My Mother's Daughter

My mother used to laugh with me and we'd say that she had the strength of Samson. Rather than wait for my father to get around to tackling a job, she would wind up doing it herself. One day she had to get the air conditioner out of the window and she did it herself, despite the fact that, unbeknownst to her, the air conditioner was bolted to the window frame. How she did it, without damaging the a/c, the window, or injuring herself remains a mystery.

Recently I became a recipient of a hand-me-down loveseat. It was a little bigger than I thought and so I had to move all of the furniture deeper into the room to accommodate it. The problem was that the focal point of the living room is this massive wooden library unit. Unless I moved that, everything would be off kilter. So I said to my daughter, "Well, I just have to do it." And I did. By myself. I was amazed at my determination and physical strength. I turned to my daughter and said, "I sure am my mother's daughter." To finish the job, I pulled some books off the upper shelf so that I could do a really good job polishing the wood. I frequently dust and polish, but only around the books. I don't ever pull the books off the shelves. As I pulled seven or eight books off the shelf, I gasped. There, under the books, in the back of the upper shelf, was a dime. (For the skeptics I will say that it is highly unlikely that anyone would have put a dime there, it was too high up to have "fallen," and it was under the books, not on top of them.) For me it was an affirmation: I am as strong and as determined as my mother. Thanks, Mommie, I need to believe that.

My Sign

My mother considered this bridge "HOME." Whenever she would go away, for any reason, the appearance of the bridge was a welcome sign that she would soon be back in the comfort of her home. It isn't any wonder - she watched the bridge being built and she raised her three daughters in view of it.

One night, as I was walking to an evening appointment with my daughter, I was tired and, frankly, overwrought. I glanced up to see my mother's bridge all lit up and I sighed and said, "Oh Mommie..." At that moment I missed her more than I could bear.

My daughter looked up at me and said, "Do you know what would make this all so much easier? If we had a sign. If we could just have a sign that Chon-Chon was okay and watching over us." I could not believe her precociousness. To be so wise at such a young age. I immediately agreed with her. Yes. Having that sign would make things so much easier.

I began to think about it, and I said to her that maybe we don't get that sign because God wants us to have faith. My daughter agreed and said, "And Mommy, I also think that God wants you to have faith in yourself. He wants you to have faith that you can deal with my brothers and everything else, on your own, without Chon-Chon."

How could a seven year old know so much? How could her faith be so strong? I think I have my sign, after all. Out of the mouth of an innocent. My sign, indeed.

She was Beautiful

I see her everywhere. My mother.

She was a beautiful woman who enjoyed being beautiful. Very often people would comment and tell her that she had beautiful eyes.

She was modern, she wore make-up, she never left the house without lipstick and mascara. But she was loathe to be a "painted lady." She was tasteful, she was classy. Always.

In her later years people would look at her and say, "You must have been one beautiful woman." This naturally annoyed her. Sure she was older, she had her share of sun damage and wrinkles, but she was still beautiful, wasn't she? She was.

She was beautiful.

A Teacup Filled with Dimes

My mother died less than three months ago. I don't know how I will ever learn to deal with this. My mother was my best friend, my confidante, my protector, my partner in crime. I want to tell her that I have survived these past days, I want her to be proud of me. I want to hear her say, "Oh, honey, I am sooo proud of you. I knew you were strong. I knew you could do it. Almost three months! Good for you!" I will never hear those words again, in any context. What in God's name am I going to do without her?

During my mother's wake, someone mentioned that she believed that when your loved one who has passed on is thinking of you, you will find a dime. I thought it was a quaint story, one that was obvious, but well-intentioned.

The last night of my mother's wake was difficult for everyone. My sons were very upset and too sad to feel embarrassed about crying openly. My younger son, 17, left the apartment to smoke a cigarette and pull himself together. He found a dime. It meant a lot to him. He felt comforted by it.

I began to think it over. Why not? If my mother is watching over us, she knows that this story was passed to us. Why wouldn't she, then, use that very vehicle to reassure us? I needed to believe that my mother would reach out to my son to comfort him.

I have been finding dimes everywhere. Some I find when I really need them, some I find out of the blue. It is curious to me, but I need them. I really need these dimes. I've prayed and begged God for a sign that my mother is okay, that she is at peace. These dimes may be a sign that I am losing it, but I am choosing to believe that they are a sign that I am going to be okay, because my mother is okay. So I am saving these dimes in a teacup that my mother bought for me. Selfishly, I wish my mother were here but if these dimes mean that she is finally at peace, I will treasure them.