After the crash I was having a really disoriented time trying to access memories of my mom - which felt like she was being robbed from me all over again.
One day, about a week after the crash I started humming a song my mom would hum quite often. It wasn’t much in terms of a memory, but it was something so I kept turning it over and over again in my mind.
When my mom was anxious she would hum “wouldn’t it be loverly” from my fair lady. If I had done a terrible job cleaning up my room - she would hum, if she was stuck in traffic - she would hum. If work had been especially hard (which she would never tell us) - she would hum.
After the crash, when I was searching for memories - I looked up the lyrics to this song to see if they would spark something for me. What I had mistaken for an ear worm or a nervous tick has morphed for me into her (even at her most annoyed) constantly reminding us what is important.
They read:
All I want is a room somewhere Far away from the cold night air With one enormous chair Oh, wouldn't it be loverly? Lots of chocolate for me to eat Lots of coal makin' lots of heat Warm face, warm hands, warm feet Oh, wouldn't it be loverly Someone's head restin' on my knee Warm and tender as he can be Who takes good care of me Oh, wouldn't it be loverly
Spending a month in my mothers home sifting through her things and her digital footprint has given me a different point of view on why she was so often gently humming this song.
At my wedding in October, my friend Steph came running up to me to tell me how completely obsessed she is with Mom. They had been chatting about Mom and Dads wedding and Mom had said something along the lines - “I don’t care much about material things because in my life I have lost everything. I know things are not permanent”.
What was permanent for my mother - was this idea of a safe and warm home.
In her stories she was writing, I found a draft talking about what it was like to live in her first house when her and my father moved to Black Velvet. She had lived for so long in happy apartments, but was so moved when she had a home of her very own - a place of permanence to make her own.
With this house in Lewes - my mom finally made her perfect home which she deemed “Buela’s gentle beach house”. A kind and clean place where you could feel free to be just yourself. She filled our home with soft blankets, warm drinks and a deep sense of security and safety.
One of my last text messages from “Just got home. Love our house”. This fits.
For me, my mom is home. Wherever I was - when I was with her I had all of the security and comfort the song she would hum speaks of.
Since the crash one thought has bubbled up pretty much from the start - she is not gone, because Bri and I and Charlie are of her - she is in our DNA, our fibers. She, Bri and I were planning a trip to France this winter. I was so sad she didn’t get to go on that trip until I realized she will be with me on this trip - what we see and she will see. In our failures, she is the part of us that will tell us how to move forward. What we accomplish, she will achieve. As we walk through life with our warm and tender loves, she will walk with us. As we build cozy homes far from the cold night air - she will be kept warm and lovely.
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