Remembering my Mom for Lily

Eleven years ago today, my mother died. I find it difficult to describe how hard it's been to deal with losing her, so much so that sometimes I just try to avoid talking about it. The usual reaction to my telling people about her death is an awkward apology, and my usual response is something like "it's okay." I'm not really sure what the "it" is there; I'm not really settled with not having my mom here, and I certainly appreciate what people are trying to say with a sorry. Usually on this day over the past eleven years, I've gone somewhere that has a bar of sorts and ordered two tequila shots, taking one for myself and one for her. It wouldn't be hyperbole to say that at the time this was one of the most significant events of my life. 

But another significant event has happened in my life. Having my daughter has brought more joy than I could have imagined, but today it's also brought some pain. I couldn't help but think about how much I love Lily, how much I love my mom, and how the two of them won't get to meet. I won't have the opportunity to watch my mom's face light up as she holds her grandchild, won't get to hear mom's rendition of "Hap-Hap-Happy Days." Furthermore, the idea of going into a bar with my nearly four month old daughter to do shots, even just two, doesn't seem right anymore. Instead, I decided to try to spend time today remembering mom while spending time with Lily (Lily is actually named for Mom; she really like the name Lilith, and even went by it in some circles, and Lily seemed a way to remember Mom). 

Scheduling didn't work out entirely like I'd planned, but I did get to spend a little time on the Oval's lawn with Lily. I asked Regina to drop off a blanket with her so I could spread it on the ground, and I positioned us in the shade as Lily is still a bit sensitive to the bright sun. She got some fair tummy time in, and I positioned her feet and later her hands so they could play in the grass a bit (her first grass experience!). Of course, per usual Lily can only be happy with tummy time for so long, so she insisted on being flipped on her back. Once there, she spent the rest of our time there looking at all the exciting things going on around us, and I sang to her a bit. I employed my usual pub song for her, "Nottingham Ale," but also tried out Mom's "Hap-Hap-Happy Days." I quickly realized that the latter has entire verses that I never knew existed, and that Mom had basically only ever sung the chorus. But I sang it to Lily anyway.

It was tricky, and still is, to think of things to do with Lily in remembrance of Mom. I can remember Mom singing that one song to me, horse playing with me in the apartment complex swimming pool (which sadly often led to her being injured), teaching me how to count by teaching me how to play dominoes, and singing along to the Rocky Horror Picture show with me (I had the soundtrack memorized, due to Mom's fandom, by age 11). It's hard to do most of this with Lily right now, and I could hardly remember what she did with me when I was Lily's age. But I think I'll keep trying to do more things that I do remember with Lily as she gets old enough to do them. I know I can't replace the role Mom would have filled in Lily's life, but I can try to pass on some of what Lily would have learned from her. 

I want Lily to know how to face adversity and keep going. Mom was a walking example both of how life can beat you up with horrible relationships or accidents or financial woes, but also of how with enough perseverance you can keep yourself moving. 

(This is the ring on the back of Lily's lion that she somehow managed to take off...at three month's old)

It wouldn't be entirely right to say Mom knew patience, although she certainly had to employ a fair share of it with me, but Mom did put her own frustrations to work. Sometimes this could come out in maniacal sessions of cleaning or overt productivity, but Mom carried on the lesson she learned from my Granny, Mom's mom: when bad things happen you flush them down the toilet, letting them go forever, or you use them to push you forward. 

I want Lily to learn how to support others. Again and again I watched Mom give more and more of herself to help and support others. Yes, she was taken advantage of at times and, yes, sometimes she received little but pain and frustration from that giving, but she also touched the lives of those who knew her, leaving them better off than they were when she met them. I want Lily to know how vital the giving can be, and also how to be strong enough to stand against those who solely want to take from her. 

Ultimately, I want Lily to know how to love, be loved, and how to stay true to herself. My Mom was very young when she had me, and I watched her learn some of these lessons the hard way. Mom walked through some very dark times in her life, but before the end Mom knew better than ever what was important in life, what she wanted, and who she was. Mom only ever requested that one thing be written in her obituary: Don't Dream It, Be It. Mom spent nearly forty years of her life learning how to take her own advice, but she got it before all was said and done. I want to help Lily learn the same lesson, and to demonstrate that lesson to her.

I can't give Lily memories of her grandmother, but I can give her the stories, life lessons, and example that my Mom gave me. Mom spent most of her life unsure of the job she was doing as a mother, convinced she was mucking things up at ever turn. I want nothing more right now than to pass Lily into my mother's arms and say "I can only be her father because you were both mother and father to me." If I can give Lily even a portion of the care and affection that Mom gave me, I may be able to pull this parenting thing off after all.