Urban Mama

Giving Thanks

It's a difficult year to feel especially thankful. My mother died 8 weeks ago, and it's my first holiday without her. I'm worried that I won't be able to enjoy today, but I know that our friends Dave and Jen will be tolerant of any possible emotional outbursts. They've both seen me cry before, so I feel comfortable spending the day at their home.

I also know that there are obviously still reasons to be thankful. It's my 8-month-old baby's first Thanksgiving -- our first as a party of five. The baby has brought us so much joy, and I am so relieved Mami met him, loved him and was able to hold and sing to him before she died.

I'm grateful that I was so close to Mami. Not everyone enjoys the kind of closeness we shared, and I consider myself lucky to have had such a vibrant, generous, selfless woman as a mother. Her laughter, her inimitable presence will be missed around the Thanksgiving table today and every holiday to come. 

As I grieve the loss of my mother on a day we all gather to eat and give thanks with family and friends, I'll take time to remember Thanksgivings past. I'll give thanks for all the years I ate Mami's ground-beef-stuffed turkey and arroz con coco. I'll give thanks for the opportunity to keep her spirit alive.

I wish you all a meaningful, memorable Thanksgiving.

The Last Thanksgiving

Last year on this very day, my sister Diana surprised me by driving up from Florida to be at my house for Thanksgiving week. She wasn't going to come -- it was just going to be Mami, my oldest brother Louis and his family, and my brood -- but she woke up that Sunday with a premonition that it would be Mami's last Thanksgiving. Diana was right. 

Our brother Jorge wasn't able to change his plans with his wife's family, but Mami was able to spend her final Thanksgiving with three-quarters of her children and all but one of her grandchildren (well two, but baby J was still incubating, as you can see in the picture). We took a lot of pictures -- more than usual. Mami bought all of the grandkids matching sweaters at the Children's Place, a tradition she started years ago, for the occasion. She loved one photo so much she used it for her Christmas card.

I don't recall thinking it was Mami's last Thanksgiving at the time. She was sick, yes, but she always managed to put on a happy face. I knew the cancer had spread to the lungs and most recently to the liver. I knew she wasn't going to make it another five years, but I was comforted by the fact that she still seemed herself. She still colored her hair, put on makeup, ironed her clothes, meticulously selected her accessories, spoke incessantly on her cell phone. I was aware of the seriousness of the disease, but I was also slightly in denial, because Mami was always protecting us from ugly truths, especially me -- her baby. 

I do remember a lot of trivial things about that week. The guys (my brother, brother-in-law, husband, son and nephews) got crappy, unprofessional haircuts at the Wheaton Mall. The kids made a Thanksgiving Tree with construction-paper leaves that detailed reasons they were thankful (for food, friends, bedrooms, computers, TV shows, etc.). Diana and I ran out to Bed, Bath and Beyond to buy serving platters and a folding table. My brother-in-law and husband smoked a ham in the backyard using two terracotta pots. We all ate a surprisingly expensive, soup-to-nuts dinner at the cheesy but entertaining Piratz Tavern. While the rest of us trekked to the Washington Mall to visit the monuments and museums, Mami spent a day visiting one of her oldest family friends in Gaithersburg. Diana had to finish preparing the traditional arroz con coco for our Thanksgiving meal, but I'm not sure why Mami couldn't make it. 

I've become rather obsessive trying to remember even the tiniest of details about that Thanksgiving. I look at the photostream from that week nearly every day. I close my eyes and can see Mami, can hear her voice, can smell her perfume. I thought I would remember Thanksgiving 2007 because it was my first in my new home, but I'll remember it because it was the last one of Mami's life. How do I face this Thursday without replaying last year in my head, over and over again?

Grief Is A Constant Companion

More than five weeks after my mother's death, I find that grief triggers hide everywhere, even where I wouldn't expect one. Today there were several, some obvious, some subtle. At a birthday party for a friend's children, I realized the birthday siblings are blessed to have four living grandparents. Four grandparents. Something my children never had. Then at the mall, I walked through a few stores that had petite sections. Mami was the only person for whom I've ever bought petite clothes. At 5-feet tall, she couldn't easily wear regular-sized apparel. I walked by the petite areas wistful, sad that as the holidays approach, there's no reason for me to look at the lounge suits and pajama sets she favored. Later on I looked at the kids, cold from being slightly under-dressed for the evening's chill, and I heard Mami's voice admonishing me in my ear: "They're cold! You should've brought their heavier jackets!" And that's the way every day is, with its ebb and flow of reminders that she's gone but not forgotten.

The picture I've included is from one of the happiest days in my family's history. It was my brother Louis' wedding in fall of 1994. I was a first-year adjusting to life at Columbia. Diana, my sister, had just announced her pregnancy -- the family's first grandchild was on her way. Jorge, our late aunt Ele, and our stepsister Patty were there to celebrate too. Mami's hairdo ended up a bit too beehivish for my taste, but she looked stunning and radiant. My sister-in-law's father had died just two weeks before the wedding, so when it was time for the parent dances, everyone at the reception was incredibly emotional. Louis and Mami danced to Bette Midler's "Wind Beneath My Wings." I know it's widely considered an extremely cheesy song, but watching Mami and Louis sang, the tears, the love, the bittersweet joy was real. At some point the photographer took this photo of the five of us.

Cancer was still six years away, and it was a beautiful moment.