Mourning Mom…This Can’t Be Real
By: Lee Romano Sequeira
Tags: Loss, Death, Mothers, Loss Of A Parent, Mwc Death

I’d love to hug whomever penned the phrase, “Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.”

I’d also love to bitch slap them.

No, they didn’t do anything to me personally, and I don’t even know from what century that quote came to be. It’s just a low-grade-feverish-absolutely-shitty-never-going-to-see-them-again malaise that I feel wash over me as I read those words.

I guess it’s the whole concept of death in general.

Let me back up.

Ten years ago I had to mutter three words I never thought I’d ever have to string together in a sentence for at least another full decade or two. Those words?

Mom is gone.

My wonderful, clever, loving, witty mom passed away in her sleep. Hitting me even harder — like a sucker punch in the spot my appendix once occupied — mom passed sometime between going to bed Thanksgiving eve and Thursday morning’s sunrise.

Mom had her freshly baked apple pie (with a perfectly pinched crust) ready for the Thanksgiving feast, and she always told me if (when) she died, she wanted to be dressed in a really nice outfit so that she’d look her best. That night she opted for comfort, because she went to bed in one of her well-worn flannel nightgowns.

I knew she would’ve been more pissed about being in that old nightgown then leaving us, but that was my mom.

I didn’t care if she went to bed in a Dior ballgown. There were no warnings, no clues, no nothing, no mom.

Mom is gone. Mom is gone. Mom is gone.

I found myself repeating those words over and over. I couldn’t believe this was real. Between taking belts of whiskey just to self soothe, crying until (no more water was left in my body) my tear ducts went dry, and getting major cases of the gags, I felt like I was in a stupor — a walking coma. Part of me also WISHED I was in a coma, and when I awoke (or not), this whole shocking mess would be nothing but a bad dream.

A dream it wasn’t, however. My house was filled with condolence cards and arrays of colorful flowers with touching notes from a zillion family members and friends but…somehow it still didn’t seem real. It COULDN’T be real.

Mom was SO ALIVE, so funny — always ready with a wisecrack, or words of wisdom. I loved her advice. She laid it flat out like no one could.

Let me share a few examples of her witty one liners (please remember, this is going back a decade or so):

Sex Tapes — Ma says, “as long as you’re looking good, be proud and go for it!.” She also noted her ‘green light’ is for couples’ sex tapes only, not for freaks involving animals or vegetables.

Home Wrecker: — “You can’t ‘take’ somebody’s husband, unless he wants go.” “Kidnapping doesn’t count,” she added.

NJ Politics — Mom’s nickname for the ultra bloated NJ Governor Chris Christie was: ”Krispy Kreme, because he looks like he’s had more than a few.”

Mary Kate Olsen -“She’s a walking advertisement for disaster. She should have a show called ‘What not to buy.”

Kate Gosselin — Ma said “I hope her kids turn the cameras on her when she’s old and taking craps in HER diaper. What’s fair is fair.”

Octo Mom — “That little simpleton can’t even get her book sold. Everybody already knows her whole story; her 15 minutes of fame are up.”

Jennifer Aniston — “She’ll be a grandmother’s age soon enough, and the tabloids will still be yapping about her having a baby.”

Jesse James (re: Sandra Bullock) “Just shut up and take the blame. Don’t blame your parents for being a loser.”

Mel Gibson — “I always thought he was crazy, but Oksana knows exactly which buttons to push to unleash Mel’s inner raving maniac.” she added, “any husband of mine would not be able to walk out of the house if he was threatening my baby. I’d beat his face in!”

She said all these things in complete jest — she loved to make me laugh. My mom was caring, generous, funny, and she STILL makes me laugh as I write this piece about her. She was one funny mother I used to say.

Despite knowing she was gone, I’d still dial her phone number and expect her to pick up. I remember wanting to call her about who was just told to f*ck off on Hell’s Kitchen, or whom we thought should have gotten fired on The Apprentice (we won’t speak of that show now, but we did then), or the new black patent vegan boots I snagged on sale, but then the cold harsh smack of reality would hit me right in the face, telling me those days are over.

Oh Mom, why did you have to leave us?

Part of the reason she left was I think in her soul she was ready was to be with her beloved (my dad) who passed away 3 years prior. It certainly wasn’t her age, as mom was 11 years younger than Dad, and she just turned 70 (which is the new 50 now).

Mom did tell me a week or so before she passed that each year without Dad was harder instead of easier, and with Thanksgiving being one of Dad’s favorites — we’re Italian after all, so any holiday with a feast was a win — it did seem poetic that she drifted off in her sleep to spend Thanksgiving with him.

Mom, Me & Dad Wedding Day 1999

My mom was a mom, but she was also a best friend. A best friend who loved to shop! I think they came up with the term shopaholic for people like her.

Mom had HSN & QVC on speed dial, and she was always hiding a jewelry trinket she found from those channels in my house for me to find after she left, or if I happened to admire a ring or bracelet she was wearing, I’d often find it waiting for me in my jewelry box. I think she hid some of her loot from my dad too. “Oh, this old thing?” she’d say.

One of my favorite pastimes was mixing up a couple of bold whiskey sours and listening to dozens of Mom’s humorous stories. She’d chat about her life in the fifties and sixties, and those anecdotes now occupy a notebook of mine, which would be the first non-living thing I’d reach for in an emergency.

Loss of any kind is a tough pill to swallow, and when you lose someone you’re very close to, you feel like your heart is literally ripping apart inside your chest. It’s ten years later and I can feel a tiny new tear forming as I write this, and for some reason my keyboard is getting soggy.

Yes, death does leave a heartache no one can heal, and my love for her leaves many precious memories no one can steal, so I’ll try to keep my brain ultra sharp until the day we meet up on the other side. I have soooooo much to tell her!

I think I’ll mix up a couple of whiskey sours tonight. I’ll leave one on the coffee table in Mom’s honor.