Posts filed under ‘Family’
Common Phrases Heard While Growing Up
Common phrases heard while growing up in the Curtis household …
“Do you own stock in Con Ed?” Dad – when we left lights on after leaving a room
“I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it!” Mom - doesn’t everyone’s mom say that?
“I’m going to see a man about a horse …” Dad – before my time, during his drinkin’-with-the-guys days, but I loved hearing the stories about him saying it as told by my siblings, especially because one of them always thought he was going to bring a pony home
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Mom – I don’t think I ever heard her swear
“Was your father a galss blower?” Dad – when we stood in front of the television he was watching
“Pick yourself up, brush yourself off and start all over again.” Mom - simple, sweet and encouraging … annoying at times but I’d give anything to hear her say it again
“Shit or get off the pot!” Dad – I like to think this was his way of saying that life is short so stop hemmin’ and hawin’ and go for it
“Ba fanabla!” Mom – I don’t know if I spelled it right and I’m not even sure I know what it means, but I’m thinkin’ this was her way of swearing
“I love you.”
Mom & Dad -
I realize this is not said regularly enough among families, and I am thankful for having beautiful parents who said it to me often and for my siblings who continue to tell me.
Launch Pad to Heaven
The worn hardwood floors vibrated angrily as the massive, electric oxygen tank jumped and jittered in the corner of the living room like a shuttle getting ready to launch into space. Rotations of friends and family armed with food and stories overflowed from one room to the next. The house where Mama and Daddy raised seven children seemed so small and was bursting at the seams with chaos. But Mama lay peacefully on the noisy hospital bed air mattress that Hospice delivered. She was home, exactly where she wanted to be – her launch pad to heaven.
We had been roomies for the past seven years. I moved back home just one year before Daddy died, and then it was just us girls. When she arrived home from the hospital that Friday night, I ached for it to be just us girls again. I wanted to tell her about my day at work and hear her sweet, excited voice recount the day’s episode of The View.
“Mama, are you scared?” Her eyelids were heavy. She couldn’t keep them open for long, and when she did, her eyes were unrecognizable. The once beautiful, deep brown had washed to gray. “A little bit, but God gave me a good life.” She grasped her pale pink rosary beads tightly.
After all the suffering she’d endured during her 75 years on earth, how could she think that God gave her a good life? “Mama, I wish I could have a faith as strong you.” “You do,” she said. “Be good to one another.”
I sat in the recliner in the corner of the dark room watching over her. I gave her periodic doses of morphine, wiped the thick mucus that collected on her tongue, shifted her from side to side, and in between I cried. I ached and shook and cried like I never had before. I knew that soon I would be an orphan.
Monday night. She waited until we all left the room, just for a moment. She was unconscious in mind but not in soul. She knew. Heaven gave her clearance for lift off, and softly she went.
A Message from Heaven
Since I started cleaning out the house back in November to begin my long-drawn-out saga of renovations (stay tuned, it’s almost done!), I’ve uncovered many treasures. I’ve found everything from old family photos and baby books to greeting cards and letters to antiques from my grandfather’s old general store and butcher shop; I even found locks of my Mama’s hair from when she was a little girl, but there was one very simple thing I found that reached right out and grabbed me by the soul. It was a piece of paper, a torn, yellow Post-it note stuck to the green lamp on my mother’s desk. It was a message from heaven.
As I was plowing through never-ending clutter, to make way for the renovations to begin, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of papers and knick knacks my sweet Mama held onto, there was a moment where I felt utterly and completely defeated – okay, there have been many of those moments throughout the process and I’m sure there are many more to come, but this moment was a defining moment.
A conversation with myself ensued, along the lines of “what was I thinking, buying a house all on my own … you can’t do this … you can barely take care of yourself!” My heart ached, my head spun, and all I could do was cry. I sobbed for the loss of my mother, the loss of my father and all the responsibilities I’d gained with those way too early, completely unfair, life-changing losses. Sadness, frustration, confusion and anger that had built up inside me let loose like water breaking through a dam and traveled from the tips of my fingers, the tips of my toes, the pit of my stomach, and the hole in my heart to explode in the form of tears.
Then, I looked up, and there it was. The torn, yellow Post-it note with a message in my beautiful Mama’s Catholic School Girl handwriting.
It was a message from heaven. It didn’t stop me from crying, but it changed the source of my tears. This message was meant for me; it was sent for me at precisely the right time. Whether she’d written it down years before after hearing the line on an episode of “The Oprah Winfrey Show” or delivered it from heaven above that day, she knew exactly what I needed, just like she always had.
I keep that message from heaven in my wallet, stuck to the back of my driver’s license so that it is always a part of me. Now that the house is almost finished, I plan to frame and place it somewhere I’ll see it each and every day. Because sometimes it’s the things that we fear the most in life that we actually need the most.
10 Things My Irish Fadder Taught Me
- Never let the gas in your car go below half a tank.
- If you set your mind to it, you can survive through anything.
- Never leave home without cash in your pocket.
- In NYC the streets go up from south to north and the avenues east to west.
- You can be strong and fearful at the same time.
- If someone is stealing your dessert out of your lunch pail, put a laxative in your treats and then you’ll know who did it and they’ll never steal ‘em again!
- How to spit.
- Faith.
- Never refer to your mother as “she” or “her”.
- Shit or get off the pot!
10 Things My Mama Taught Me
- ‘Tis better to give than to receive
- If someone is being mean to you, stop and think, what must be wrong in their lives to make them that way
- Kill ‘em with kindness
- If someone asks you if they can borrow a quarter and you have one, give it to them, and ask them not to pay you back but to pass it on to the next person who needs one
- We need God more than God needs us
- Pray to Saint Anthony when you’ve lost something
- Pray to Saint Jude when you feel hopeless
- If your poop floats you have enough fiber in your diet
- If you sprinkle when you tinkle be a sweety and wipe the seaty
- Love one another
What’s in a Name?
A lot, actually. More than I thought, now that I think of it. By the time my parents got to me, numero seven-o, they had a hard time coming up with a name. I’ve been told that I was without a name for some time (back then, moms and new babies stayed in the hospital for more than two days, can you imagine?), and they called me “She She” for a while.
According to my Mother, my Father wanted to name me Angelica so that he could call me Angel. Ahh bless … And Angelica is a family name on my mother’s side so it would have had some meaning behind it, but my Mama didn’t think that was the name for me. Nope. She liked the name Allyson. Allyson – not Allison or Alison – Allyson, with a “y”. Like June Allyson. But June was not the inspiration for the name (just the spelling) my Mama gave me; that came from a movie and soap opera called “Peyton Place”.
Until a couple of weeks ago, I’d actually never seen the movie or show that was the motivation behind my name. As I watched, it got me to thinking … does a name somewhat define a person’s character or does the person define the name?
Alison MacKenzie from Peyton Place was a small town girl who was destined for bigger things. I grew up in a town that was considered somewhat small; you knew most of the people around, and you couldn’t go to a store without running into someone you knew or that knew your mother or father or grandfather. And Peyton Place is in New England; it just so happens that I love New England! I often daydream about moving to a cozy, small New England town. And I have, for most of my adult life, had this pang that there is something bigger meant for me; that I haven’t yet found my true purpose in life.
Alison also leaves her small town and goes to New York to start a career as a writer. She’s given the opportunity to go to college and study writing, but she’d rather do it and learn hand on rather than sitting in a classroom and listen to someone to tell her how to write. I am a writer, or at least I try to be. And I’ve thought about going back to school for an MFA in Creative Writing, but it just doesn’t suit me. I didn’t flee to New York, but I did quit my job and escape to Ireland for six months, and while I was there I did a lot of writing.
So … are these similarities merely coincidences or is it all in the name? Did my Mother’s choice in name influence who I’ve become and the person I still have left to find within me?
What’s in a name? A lot. If it actually does play role in the person you become that’s one thing. But even more importantly than that, it’s the name my Mama chose for me. Whether she thought I’d become a writer or a strong woman or someday live in a small New England town or if she just simply liked the sound of the name … whatever it was, it was chosen just for me. And that is who I am. I am my mother’s child. Allyson.
Hoodwinky …
… No, it’s not a real word. And it doesn’t have anything to do with being tricked, as in “I’ve been hoodwinked!” (Although I do love that phrase and should definitely use it more.) It’s what my Mama used to call Hoodia. You know, that herbal supplement that is supposed to suppress your appetite and help you lose weight.
My mother was a vitamin nut. She always had a variety on hand … B6, B12, iron, calcium, zinc, cod liver oil, vitamin E, and on and on …. She was somewhat of a naturalist I guess you could say. So, one night, as I placed an order on-line from Puritan’s Pride to stock her up on the goods, I decided to give Hoodia a try. For weeks she would remind me to take it … “Did you take your Hoodwinky,” she’d say. Hoodwinky. It makes me smile. She was such a funny lady.
Lately I’ve been trying to take better care of myself. It’s a lot of work. While my Mama was dying and for months after she passed away I just neglected myself. When you’re grieving the loss of the life of a loved one, you don’t realize how you’re neglecting the life you yourself have left to live. I used to get so upset with her for not taking better care of herself when my Dad was very ill the months before he passed away. She ended up in the hospital with pneumonia just two weeks after his funeral. Now I understand her.
It’s so much easier to focus on other people and other things. And simple things like feeding yourself seem so complicated and exhausting. Rather than having to put thought into a grocery list, go to the store, put the groceries away and then prepare meals, it’s so much easier to just zip through a drive-thru and get a meal to go. Especially when you’re eating alone. For several months, Kentucky Fried Chicken and McDonald’s became my new best friends. My mother always loved fast food or her junk food as she called it. Surprise her with an extra crispy meal with potato wedges and extra biscuits or a Happy Meal and she would be so pleased. It was the simple things that made her happy. Maybe that’s why I enjoyed spending so much time with my new nest buds KFC and MceeDee, because they reminded me of her.
Now, almost eight months after my sweet, silly Mama moved on to a better place, I am finally paying attention to myself. I’ve awakened from my fast food coma, and KFC and MceeDee are now more like acquaintances I see every once in a while. I am putting time into making the most of the life that my parents gave me. The life in which they saw so much potential and invested so much and made so many sacrifices for. It is a lot of work. But it is worth it. Because as I recollect the pieces of me that had fallen apart I honor the beautiful people who are responsible for putting me here on this earth. And with the wonderful memories they’ve blessed me with and a little bit of Hoodwinky, I think I might just become whole again.
All Grown Up & No Place to Go …
My mother used to tell me, “It stinks to get old,” and now I know what she meant. Okay, so I’m not really old, and she said that to me at a much later point in life than where I am now at the age of 32, but when did I suddenly grow up and have to make so many decisions and deal with so many hassles? Within the past month I have been on the phone with doctors and lawyers and accountants – oh my! I just want to click my heels together three times and be five years old again at home with my mother and father.
A couple of months ago I was diagnosed with MRSA. Yep, that’s right, the “super bug”. And of course, yours truly would end up getting it. I used to always tell my Mama “I’m a freak of nature,” and she would either say “you’re not a freak of nature, I didn’t give birth to freaks of nature” or (lovingly) “yes, but you’re my freak of nature.” Poor Mama had to put up with all of my crazy neuroses.
Anyway … the MRSA was treatable, thank God, but of course I had some crazy side effect caused by the antibiotics and I became a prisoner chained to the phone waiting for a call from the doctor – for more than 24 hours! Mind you, when I initially called I had a fever of 102 degrees - wouldn’t ya think that warranted a call back within at least, oh, let’s say eight hours?!?! Why is it that doctors can get away with not calling you back promptly or with having you sit in the waiting room for an hour only to have the nurse then call you into an exam room to wait another hour before the doctor actually sees you?!?
Then there’s the lawyers. I am, perhaps foolishly, in the process of buying the house I grew up in. The house I lived in until I graduated from college and then recently for the past seven years after moving back for what I thought would only be one year. With real estate transactions, comes lawyers. Some good, some not so good, some God awful. I am lucky that my lawyer is good and personable and reliable, and I am lucky to have her on my team. On the estate side of it all however, well, there dwells one of the attorneys that falls into the God awful category. And it’s horrible for everyone involved – in this case, seven siblings and their spouses. “Oye vey,” as my far-from-jewish father used to say.
Then there are the accountants. Again, here I am lucky. I have a good guy on my side. An Italian, Staten Island (by way of Brooklyn) accountant. Badda boom, badda bing … and things are good to go. However, when you have to deal with transferring 401k funds from former employers to a new IRA account to do your best to make sure you are financially secure for the future, things get messy and the paesan’s badda boom, badda bing magic doesn’t work so easily, he gets frustrated with the idiots on the other end of the phone and in turn so do you!
Oh, and I can’t forget to mention the wondrous mortgage broker, which would fall somewhat under the accountant/number cruncher umbrella. Now, the one in my situation, well, she’s a doozie and I could write an entire post on her alone. All I can say is, do you have to take tests to actually hold that position? Because somehow, I don’t think this one did. That, or she cheated or had her husband (he’s a God awful lawyer) take the exams for her. And is customer service just not a requirement in this industry? I would think, especially in times like the ones we are living in now, these creatures would work a little harder to keep clients and potential clients a little bit happier.
The worst part of it all, is that when the craziness reaches new levels I can’t just go and tell Mama and Daddy about it. Not that they could fix it or make things go faster, but they would listen to me and humor me. I can call my brothers and sisters, I know that. I have lots of wonderful people in my life that have listened to my freak of nature ranting more often than they probably bargained for. But it’s not the same.
It’s kind of scary actually. It’s like living life without a safety net that has been there since you were born, and then suddenly, when you weren’t looking, it’s been pulled out from under you. Not that it always catches you per say, but it reminds you when you do hit the ground to, as my Mama would sing, ”pick yourself up, brush yourself off and start all over again.”
Sixth Month Sadness
It’s amazing how your body, mind and soul are just aware of things, like certain dates or significant times of the year. You might be feeling sad or anxious for what seems like no reason at all, but subconsciously it all makes sense, and when you consciously realize the reason behind it, you wonder why you didn’t connect the dots sooner.
It’s like every year at the beginning of December, I become kind of melancholy. And every year I don’t realize immediately why that is. At first I think “Oh, it’s the holiday blues,” you know, how they say a lot of people get depressed around the holiday season, and then I realize that it’s because the beginning of December was the beginning of the end of my father’s life on earth.
It was Sunday, December 8th, 2002. We had come home from church and Daddy and I were going to head out to the mall to see the Christmas decorations. He loved Christmas, and he definitely passed the fondness for the holiday along to me. He was upstairs getting freshened up and he called down for my mother. His leg was extremely swollen and he didn’t know what to do. Off to the emergency room we went. We didn’t get to see the decorations that year.
He had a blood clot in his thigh, an effect of chemotherapy. About two weeks in the hospital and he was back home. I put the big tree and the stockings up to prepare for his homecoming.
Mama & Daddy
We had two artificial trees – a big one that Daddy and I loved putting up, and my Mama’s “Charlie Brown” tree, which she preferred. I remember while he was in the hospital praying to God to just let him be able to have a good Christmas. And he did.
It was shortly after Christmas that he began being confused – mistaking day for night and vice versa. He was weak and couldn’t make it to the bathroom on his own. He spent most of the time in bed, and he would need assistance getting dressed or to come downstairs to be with the family. He would forget how weak he was and attempt to get out of bed and fall to the ground. Many times I would have to pick his heavy, limp body up and back into bed or guide him with his walker into the bathroom, only for him to collapse when we got there and then have to call my sister and nephews to help me get him up.
On January 21st I was home from work when the doctor called. Daddy needed a vitamin K shot. They had been sending a nurse to monitor his blood levels at home. It was either the emergency room or the doctor’s office by noon and there was no way my mother and I could get him ready and out to the office by then. My sister and nephew came over and we brought him to the ER. It was the first time my mother had never accompanied him on the trip to the hospital, and it broke her heart to stay home. But it was freezing outside and the air was not good for her breathing. We made that call for her.
He was too weak to sign papers so I had to sign for him. When it was our turn and the doctor saw us, he said “This man needs more than a Vitamin K Shot, he needs a blood transfusion.” Exactly one month later, late at night, he peacefully passed away. He lived with cancer for 17 years of his life. It had spread to the bone, formed a mass that blocked his kidney and had taken him over.
Exactly five years later to the day that we brought my beautiful, courageous father to the hospital , my sweet Mama passed away at home, just as she had wanted it. Emphysema and COPD had gotten the best of her, she couldn’t fight anymore. When she came home from the hospital on that Friday, she told me “God gave me a good life.” I couldn’t understand how she thought that, after all the suffering she’d been through in her life. I told her I admired her faith and wish I could have a faith as strong. “You do,” she said. “Be good to one another.” She made her journey to heaven just three days later on Monday night, to join Daddy in a place where there is no more pain, no more cancer, a place where they can breathe easy and be together forever.
Yesterday I was sad and didn’t know why. I wasn’t uncontrollably crying or outwardly sad. I was feeling kind of empty inside. And then today, as I was driving on my way to work, it hit me. Yesterday was July 21st. Six months since my Mama left this earthly world for a better place. That’s when I began uncontrollably crying. That’s when it hit me like a ton of bricks sitting on my chest, like I couldn’t breathe. Because the reality set in that the amazing woman who gave me my life, who gave me the very breath I breathe, has been gone for six months. It was sixth month sadness.
