One Year

Mom has been gone a year today. It went a damned lot quicker than the first without Dad.

You figure you love each parent roughly equally, right? But the grief is different. I don't know why.

Maybe because she went so fast and so suddenly, I'm still shocked even after this much time. 

I haven't lost it over Mom yet. That bothers me. I remember a day in Hessel where I came completely unglued thinking about Dad being gone. Every 'first' without him I was on edge. With Mom, it was more like being in constant disbelief. I'm still stunned.

Life is nothing if not ironic, eh? I dreamed for several years of being on the road all the time with me Pops for work as he would grow into his eighties. I ended up spending more time on the road with Mom, on Sundays but other days, as it were. I actually smile at that thought. Perhaps I needed to appreciate her more. Mysterious ways.

Or not so mysterious. I love you, Mom. Be at peace.

Ella Cosgriff

My mother, Ella Cosgriff, passed away suddenly yesterday. No matter how much you see it on the horizon, you can't quite grasp what's happened when it finally does arrive, eh?

I took her out most Sundays. She loved driving through neighborhoods and seeing the houses. Consequently, I tried to find areas she would enjoy. One of them was Romeo, Michigan. It has a lot of historic homes.

The last Sunday I took her out was to there. I wasn't sure I wanted to; it was nothing but feeling lazy. It's about 35 miles north of Detroit; not a terrible drive but a bit of one. I considered waiting for October to see the fall colors and the Halloween decorations. Romeo, Tillson Street in particular, really does itself up for October 31st, and she enjoyed it immensely last year.

Ah, take her to Romeo, Marty. You can come back next month for all of that other stuff, a voice told me. So we went to Romeo, and she loved it. Mom always liked the older wooden clapboard homes. 

I have to say I'm glad I listened to that little voice which had been encouraging me. If there had to be a last Sunday with Mom, that was a great place for it.

How you play the game

When we watch others playing games, it's kind of hard not to at least want to tell them what to do. Even when they're playing solitaire.

Klondike solitaire is the game of choice among my family. Grandpa Joe played it often; I remember fondly watching him play as we sat in silence at his kitchen table. Pops played it a lot too, sitting at our kitchen table contentedly reshuffling actual decks of cards for each new game. My 82 year old mother never played it that I know until Dad passed. Now she plays it all the time, I think because it connects her to him. But it's also good intellectual exercise, which is itself a good thing too.

I was visiting her the other day. We were at that same kitchen table where Pops played, and Mom was occupied playing Klondike even as we talked. And she had this four of diamonds which she could play on this five of clubs. Only she wasn't playing it. 'You could play that 4 onto that 5', I thought, but didn't say it out loud.

We went on talking about whatever. She kept on going through her draw cards yet doing nothing with that four of diamonds. Still I thought to myself, ever more insistently, you can play that red four onto that black five. Still also I remained silent.

The conversation went on. The four continued to sit untouched. The thought, 'Come on Ma, play the stupid four' repeated itself over and over in my head. Yet I still said nothing aloud, despite how increasingly anxious I was becoming.

Minutes passed by as we went on conversing. Finally she stopped, looked up from her cards and asked, "Do you want to me play that four?"

"Please, Dear Lord, yes. Would you play that four!" I responded emphatically.

"I knew it was there. We were just talking and I kept forgetting it."

I don't believe that for a minute. She sensed I was getting antsy and was driving that feeling along. Moms.