Shirley Temples At Midnight

It is now 2009.

We had our last dinner of 2008 at Fuddruckers. Yep, no fancy restaurants for us folk. We were in and out in less than an hour because they wanted to close up and go home. Poor people, having to wait for us. Actually, they didn't. They started cleaning up in spite of us. Still, I wanted to leave so they could work as fast as possible.

After dinner, we loaded up at the grocery store to get us through New Years day. That makes me laugh, getting our rations for one day of closed stores, and I'm not even sure it will be closed. They're open until 1:00 AM.

While I was at the store, I saw some pre-cooked prime rib that my non-meat eating friend raved about. She said it was expensive, it was available only during the holidays, it was wrapped in foil packaging, and it was the "best meat she'd ever eaten." When I saw it, I knew it must be what she was referring to. It was $9.06. I thought what is she talking about expensive? That's not expensive. Then I unfolded the tag...and saw that it actually said $59.06! Yikes! I put that bad boy back fast before it burned my hands. We got hotdogs instead. And not Nathans because they are almost $7.00 a package now, up nearly $2.00 since the last time we bought them. I know we're not going to like the ones we got because we've been true Nathan fans for several years. Certain men (Ivan) have to learn the lessons the hard way though.

I bought grenadine syrup so Joaquin and I could have Shirley Temples at midnight. Incidentally, I think that is a great title for a song, or band, Shirley Temples At Midnight. Joaquin said that if Shirley Temple drinks a Shirley Temple at midnight, she turns into a frog. If we drink Shirley Temples at midnight, we go crazy. It's true, he's acting a little crazy right now, celebrating in every time zone in the U.S. I actually think it is lack of sleep that is making him crazy. Sleep comes after the Alaska and Hawaii celebrations.

We're listening to different versions of Auld Lang Syne. Favorites include the Boney M. version and the version from my Hotel Cafe CD. It's a bittersweet song this year.

I must say, I'm not sorry to see 2008 go. It took pieces of my heart and soul and changed my life dramatically. Of course, if I had control of the space-time continuum, I'd be back in 2007. Heh, and back then I didn't think it was so great.

Joaquin was looking back fondly and said he will miss 2008. It's the last year he was able to see his Grandma, the year he learned to jump off of the diving board. He was good with that. Interesting how I think of it as the year that took my mother. Perspective makes all the difference, I guess.

I can't say I'm looking forward to 2009, just going along with it to see what it brings. I hope it brings Happy.

October, 2008: From Here to Forever

It's October. So many things happening, changing, and I don't mean the leaves, because if there's one thing about Phoenix, it's that the leaves don't change.

Joaquin's cousin is moving out of of my sister's house. We are happy, yet sad, about this. When Joaquin heard, he said, "Angelica's moving out? She can't move out, uh, uh, she's way too young!" When asked how old you have to be, he said, "Well, let's see, she's twenty six now, right? She needs to stay for four more years. Then she can move out." Like Ivan said, at least we know what we're in for.

Although they haven't asked recently, I know it's gonna come up again. About me working full time. I don't know why I'm holding out. I just can't commit but my guess is that I'll relent because, well, at least I've got a job. I'm off the rest of this week because I'm already a little burned out with the whole helpdesk thing.

My mother never said which holiday was her favorite, actually, she said she didn't like any holiday, but my guess would be Halloween. Mainly because she LOVED candy and she would go all out for trick-or-treaters when only a few would go to her house. That was alright though, because then she'd have candy, candy, candy, all the candy she desired. She liked the decorations too. Last year around this time, we were in Flagstaff and I remember she bought a halloween bowl and dishcloth from a little store downtown. I remember she had a hard time walking but she just kept at it, I don't think she complained once about it, heck, even I had a hard time keeping up and I did complain. My sister noticed though, and suggested she sit in a restaurant and have a beer while we wandered around to see if there was any more stuff we absolutely had to have...seems like such a short time ago.

Isn't it interesting that the stuff is still around while the person who owned the stuff isn't. What is most important in that equation? I thought about this because Ivan just broke one of my favorite dishes from a store called Rue De France, which is no longer, and it didn't really bother me, it just brought up those feelings about our stuff outliving us, and my mom...

Ivan is working days now. Its gonna take some time to get used to. It's been just Joaquin and I on weekdays for quite some time now. We've got our own routine.

One of my big concerns is what I'm gonna make for dinner because there are days where I'd just cook for Joaquin and I'd eat cereal or salad or something. A man doesn't like only salad sprinkled with pieces of chicken nuggests as an entree. We had Domino's Pizza for dinner tonight. Joaquin and I have NEVER ordered pizza delivery the entire time we've been on our own.

I cried tonight, Ivan thought it was because of the dish. I told him no, it isn't the dish. I still cry sometimes, he's just not usually here to see it and I don't usually write about it because it generally passes quickly. I have lots on my mind and even with my luck the past week, I'm just feeling that the universe is really out of wack and has been for quite some time. Is it ever going to feel "normal" again or is this what it's going to be like from now on?

Inherit The Earth

I saw a truck today that had a memorial for a father in a window sticker. The dates listed were 1923-2007. I thought how lucky that person was to have their father live 84 years.

It's been six months since my mom died. Today I've been especially missing her. I think because of that sticker. I even told Joaquin today, "I miss your Grandma." "We all do, Mom," was his reply.

I feel like I have so much to tell her. How big Joaquin is, what he's saying, doing. She'd eat it up, comparing him to me when I was small. Oh, how smart she thought I was, all of her kids, really. And beautiful. She especially admired our hair and our noses, except for my brother who has no hair because he took after her maternal grandfather. He's got good eyebrows though.

I feel old and tired. I've never really thought about how old I was, being slightly, yes, I said slightly, immature for my age, encouraged, I think, by my mom. My mom was always very youthful in her dress and manner. But now I see my age. Of course, painting one's toenails with polka dots is contrary to the term "mature adult," so I'm thinking that youthful vigor is still in there somewhere. Maybe it's hereditary. (She'd get a kick out of the polka dots too!)

Now, if I could only do something about the adult acne. My mom's skin was flawless. Why couldn't I have inherited that?

Shiny Happy People

Well, we're back from Florida. Other than the humidity and sweat, I had a good time. In every picture of me, I have a shiny face. My sister said I needed blotter papers. I couldn't carry the amount of paper for all the blotting I needed to do.

On Friday, we went to Epcot. I was hot and miserable, one big pool of sweat. We visited "The Seas With Nemo and Friends" and "Honey, I Shrunk The Audience." Both were amazing. We had to leave the HISTA show early because Joaquin got a little scared with the 3D effects. I should have just removed the glasses so he could have seen how non-threatening it looks like without them. We also went on "Journey Into Imagination With Figment," a character my sister fell in love with. Then, of course, there were the countries around the world in the different pavillions. Joaquin's favorite was England for some reason. He even got a flag.

We only got about halfway around the park before we had to stake out a spot for the fireworks; being July 4th, we knew it was going to be spectacular. It was so hot and my feet ached so much that at one point I was tempted to stay in the ladies room where there was air conditioning and a place to sit, even if that place was the commode. Still, according to Ivan and Pauline, we really didn't see anything. Oh well, maybe again one day. Joaquin is just not that into Disney. Shocking, I know, but true.

I enjoyed my Saturday with Pauline visiting and having lunch in Mount Dora which is a really cute litte town. Was too full to get a cupcake at Mount Dora Cupcakes but did get one at Cupcake Couture. They were very good, but I've not yet been blown away by a professionally baked cupcake. I must have a very unsophisticated palate because I like Betty Crocker just fine.

We spent many hours at Downtown Disney. Wednesday night when we got there, Saturday and Tuesday before leaving. We even saw the "Indiana Jones" movie there while waiting for our flight home. I was shocked when my Brother-in-law told me I'd spent three hours in one store, the World of Disney! I could have probably spent more too. The Lego store was like a magnet to Joaquin.

Sunday we spent the day at Daytona Beach. I even got in the water which doesn't happen in San Diego, CA. because it's too cold. Joaquin, of course, had a blast. He loves the beach.

Nothing we did on this trip can trump Joaquin's trip with his dad to Daytona for NASCAR. They had pit passes! Wearing his Blaniac t-shirt, he got lug nuts from Dave Blaney's pit crew, got several of the driver's autographs and signed the finish line. The pictures tell the real story.

I was a basket case on the way home, July 8. It was Mom's and my birthday. This was something just the two of us shared and it was special to me. "Happy Birthday, mi hija" "Right back at ya, Mom." Although I wanted to just let it pass unnoticed, turns out that I was grateful for the messages left for me. My aunt left a happy birthday song message on my phone which had me in tears at the Orlando airport because Mom used to sing the entire song to us when she called us on our birthdays. According to Joaquin, they were having a birthday party for Grandma in heaven. I hope so because we all know she liked to party.

My sister and her husband took me to Tubac today. Joaquin is really mad at me right now, but he'll just have to get over it.

Tubac was one of my mom's favorite road trips. She loved everything about it, the Mexican pottery, the artsy clothes, the food. Although I had a great time with my companions (I always do!), I missed my mom today. I saw so many clothes and jewelry that were just "her."

There was a really pretty pottery rooster that I liked but didn't get. My sister commented that my mom would have been trying to buy it for me and I'd be telling her, "Mom, don't buy it, I have enough roosters." and she'd get it anyway. *Sigh*

On the drive up, my brother-in-law and I were hungry and, of course, that made us think of my mom because even though we always told her that we'd have lunch when we got there, she would always pack something for the road. We'd tease her about bringing food but we would always end up meekly asking her for a bite of something she'd packed, a sandwich, burritos, and some chips or leftovers from a previous meal. We didn't have that this time and we really missed her for it. Our tummies did too.

Life: 1 - Us: 0

I'm here because Twitter is down. I know this because of this site: http://istwitterdown.com/. Brilliant. I really must locate the Twitter 12-step program but it's too much trouble.

I was gonna write on Twitter...Sometimes passive-aggressive works.

I've always been passive-aggressive but since my mom has died, I've noticed I've become even moreso. I just don't want to deal with anything. I don't want to call the lady at the gravesite to let her know my mom's date of death is incorrect on the draft she sent me, I don't want to make a dentist appointment, I don't want to make decisions or do anything that takes any effort.

I'm worried about my sister and brother. I saw my sister yesterday from afar yesterday, and she just looks so...defeated. That's the word, defeated. I talk to my brother and he sounds like that too. That's how I feel too.

I'm wondering if I will live my life like that or take active steps again one day. Still, sometimes I think passivity works.

Two Steps Forward

I think I've been doing really well lately dealing with my mom being gone, able to happily talk about her and think of her without drama. Other times I just really want to see her, my hand on the door knob, keys at the ready with a quick thought, I'll just stop by to see her for a few minutes. I have so much to tell her. And then we're back several steps.

I keep thinking about what I'm going to do on Mother's Day. The last couple of years it has just been us girls on Mother's Day, going to eat or shop. For several years, I'd try to get my mom a corsage to wear. Even when she was working I liked to get her a corsage so she could wear it to work on Sundays. I just like a mom in a corsage, I guess.

I don't know how I'm going to feel on that day and it scares me. Will I be sad and cry most of the day? Will I visit her at the grave and be okay? Will I try to avoid the day? As it is, when I see an ad that says Mother's Day I find myself quickly moving my attention elsewhere but it seems like it would be hard to avoid completely. We will see, I guess.

Por-rrr favor-rrrrr!

Lately, everything, I mean everything having to do with my mom has been wrong. My sister even had a dream that two old people told her that they would take care of my mom's business because we're such screw-ups. I half expect to get a call from the mortuary saying those aren't my mom's ashes we buried. Really, by the way we've allowed things to happen, you'd have thought that we didn't care. To be honest, I don't really think it matters at this point, but that's not because I didn't care about my mom. I just don't know how people do this.

I think I've mentioned before about the problems we've had getting probate started. The lawyer was supposed to mail us some paperwork and it took some time and several phone calls before that happened. Then, I come to notice that my name is spelled wrong on the paperwork. When I got to the office, I noticed they had my mom's age wrong and my brother's name was spelled wrong on some other paperwork. Good thing my sister only has four letters in her name because one more may have been too much for them. Whatever. The papers are now ready to be filed with the court.

Several weeks ago, we got a call from the cemetary saying that we didn't buy a plaque for my mom. She was buried with her brother and mother so we couldn't get a full headstone, only a plaque. (Hmm...I'm wondering if they were the people in my sister's dream.) We oy -ed about that too but went to the office to pick one out and pay a couple of thousand for it. Today I got a call asking if I ever received the draft. It was supposedly sent two weeks after we met, which would probably be over a month ago. Yeah, right.

Let me tell you about my impression of the cemetary lady. I think she's a drinker. I'm not saying that to be judgemental, I think it's a fact. Some days I noticed that she slurred a lot, others, not so much. So I actually think she forgot. Whatever. I ask my brother to pickup the draft and he notices THAT THE DATE OF MOM'S DEATH IS WRONG. Oh, man, or, as my mother used to say when she was fed up with something: Por-rrr favor-rrrrr! And she'd really, really roll those Rs. Then she'd scratch her head.

Then, out of the blue, I see a weird message from the newspaper dated Wednesday, April 23, 2008 with the title: Re: obituary for publication on Sunday Feb 10, natalie has. It said, "Thank you, we have received your email message." It's actually a duplicate of a message we received in February. Okaaay... My mom never used the Internet when she was alive, do you think heaven has web access and it might be her trying to send us a message? Oh, wait, according to "Bruce Almighty," they do. That being the case, here's a note to mom: I know, por favor. We're working on it. Really. Don't be mad. Love, Your Screwed-up Kids and the crack-team they've assembled.

A Mommy Memory

I related a memory to coworkers today about Mom. We were talking about cafeterias and I mentioned that my mom really liked to eat at hospital cafeterias. I remember at St. Joseph's when my father was in the hospital, my mom would go visit almost every day. Around lunchtime.

When we were there, she'd offer to pay for our food because she got the senior discount. So we'd pile it all on: Two dinners, a hamburger and fries, pizza, hotdogs and several sodas and desserts. It was hilarious to see this little thing with this huge tray of food teeter up to the register. One of her favorite things to do. Good times.

Memorial

We are still dealing with my mother's death in many ways. Emotionally it is getting easier, although there are still hours, minutes, seconds, when you feel that intense sadness deep within your core. Probate hasn't even opened yet so we're feeling frustrated with our attorney.

We finally got a plaque ordered for my mom's grave. She is buried with her mom and brother. When we went to see the lady at the memorial site, she said she reallly liked my mom's funeral. We must have looked at her quizzically being that it wasn't the most organized--we forgot to invite clergy and designate a speaker--but she said that she really liked the balloon release we organized and she shares the idea with others.

My original idea for the balloon release was to get 74 balloons, one for each of my mom's years, and attach little notes to be read before release. I thought that would take too long--that was before I learned that we are responsible for planning the burial--so I only got 13, one busted, so 12. The notes I had attached all said "I will miss..." Then I added something about mom that we would miss, like "your smile," "your cooking," "your sense of humor," "your generosity," etc. The person holding the balloon would read the tag, then release the balloon.

All the balloons were the same color, except the last one was white, to represent my mom, and Joaquin read the tag, it said "I will miss YOU." It was really nice. In hindsight, I guess could have done all seventy four. Wouldn't that have been something to see? How I would have gotten all the balloons there would have been interesting too.

I was pretty sad when I found out that Joaquin needed glasses. I hate the idea of hiding his beautiful eyes. I knew it, but was hoping not. So, trying to make the best of the situation, we're now we're trying to pick out frames. He likes the ones at the end, but I think we're gonna get the first ones. He's cute anyway.

~*~

The other day my sister and I went to the antique stores in Glendale to look for a charm for a charm bracelet given to her by my mom. My mom used to love these stores, one in particular. As we were browsing, my sister pointed out an owl cookie jar my mom has had forever. It is apparently McCoy pottery, called "When Shadows Fall." It was nice to see it since we haven't been to her house for a while.

Another thing that caught our attention was one of the salespeople talking about beer with Clamato. In this case, Budweiser, which he says is now sold with the Clamato already mixed in. Our mom used to mix her own with Miller Lite and we always laughed about it. Who knew she was such a trendsetter? Yet another thing to miss about mom.

Journey To A New Me

I remember once being so depressed because a friend just suddenly stopped talking to me, like he'd forgotten who I was. At the time, it seemed like the worst thing that could ever happen to me. Now I see that I was so wrong. I've never been though the sort of depression I've gone through since my mom died.

In my worse days, everything seemed tinged gray and there was a dark spot in the middle of my chest that seemed to weigh a thousand pounds. I was so completely consumed with grief that I felt like I would just float away like a leaf down a river of depression.

I'm feeling better than I did when it first happened, the weight isn't so heavy and the days not so gray, but I still have my moments. Lots of moments. When I'm alone and the house is quiet, sometimes the silence is just so loud it hurts. Washing dishes at the sink I've seen my mom wash countless times. Always helping out. This is when I think, wonder, wish I had done things differently as she went into the hospital. Like I had any control.

Sometimes it's situations and sometimes it's things that make me sad. I am often overcome while at the grocery store where I fight back the tears as I walk down the aisles. I'm going to have to find a way through that one because I am occasionally going to have to go to the grocery store. Today it was Wednesday ads that came in the mail that set me off. I remember my mom sitting there, scouring the ads for the best bargains as she planned her multi-store visits and her weekly menus in her head. I can't even look at the ads now.

Her death has changed me in many ways, some which I can't express right now, but I feel it, I think it, I know it. One thing I've noticed is that I no longer have faith in tomorrow. It'll all be better tomorrow, let's see what happens tomorrow, I'll do it tomorrow. Tomorrow may not come. I don't remember feeling like that before. This doesn't necessarily mean I'm changing the way I do things as I've never really been a "spur of the moment" type gal, but I don't trust tomorrow, not one little bit.

But yes, I am getting better, to a new normal. I'm sure those twinges of pain will always show themselves, but possibly not so much. This is the new me, the one I'm just getting to know. I hope I like me. I hope mom will like me too.

Corned Beef and Cabbage

Today Joaquin is wearing his lucky green shirt. It actually says that on the front: This is My Lucky Shirt. Leave it to Daddy to find that one. We had to get a special green shirt for him to wear since he's been asking for it for over a week. He said he didn't want to get pinched. I guess that rumor's been going around school for a while.

We're probably the opposite of Irish, if there is such a thing, but I always remember my mom making something with cabbage especially for St. Patrick's Day. She'd call to tell me that she made some corned beef and cabbage, which she loved anyway. Today was really just an excuse to make it. I always reminded her that I didn't like it, even though I'd actually never remember tasting it. Like always, she'd have a little something different just for me because she always knew exactly what her kids liked and didn't like food-wise, even after forty years.

I hope she's getting her corned beef and cabbage today with a cold beer with Clamato and having a happy St. Patrick's Day! Wish she was here.

How Did I Get Here?

I was inspired by Shokufeh to write about how I got here and why I stay. Basically, I stay out of fear. My family is here and that gives me comfort. Or it used to, and I hope it will again. It's just home and always has been, no matter the weather. The bigger question, I think, is how I got here.

My father was born here, in Tolleson, Arizona, but my mom came when she was in her teens. Her entire family came from eastern Texas, a state they had lived and called home for many years, probably since the time it belonged to Spain or Mexico. During my mom's time, however, it was probably the worst place to be if you weren't white.

My mom was a fair skinned hispanic since her mother was European. She grew up spanish-speaking and used to tell us stories about going to restaurants that didn't serve Mexicans, even the American kind. Because of her skin tone, they'd serve her though, so she'd tell her slightly darker-skinned cousins. When they were turned away, she'd let the proprietors have it by angrily letting them know that the "pendejos" had, in fact, served a Mexican. My mom was good at "letting people have it."

Work was hard to find. Papa Che, my grandfather, heard that there was farm work in Arizona, so the family packed up their belongings and made their way through southern Arizona to an area west of Phoenix. When we went to Bisbee a couple of years ago, my mom studied the mountains and said she remembered going through them on their way to Phoenix from Texas some fifty years ago. The picture here is where they lived when they got here. A tent! Just like in the movie "La Bamba," she'd said.

They eventually got settled and my grandfather found a steady job on a farm and a was able to live on that farm. My mom met my dad, got married and had my sister, and the rest, as they say...is my history.

Arghhh!

The tears flowed like wine last night. Ivan asked me what was going on. It'd been days since I've cried that hard. Was it the mini movie marathon I'd been watching? I saw three movies on Monday: The Family Stone (no one told me Diane Keaton dies), Rumor Has It (fast forwarded through much of it), and this version of Pride and Prejudice.

It wasn't the movies, it just seems that not crying much the past few days just wasn't what I needed, I guess. Also, the lawyer doing the probate is just not very responsive. I asked him if he was too busy to let us know so we can find someone else. It's just hard giving the same information to him twice, especially when it is in the file, not very sensitive, I think. If we don't see some action in the next couple of days I think we're going to have to go elsewhere. I just don't want to deal with it though. It really takes a toll.

No Soup For You

I'm sick. I'm sick and sad. If mom were here, she'd make me potato soup. Not a chowder, a clear soup with big chunks of potato, green chilies, onions and cheese. Good soup that would make me feel better almost instantly.

She'd call me and say, "Mija, I heard you're not feeling well. I'm making you some potato soup." I'd say, "I don't feel like picking it up, Mom." She'd say, "I'll drop it off." I'd say, "Don't, Ma. I don't want to you to get sick..."

Later I'd hear the doorbell and open it to see the soup on the stoop. "Meals on Wheels!" She'd announce cheerfully. "Ma-ah, I told you not to come over." "I'm going. Eat it, you'll feel better. 'Tan sabroso," would be her response as she got in her car to drive away.

"Thank you, Mom" I'd say as I'd take the little pot, close the door and quickly get a bowl and spoon to enjoy my soup..." I'd feel better in no time.

I cried this morning when I thought of the soup and how she won't be bringing it this time. I have an inkling how to make it but I'm wondering if it will bring me comfort or sadness right now.

Update: I made the soup Saturday. Nothing. I'm not even sure it tasted like hers', but it did make me feel better for a little while.

In Search of...

Tonight I found myself near the area where my mom died. I lost it on the freeway on the way home. Joaquin asked me why I was crying. "Because I can't find Grandma," I replied. "I've been looking for her and I can't find her."

This reminded me of the last time my mom and I were at the grocery store, a week or so before she went into the hospital. Fry's Food Store on 13th avenue. I think we'd been in there almost two hours. It was Wednesday, senior day, and they had coffee and cookies. Her favorite day to go. We got split up after we got the apricot chicken at the deli. I looked and looked for her but couldn't find her, so I decided checked out. After that, I looked some more.

I couldn't find her so I asked Joaquin, "Where is your Grandmother?" I don't think I got annoyed like I might have a couple of months earlier, she wasn't getting out as much so I thought she needed to be there. I just figured I'd take the groceries to the car and comeback to search unencumbered. By the time I finished packing the car, she was coming out of the store. She said she saw us going to the car. I said, "Yeah, we were just going back in to look for you." I hope she didn't think we were gonna leave her. She never said.

Everyday, I feel like I did then, like she's right there, but I can't find her. I miss her so much. She's the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I think of when I go to sleep.

When I was a little girl, around four or five, I used to run away from home a lot. I wasn't running away from home as much as I was going to visit a friend. My mom said she'd freak out and she'd call the police. Eventually they'd find me at the Chinese grocery across 35th avenue where the owners would stop me, and the police would bring me back. She said I'd always have my arm around the policeman, talking into his ear and making him laugh. Eventually she'd had it and spanked me. I never did it again.

I really wish that policeman could help me get back to my mother right now.

Traces Of Mom

Mom is here at our house right now. Joaquin wanted her to sleep in his bedroom. She's in her urn on the shelf. We laugh because we say the urn probably weighs as much as she did when she was alive. Joaquin said that on December 23rd, he asked if she could come and live here. It wasn't meant to be, and that upsets him.

Before coming here, she spent the last couple of days at her house. The mortuary called Friday to say she'd been cremated and asked if we wanted to take her remains home until the burial. My brother wasn't sure. After I finished crying and found out we had that option, I had a strong feeling that we needed to get her home. That's what she kept asking for all the time she was in the hospital. I feel horrible I couldn't do that for her when she was alive, couldn't even bring her to my house. She didn't want to die in the hospital, she wanted to be home. So, she went home--at least for a few days. I only wish that I could find a way to get her a milkshake and hamburger which she also asked for while in ICU. And water.

I don't know why I'm doing all of this. Does she know? Does it make her happy? Does anybody care? I'm still asking why she had to go through all of this. I'll never know, I guess. I also cannot grasp the idea that a living, breathing, thinking, loving human being could be here one day and not the next. It doesn't make sense. I don't know if I believe in heaven, but this surely can't be the end. I'm starting to think there is a different plane or dimension where we go to start our life again with those we love. At least that's what I'm thinking this minute. It could change the next.

I don't want to forget little things that mom said or did. As it is, I'm starting to forget her voice since I haven't heard it for so long. My sister was laughing today at the way she used to answer the phone, "Uh, hehlow." Very softly. We called it her professional voice. Then she'd let you have it. Just kidding, sort of, depended on who you were.

Mom used to refer to us as "Love" when she spoke to us. When I'd ask her something, she'd say, "Yes, Love." Or, when she'd see us, "Hello, Love." Joaquin remembered the word "a ver," which is like "let's see," when he'd ask for candy or something to eat while just hanging out at her house. She said "cabrone" or "cabrona" a lot. It wasn't used in anger, only in jest, like calling us brat.

She liked "Kill Bill" movies, westerns and Charles Bronson. She loved to dance and did so beautifully with my father. I used to love to sit and watch them. She loved to sing even though she couldn't hold a tune. I think she would have made a great actress.

In the past few years, she picked up the habit of humming softly to herself. It was sometimes annoying. Once I asked her what she was humming, she said, "Happy Birthday." I think this was at Thanksgiving.

I'm peaceful tonight with my mom in the other room. Joaquin is sleeping soundly. We have to take her back tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder if we should not bury her, just put her urn on the shelf like a doll. Would she stay here, at my sister's or at her home? I don't know. I wouldn't want to split her remains between the three of us, so we're burying her with her mother and younger brother. It seems to make sense. I hope she's okay with that.

The Services

Everything turned out so beautifully. I think my mom would have really enjoyed it. She always loved a good funeral. It was a good turn out, both for the visitation and rosary yesterday and the mass today. The funeral home created a very professional DVD of photos of my mom, but my BIL made a beautiful DVD with music he chose: "Juana La Cubana," by La Brissa (best sample I could find), which was one of my mom's favorites. I liked it better. We played the DVD during the visitation. Juana La Cubana is a very upbeat song, which somehow seemed fitting for my mom.

It was strange seeing my mom in the casket. She didn't look like herself--they even painted her nails, something she did very, very rarely. I thought I'd feel better seeing her one last time, but I didn't. I knew it wasn't her. I knew she was no longer there. My last memory of her is at the hospital. That's when I took her in completely, held her hands, touched her smooth skin, kissed her remarkably unwrinkled cheek. That was the last time she was real. When I think about it, I miss her awful.

I'm not a religious person, but I found the mass today very comforting. I like the way the priest spoke about death. He didn't just say, "It's not our place to question why," which just makes me angry, he simply said, "We just don't know why. Why would God give us such a desire to stay here on earth if the after life is really better?" I know my mom wasn't ready to leave this earth, there was so much more she wanted to do, wanted to see. We just don't know why God would do this to us, and that's where faith for an even better hereafter comes in (I'm still on the fence about it).

My Tia Bernie was so helpful to us throughout this entire ordeal. She said she promised my mom she would take care of us and she's really been keeping that promise. We were just clueless about everything from the mortuary to the mass. She came to us 15 minutes before the funeral mass to say that the band wanted to know when the priest wanted them to play and asked which passages would be read. We were freaking out--except my sister, who was the picture of composure--because we didn't know and the priest hadn't gotten there yet. The priest was doing other priestly duties, I guess. He got there about 10 minutes before and my sister said everything was planned in about a minute. Only one reading, from Revelations, which my nephew Jonathan read.

My mom would have loved everything, especially the mariachis Tia Bernie got to play at the mass--which happened to be the same ones that played at my sister's wedding thirty years ago. The church was beautiful, the flowers were beautiful, the music was beautiful, the words were beautiful, the people filling the pews were beautiful...I kind of wish I would have video taped it--it really was that...beautiful. Especially touching was when the priest offered the incense around the casket and one of the band members sang "Amazing Grace," very softly without music.

It turns out that the mortuary we used, Chapel of Chimes, is a Mormon group. We laughed when we heard that because we're Catholic. My mom's funeral was just as quirky, irreverant and fun as she was. They really did a nice job. I'm so grateful.

I'd been so wrapped up in my feelings and everything that was going on that when we were leaving church today, I took my sister and FORGOT JOAQUIN! We were driving around front of the church and we see him at the top of the steps having a ol' good time, passing out maps to my house for the reception. We both gasped, "Joaquin!" I quickly stopped and my sister jumped out and a bunch of paper fell out of her lap. The guy from the mortuary came running over, "Is something wrong?!" "Yes." my sister replied, "We forgot our baby!" I don't know what I was thinking. Ivan left early and I since he wasn't hanging onto me, I guess I thought he went with dad. Oy!

My cousin Diane made some bracelets with beads that symbolized different meanings. She made 75 of them. She found a Virgin of Guadalupe charm which happened to have another saint called, El Niño de Atocha. She really felt it was meant to be, because this Saint was know to give food and water to those imprisoned by the Moors and my mom happened to have a statue of this saint in her home. Diane remembers how all my mom wanted was water and she was imprisoned by her situation, so she felt it was fitting. Ever since she was paralyzed, I've felt that she was imprisoned in her body. She tried so hard to move and only her head would move--we thought she was in pain when she was doing it, but no, she was just trying to move her body.

My mom had a bracelet that my sister bought her a couple of years ago in Tubac. The bracelet has tons of religious charms and was just beautiful. My mom loved it. We decided to give it to Diane. She was just so touched that I know we made the right choice.

Obituary

There was once a time when I wanted to be a journalist. I remember we had to write an obituary for ourselves in class and I had the hardest time with it. I wanted to share a little of my mom's obituary. It was a group effort. (I think I'd make a better editor than journalist anyway.) It was more descriptive, but I think you get the gist.

I still miss her every day. I know it's only been a little over a week, but does it ever get better?

My mom, 74, loving sister, mother, grandmother, aunt and friend, joined her family and friends in heaven. Her beauty, big smile, always attentive ear, sense of humor and colorful conversation will remain with us always, as will her funny, fun-loving spirit. She will be greatly missed by her children, by her grandchildren, her brother and former spouse. She leaves behind a multitude of nephews, nieces, cousins and friends who were near and dear to her heart.