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[quidditchgrrl]

It's all of the usual rants about commericalism. I hate commerical holidays. Know what holiday I like best? Spring equinox. There's the Easter Bunny, some manner of healthy food offered (hard-boiled eggs, yum), and it's warm outside. Great stuff. You aren't justifying your love or existence to anyone. Don't even get me started on that b-s called Sweetest Day.

Valentine's Day is also my mother's birthday. (For those of you new to my flist, welcome to angst central. Feel free to click away.) This in and of itself isn't much to speak of, but nearly all of my memories are unhappy ones. My dad always went to Daytona the week before the race, and he only stayed home twice that I can remember - once when my mom was pregnant with my sister, and the year he was Master of his Lodge. It was his Spring Break with the guys; many of the pit crew he'd worked with in the past, so he was an insider VIP, good times for him. Many a year he forgot to call my mom on her birthday, if there was something going on in the pits, he and the guys decided to go out, whatever. My mom never said anything out loud, but I could always see how hurt she was by that.

In myself I see that tendency toward small inconsiderations, and it makes me sick. I do try very hard with Honeybunch to be considerate and thoughtful, but sometimes I fall short.

During the week my dad was gone, my sister and I slept with my mom. We'd go to Chi-Chi's for dinner, since my dad hated Chi-Chi's. One year we even went to the movies (my mom only went to the theatre twice in the 24 years I knew her) and saw Three Men and a Baby. But I always got the feeling she was lonely, and we didn't normally celebrate her birthday or Valentine's Day because of that.

The year and a half before my mom died, the period after the discovery of her inoperable liver cancer, was a strange and terrible year. It fully occurred to my sister and I that the clock was ticking, and we hadn't had our mom long enough. There were so many things we hadn't experienced with her since she had been under intense chemotherapy over the previous two years. We wanted to get those Things in during whatever period of relatively good health she had.

On Valentine's Day 1999, we took my mom out to her first official birthday dinner. She wore a fine red suit, pantyhose and heels, just like she would have dressed up in days past. Her makeup was perfect, nails polished to match. The only thing that ever gave away that she might have been nervous or tired was the slight bobbing of her head (she had complications from Bell's Palsy, which left her with Parkinson's-like tremors).

I realize now that she must have been in horrible pain and fatigued to the point of crying, but she smiled right through and never let on that she was anything but happy and energetic. And I don't think I can forgive myself for wanting that day to come about so badly that I never gave my mom the opportunity to back out if she didn't feel up to it. I hope that she felt good about that day and how happy she made us by putting on that brave face.

She went along with a lot of different things that spring I doubt she would have felt up to had we not pushed her into it. We took her to a fancy salon and had her newly-grown hair cut and makeup done. We cooked meals and invited our brothers over to the house for Sunday dinners, because she didn't have the strength to cook and wouldn't invite anyone over if she couldn't cook for them.

Her next birthday wasn' t such a grand occasion. Jaundice had begun settle in, and fighting pain was a losing battle. We had relatives over, and they each pulled me aside and asked, "how long has she been like this?" in horrified whispers. "How long does she have?" The birthday cards that year were much more inspirational than in years past; my mother preferred humorous cards from anyone other than dad. She only spent a couple of hours awake that day; my sister convinced her to take her OXY-IR and oxycontin combination. While she slept we cleaned up the house (my dad is a useless slob) and made food for the week.

So, I guess the commerical aspect of Valentine's Day has passed me by. I wasn't conditioned to believe that my worth as a romantic object *snort* was to be measured in roses and candy on February 14th of each year. And as you all know, I'm not much of a romantic.



Lupercalia, anyone?

Comments

[poconell.livejournal.com]

Wow, Donna! You are a true survivor. I know this day doesn't have happy memories for you, but I'm sure your mom cherished and appreciated how much you and your sister cared and tried to make it better for her. She was very blessed to have two wonderful, thoughtful daughters.

Posts like this make me realize how lucky I am to have a healthy family. I complain way too much.

::hugs::

[thalialunacy.livejournal.com]

what ^ said. i'm in awe.

[chickadilly.livejournal.com]

*hugs*

I think you're an amazing person Donna.

*more hugs*

[quidditchgrrl.livejournal.com]

Same to you, babe! >:D

[seakays.livejournal.com]

Donna,

Oh my heavens,

Just a couple of random hugs, babe.
S

[tonksnymphadora.livejournal.com]

*big hugs*

[badonkatonks.livejournal.com]

I don't know what to say...I envy you the times you were able to be there for her, to help care for her. Sad, but beautiful memories...I wouldn't trade mine for the world, even the painful memories.

I understand.

(*hugs you close*)

Re:

[badonkatonks.livejournal.com]

Fuck...Lupercalia it is!!!

*clincks glass to yours*