The Story of Mom (August 26, 2006)
Part 1
Five years ago, on August 26, 2006, my world collapsed. I was at a wedding in Roanoke, Virginia with my boyfriend at the time. We had a lovely night at the reception but decided to head back to where we were staying [at his grandparents’ house] a little early. I had forgotten my cell phone that night, so after chatting with Joe’s grandparents about the wedding, I checked it for missed calls. I had several, all from my Uncle Pete- which in and of itself was very unusual. My uncle had left me three or four voicemails, all telling me to call him back… “no matter what time.”
It was a little after midnight, but I reluctantly called him back. Immediately he asked if I had spoken to my Dad. I hadn’t. He told me to call my Dad right away. I began to feel concerned. I called home and my parent’s neighbor, Ray, answered the phone. He also asked if I’d spoken to my Dad. Again, I told him I hadn’t. He replied, “You need to talk to your Dad. Your mom… she fell. In the family room.”
Well what a relief! My mom was always a bit on the clumsy side, so this all seemed suddenly more manageable. She just fell, she’s in the hospital, probably broke just her leg. It’s terrible, but why is everyone making such a big deal about it?
I told Ray that I knew I needed to speak to my Dad, which is why I was calling my house. Ray sounded anxious and scared. He told me to call my Uncle Pete back. At this point I was getting irritated. Where is my Dad? Why hasn’t he called me? Why is everyone being so weird? If my mom just fell, why is everyone being so secretive and dramatic? Why am I being bounced back and forth? All I wanted was to talk to my Dad.
I called Uncle Pete back and he said that I needed to be in New York right away. When I explained to him that Joe and I were in Roanoke, he said we needed to drive back to DC and he would drive Joe and I up to New York. It needed to happen immediately. I asked why, and he told me I really needed to talk to my Dad. Frustrated, I hung up the phone and told Joe that I needed him to drive us back to Washington. It was now creeping up on 1 o’clock in the morning.
As my head started to spin with possibilities, Joe’s grandma kept telling me everything was going to be okay. I wanted so badly to believe her. We quickly packed our belongings and got in the car to start our journey back to Washington. I called Uncle Pete to tell him we were on the road, and would probably be at their home in Manassas around 5 or 6am. However it was his wife, my Aunt Arlene, who answered the phone. I could hear the fear in her voice. Tired of not knowing what was going on I blurted out “What is going on?! What happened?!” She covered the phone but I heard her whisper to my Uncle Pete that I wanted to know. Sounding defeated, he sighed, “just tell her.”
After a brief pause, and with a deep breath, Aunt Arlene told me the words that changed my life. “Erika, your mom died.”
It was a little after midnight, but I reluctantly called him back. Immediately he asked if I had spoken to my Dad. I hadn’t. He told me to call my Dad right away. I began to feel concerned. I called home and my parent’s neighbor, Ray, answered the phone. He also asked if I’d spoken to my Dad. Again, I told him I hadn’t. He replied, “You need to talk to your Dad. Your mom… she fell. In the family room.”
Well what a relief! My mom was always a bit on the clumsy side, so this all seemed suddenly more manageable. She just fell, she’s in the hospital, probably broke just her leg. It’s terrible, but why is everyone making such a big deal about it?
I told Ray that I knew I needed to speak to my Dad, which is why I was calling my house. Ray sounded anxious and scared. He told me to call my Uncle Pete back. At this point I was getting irritated. Where is my Dad? Why hasn’t he called me? Why is everyone being so weird? If my mom just fell, why is everyone being so secretive and dramatic? Why am I being bounced back and forth? All I wanted was to talk to my Dad.
I called Uncle Pete back and he said that I needed to be in New York right away. When I explained to him that Joe and I were in Roanoke, he said we needed to drive back to DC and he would drive Joe and I up to New York. It needed to happen immediately. I asked why, and he told me I really needed to talk to my Dad. Frustrated, I hung up the phone and told Joe that I needed him to drive us back to Washington. It was now creeping up on 1 o’clock in the morning.
As my head started to spin with possibilities, Joe’s grandma kept telling me everything was going to be okay. I wanted so badly to believe her. We quickly packed our belongings and got in the car to start our journey back to Washington. I called Uncle Pete to tell him we were on the road, and would probably be at their home in Manassas around 5 or 6am. However it was his wife, my Aunt Arlene, who answered the phone. I could hear the fear in her voice. Tired of not knowing what was going on I blurted out “What is going on?! What happened?!” She covered the phone but I heard her whisper to my Uncle Pete that I wanted to know. Sounding defeated, he sighed, “just tell her.”
After a brief pause, and with a deep breath, Aunt Arlene told me the words that changed my life. “Erika, your mom died.”
Part 2
There was a silence. The words I just heard echoed in my head. They made no sense. My mom died? No, that can’t be. Moms don’t die. If they do, it’s certainly not like this. My aunt told me she didn’t know any details about what happened, except that it happened at home, and it happened quickly. Initial speculation was heart failure. After I hung up the phone, I looked over at Joe who was driving us back to DC through the night. “My mom died,” I told him.
“What? No. No, she didn’t” he replied, also not believing the words I had just spoken to him.
“No she did!” I yelled at him. “Aunt Arlene said my mom died. They think its heart failure.”
We were both stunned silent. A few moments passed and I decided to call my best friend, Jill. My other friend, Carrie, answered Jill’s phone, they were having a party at their house in Philadelphia. I think I managed to tell Carrie what happened and begged her to put Jill on the phone. I could hear the party going on in the background. When Jill came to the phone, I could hear the pep in her step as she excitedly greeted me, “Hi E!” Her party mood was quickly squashed when I assaulted her with my news. She called our other girlfriends into a room and closed the door, the party fell silent. They each took turns talking to me and sharing their shock. And they promised to be there for me every step of the way.
After talking with them, Joe and I decided to pull into a rest stop for coffee. I still hadn’t cried yet. I did however step out of the car and threw up. My body, as well as mind, was rejecting the news. While Joe got coffee, I finally got the call from my Dad. He sounded so tired. He confirmed the worst. He told me that they had been at a friend’s pool party that night. They came home and were watching Law & Order. Mom had gone to the kitchen for her glass of water to bring up to bed with her and stood in the doorway of the family room to say goodnight to my Dad. She put her hand on the door frame and collapsed. And that was it. In a blink of an eye, she was gone.
My Dad had been at the hospital while doctors tried to save her, but she was long gone before she had even arrived at the Emergency Room. She was officially declared shortly after midnight on August 27th.
While all of this was happening, my brother was half a world away in Baghdad, Iraq. Dad told me he had already been in touch with the Red Cross, who would be responsible for finding and notifying my brother in Iraq. For now, all I could do was get to Washington and start the second leg home to New York.
Once back in the car, we sat in silence as we drove. The radio played songs that I’d normally have sung and bopped to, but now it was just noise. Until “You’ll Be in My Heart” by Phil Collins began to play. I listened to the words and for the first time all night, I finally cried. I put my head on the dashboard and felt the loss for the first time. “Oh stop your crying, it’ll be alright, just take my hand and hold it tight, I will protect you from all around you, I will protect you, don’t you cry…. This bond between us can’t be broken, I will be here don’t you cry. Cause you’ll be in my heart, from this day on, now and forever more… When destiny calls you, you must be strong. I may not be with you, but you have to go on." I always used to make my mom listen to lyrics when we’d be in the car together, and this seemed to be her way of reaching out to me in a way I’d hear.
We arrived in DC around 6am. At this point, I was numb. Joe stood outside for a few moments, no doubt stretching his legs and talking with Aunt Arlene and Uncle Pete about the situation. I crawled into the back seat of Uncle Pete’s Explorer and curled up, unable to sleep, just staring into my own mind. I’d stay that way until we finally arrived in New York around noon.
I had just been home in New York two weeks prior. Mom and Dad stood in the driveway and waved to me as I headed back out to DC. My Dad would always laugh that my Mom and I were the only two people who could traverse down our very narrow and rock wall lined driveway “backwards at 90 miles an hour.”
This time my house wasn’t my home. It was a museum of my Mom’s life. I first saw my Dad as I walked through the kitchen into the living room. We hugged for a minute and we both cried. It was a brief cry as we were both so numb, and still in utter shock.
The next few days were spent greeting the throngs of people and family that came in from everywhere. Flowers were delivered hourly. Trays of food were brought by with almost as much frequency. Stories of my mom floated through the air. People shared their favorite “Maddy” moments. Times she helped them out or made them smile. While all this was going on, my Dad and I would sneak out with my Aunt Linda, mom’s older sister, to the funeral home to begin making the arrangements. It was an easy decision to postpone services until Rob was back from Iraq. We had no idea how long it would take for him to get a flight out of Kuwait back to the States. A few days later, we finally got a call from Rob, he was in Atlanta, GA. After two days of waiting in the Kuwait airport, he had gotten a flight out and was now waiting on a commercial flight up to New York. It was a relief. Our broken family was at last going to be “whole.”
“What? No. No, she didn’t” he replied, also not believing the words I had just spoken to him.
“No she did!” I yelled at him. “Aunt Arlene said my mom died. They think its heart failure.”
We were both stunned silent. A few moments passed and I decided to call my best friend, Jill. My other friend, Carrie, answered Jill’s phone, they were having a party at their house in Philadelphia. I think I managed to tell Carrie what happened and begged her to put Jill on the phone. I could hear the party going on in the background. When Jill came to the phone, I could hear the pep in her step as she excitedly greeted me, “Hi E!” Her party mood was quickly squashed when I assaulted her with my news. She called our other girlfriends into a room and closed the door, the party fell silent. They each took turns talking to me and sharing their shock. And they promised to be there for me every step of the way.
After talking with them, Joe and I decided to pull into a rest stop for coffee. I still hadn’t cried yet. I did however step out of the car and threw up. My body, as well as mind, was rejecting the news. While Joe got coffee, I finally got the call from my Dad. He sounded so tired. He confirmed the worst. He told me that they had been at a friend’s pool party that night. They came home and were watching Law & Order. Mom had gone to the kitchen for her glass of water to bring up to bed with her and stood in the doorway of the family room to say goodnight to my Dad. She put her hand on the door frame and collapsed. And that was it. In a blink of an eye, she was gone.
My Dad had been at the hospital while doctors tried to save her, but she was long gone before she had even arrived at the Emergency Room. She was officially declared shortly after midnight on August 27th.
While all of this was happening, my brother was half a world away in Baghdad, Iraq. Dad told me he had already been in touch with the Red Cross, who would be responsible for finding and notifying my brother in Iraq. For now, all I could do was get to Washington and start the second leg home to New York.
Once back in the car, we sat in silence as we drove. The radio played songs that I’d normally have sung and bopped to, but now it was just noise. Until “You’ll Be in My Heart” by Phil Collins began to play. I listened to the words and for the first time all night, I finally cried. I put my head on the dashboard and felt the loss for the first time. “Oh stop your crying, it’ll be alright, just take my hand and hold it tight, I will protect you from all around you, I will protect you, don’t you cry…. This bond between us can’t be broken, I will be here don’t you cry. Cause you’ll be in my heart, from this day on, now and forever more… When destiny calls you, you must be strong. I may not be with you, but you have to go on." I always used to make my mom listen to lyrics when we’d be in the car together, and this seemed to be her way of reaching out to me in a way I’d hear.
We arrived in DC around 6am. At this point, I was numb. Joe stood outside for a few moments, no doubt stretching his legs and talking with Aunt Arlene and Uncle Pete about the situation. I crawled into the back seat of Uncle Pete’s Explorer and curled up, unable to sleep, just staring into my own mind. I’d stay that way until we finally arrived in New York around noon.
I had just been home in New York two weeks prior. Mom and Dad stood in the driveway and waved to me as I headed back out to DC. My Dad would always laugh that my Mom and I were the only two people who could traverse down our very narrow and rock wall lined driveway “backwards at 90 miles an hour.”
This time my house wasn’t my home. It was a museum of my Mom’s life. I first saw my Dad as I walked through the kitchen into the living room. We hugged for a minute and we both cried. It was a brief cry as we were both so numb, and still in utter shock.
The next few days were spent greeting the throngs of people and family that came in from everywhere. Flowers were delivered hourly. Trays of food were brought by with almost as much frequency. Stories of my mom floated through the air. People shared their favorite “Maddy” moments. Times she helped them out or made them smile. While all this was going on, my Dad and I would sneak out with my Aunt Linda, mom’s older sister, to the funeral home to begin making the arrangements. It was an easy decision to postpone services until Rob was back from Iraq. We had no idea how long it would take for him to get a flight out of Kuwait back to the States. A few days later, we finally got a call from Rob, he was in Atlanta, GA. After two days of waiting in the Kuwait airport, he had gotten a flight out and was now waiting on a commercial flight up to New York. It was a relief. Our broken family was at last going to be “whole.”
Part 3
The next few days were surreal. Planning a funeral for your mother is not something a 22 year old should ever have to do. I helped my Dad, brother and Aunt Linda pick out what we thought Mom would like for her service. We picked out a light pink casket that had roses carved into the corners, it was very “her.”We picked out prayer cards and readings, floral arrangements and music. Finally, the day came when were to say goodbye to my Mom.
The wakes came first. As family, we were told to arrive before the first viewing. I remember feeling so afraid to turn the corner into the viewing room. Knowing I didn’t want to see what was there, because once I saw it, this whole nightmare would be real. As I came around the corner and saw her lying at the front of the room, I lost it. I collapsed to my knees and cried “No! No!”over and over. This was the first time I had seen her since she was last waving goodbye to me in the driveway only two weeks prior. The Funeral Director, Tommy Flynn, took me into a side room to comfort me. After I regained what little composure I had, I tried again. I walked alone up to the casket. And I thought, her hair is all wrong. I felt it was my duty as her daughter and lifelong stylist to insist it be fixed. I started to move pieces of her hair around until I realized I might see something I didn’t want to see. I told Tommy that my mother would be horrified to know her hair looked like that, so he had it redone immediately. Oddly, I felt much better.
Surprisingly the wakes were my “favorite” part. I began to look forward to going because those were the times I could see her again. And I knew that very soon, she’d be gone. I would never again be able to touch her hand, or tell her my promises, secrets, and feelings of eternal gratitude for the beautiful life she and my father had given me. The lines during the viewings were always long. I think we all became numb after awhile. What would occasionally reduce
me back to tears was seeing old friends or acquaintances that came out to show their love and support. It was in those moments that I was truly touched. I would later learn very quickly that it was the people you least expected who are there for you the most.
The day of the funeral, it poured. Fittingly, Hurricane Ernesto was pounding on the Northeast, the way Hurricane Irene is set to do again any moment now, five years later, to the day.
My mom had friends out in Pennsylvania who restored old horse drawn carriages. They had a small side business in which they provided a horse drawn hearse for funerals of American soldiers killed at war. The couple, Barbara and Joe Tetz, graciously came all the way to New York with their beautiful horses and carriage, to help bury my mom. The funeral was lead by a bagpiper. We’re not Irish, but it still made me cry. (Bagpipes always have turned me to mush.)It poured of course, and the ceremony was short and sweet and then it was all finally over. We went back to the house where we found Ernesto had knocked out power. So we had a house full of people, with no air conditioning, no fans, no lights, nothing. Fortunately my Dad is quite the handyman and quickly hooked up his generator. It was all so absurd. I still can’t believe there was a hurricane that day.
Slowly the people left. The food was eaten and the flowers wilted. Life, for everyone else, was returning to normal. For us however, a new life was just beginning. A life without Mom. Our funeral director, Tommy, told us something during the planning process that has always stuck with me. He told us, “You
don’t move on, you adjust.” And I don’t think truer words could be spoken about this situation. We will never “get over” my mother. We will never “move on” or “be okay.” But we will adjust. And in the five years since we lost her, we’ve been doing just that. Some days are better than others. The excruciating pain has subsided and the hole in my heart no longer feels all consuming. But the void remains. The longing to pick up the phone to call her or to sit at the kitchen
table and drink wine when I’m home, still lingers. Hearing and seeing friends talk about their moms, especially as they plan weddings or have babies, only serves as a reminder to the experience I will never share with my own mother. I will always hold her in my heart, but some days that simply isn’t enough.
During those days I take solace in knowing I have my father and brother, my aunts and cousins and my dear friends who are always just a phone call away.
They’ll never replace what I lost 5 years ago today, but they will help me along my journey as I continue to live without her, and continue every day, to adjust.
The wakes came first. As family, we were told to arrive before the first viewing. I remember feeling so afraid to turn the corner into the viewing room. Knowing I didn’t want to see what was there, because once I saw it, this whole nightmare would be real. As I came around the corner and saw her lying at the front of the room, I lost it. I collapsed to my knees and cried “No! No!”over and over. This was the first time I had seen her since she was last waving goodbye to me in the driveway only two weeks prior. The Funeral Director, Tommy Flynn, took me into a side room to comfort me. After I regained what little composure I had, I tried again. I walked alone up to the casket. And I thought, her hair is all wrong. I felt it was my duty as her daughter and lifelong stylist to insist it be fixed. I started to move pieces of her hair around until I realized I might see something I didn’t want to see. I told Tommy that my mother would be horrified to know her hair looked like that, so he had it redone immediately. Oddly, I felt much better.
Surprisingly the wakes were my “favorite” part. I began to look forward to going because those were the times I could see her again. And I knew that very soon, she’d be gone. I would never again be able to touch her hand, or tell her my promises, secrets, and feelings of eternal gratitude for the beautiful life she and my father had given me. The lines during the viewings were always long. I think we all became numb after awhile. What would occasionally reduce
me back to tears was seeing old friends or acquaintances that came out to show their love and support. It was in those moments that I was truly touched. I would later learn very quickly that it was the people you least expected who are there for you the most.
The day of the funeral, it poured. Fittingly, Hurricane Ernesto was pounding on the Northeast, the way Hurricane Irene is set to do again any moment now, five years later, to the day.
My mom had friends out in Pennsylvania who restored old horse drawn carriages. They had a small side business in which they provided a horse drawn hearse for funerals of American soldiers killed at war. The couple, Barbara and Joe Tetz, graciously came all the way to New York with their beautiful horses and carriage, to help bury my mom. The funeral was lead by a bagpiper. We’re not Irish, but it still made me cry. (Bagpipes always have turned me to mush.)It poured of course, and the ceremony was short and sweet and then it was all finally over. We went back to the house where we found Ernesto had knocked out power. So we had a house full of people, with no air conditioning, no fans, no lights, nothing. Fortunately my Dad is quite the handyman and quickly hooked up his generator. It was all so absurd. I still can’t believe there was a hurricane that day.
Slowly the people left. The food was eaten and the flowers wilted. Life, for everyone else, was returning to normal. For us however, a new life was just beginning. A life without Mom. Our funeral director, Tommy, told us something during the planning process that has always stuck with me. He told us, “You
don’t move on, you adjust.” And I don’t think truer words could be spoken about this situation. We will never “get over” my mother. We will never “move on” or “be okay.” But we will adjust. And in the five years since we lost her, we’ve been doing just that. Some days are better than others. The excruciating pain has subsided and the hole in my heart no longer feels all consuming. But the void remains. The longing to pick up the phone to call her or to sit at the kitchen
table and drink wine when I’m home, still lingers. Hearing and seeing friends talk about their moms, especially as they plan weddings or have babies, only serves as a reminder to the experience I will never share with my own mother. I will always hold her in my heart, but some days that simply isn’t enough.
During those days I take solace in knowing I have my father and brother, my aunts and cousins and my dear friends who are always just a phone call away.
They’ll never replace what I lost 5 years ago today, but they will help me along my journey as I continue to live without her, and continue every day, to adjust.