and I would not respond, or I would give the bare minimum answer to her questions. Once, it seemed like my Mom asked if she could come visit me in New York City in a few days and I never responded. She e-mailed me again, said she hadn't heard from me, and said she had decided not to come. 

Despite my failure to always be good to Mom, she never let me feel like I was anything less than a perfect son. Mom was always looking for way to make my life better and to contribute to my happiness. She would send books and home goods she hoped I could use. She would send me catalogs and ask me to pick something out. Of all the gifts Mom gave me though, her making me feel like I was a good son, even though I wasn't always, was one of the greatest of all.