Monthly Archives: January 2018

There are just so many stories of my mom. Spending time recently with my two nephews, each the son of two siblings, it brought me peace as they shared stories of how they were and still are influenced by Gramma Rose.

“You’re the best…”

I can’t remember the exact year, but I know it started when we lived in a house on South Walcott Avenue in Chicago, between 1969 – 1973, so I would have been under 10 y.o., probably closer to 6 or 7 y.o.  My siblings and I all had various chores to do.  The first time I had to vacuum the stairs, when complete, Mom looked over my work and proclaimed; “WOW! You did SUCH A GOOD job! Much better than your brother or sister’s.”  As that young mind wrapped around the mere thought that I top ranked my older sibling’s, I tell you, I vacuumed those stairs with gusto and enthusiasm  every week. When I was 15, it hit me. Almost a decade. After I put the vacuum away,  I said to Mom: “Jig is up. I am NOT the best at vacuuming the stairs, you conned me.”  She slightly cocked her head, a slight smile came across her face and that sparkle erupted in her eyes and she said  “Oh son. It took you THIS long?”

And speaking of vacuums…when my sibling’s left home for either their own pursuits or college, Mom and I shared the house work.  Mom ran the old heavy upright on the flat surfaces, I carried it up the stairs for her.   On more than one occasion I  would walk out of a room not knowing she was approaching with this tank of a vacuum and we would collide: vacuum and my bare socked foot. The first time it happened, I pulled off my sock and the little toe as at a 45° angle. Months later it happened again, only this time the blow cracked the toe back into a somewhat normal position. After numerous vacuum to foot impacts, I learned to just stay in the room I was in until the vacuum was shut off. To this day, the little toe on my right foot can hing out to a 45° angle.

Mom dealt with medical emergencies with a clear head, but her stress of the event would be released as a giggle or all out laughter. This really helped me to see the humor in every situation but at times it was difficult through intense pain or if I  was bleeding all over the place. To be clear, her laughter at the situation wasn’t rude, mocking, insulting or premeditated, but off the cuff and to that particular moment.

I was an emergency room, stitches kinda kid. Once after I cut a three inch gash at the thumb along the palm on my left hand with a razor blade in the garage, as blood was flowing,  I went into the house to tell sister what occurred, she slapped a dishcloth on the gash and called Mom at work to inform of the situation. Mom told sister to make sure I didn’t get blood on the carpet.  Sister repeated this to me, then began to laugh and trade quips with mom. I said; ” I could be dying here, but sure. I’ll try not to bleed out on the carpet”. 14 stitches to close that one, left hand wrapped like a club.

A week later, Mom stuck her right hand into a glass washing it, the glass cracked and she cut her right hand. 8 stitches to close that. So for a week or so we each had opposite hands in the same style club shape ace bandage. Not wanting to make two trips to the doctor to have stitches removed, mine were delayed to coincide with her removal and we went to the doctor at the same time. When the doctor came into the exam room and saw us sitting next to each other, me on the left, left bandaged hand sticking up and Mom on the right, with her bandaged hand sticking up, he did a exaggerated double take and said “Now Rosemary, you know I can’t give you a two for one special.” Mom erupted into laughter as her face radiated joy.

Frugal, Not Cheap

Mom would balance her books to the penny nightly. How she raised for kids on what she earned those first few years after the divorce, I’ll never know. The day after my 18th Birthday, Mom requested we have a talk and she shared some of the honest details of leading up to and after the divorce. Court papers & documents, income tax returns for 1964, 1965 and 1966 and proof of non payment of child support.  I was stunned and my adoration for her just swelled.

I had to have surgery on my eye the summer I was 16. We had to make a trip into the Chicagoland area for a consolation with a specialist the surgeon doing the surgery required before he would proceed. During the course of the exam, the specialist who taught at the University of IL,  joked ” that it was such a simple surgery, if I had a movie of it, I’d show you.”  Mom’s interest peeked, she inquired: “So there isn’t any footage available for your students to see this type of surgery?”  I then watched as Mom and the Doctor negotiated a discounted rate if she  allowed my surgery to be filmed for his educational purposes, with the final say coming down to the Dr. doing the surgery, who agreed it was a fantastic idea.

Birthdays!

If it was yours, you ruled for the day. You got to choose the menu for all three meals, with your choice of one her homemade cakes and frosting for desert. Daily chores were excused. Wrapped gifts were the days bounty, sometimes a gag gift always followed by the jewel. For the 12th year, I was given a large box full of cereal box toys collected by a Great Aunt who had a mentally disabled son. As I opened the box and peered inside at all this JUNK!  Mom says: “It’s been a rough year.”   I was trying to just let it roll, be a little man, tough it up; but right as the emotional boy was on the verge of bubbling over, she ruffled my hair and handed me a small wrapped box. I opened it up and it was my first wrist-watch. Little man!

Three days before my 16th birthday, I won a car in a raffle in a fundraising candy drive for the parochial high school I attended. I had just started with this mantra of positive affirmations, so instead of “IF I win the car…” I would say “WHEN I win the car.  I honestly didn’t have any experience with this sort of concept before, I was just doing it.  I wasn’t 100% confidant, I never researched insurance rates. I never used the affirmations around school during the drive, only at home.  I think the candy drive was a month or 45 days in length…at breakfast the morning of the raffle drawing, I said to Mom: “Well, I guess I call you when I get the car keys today.”  She just blew up! Just TORE INTO ME! I just shut down..tuned her out. Bits came through: “Things come from hard work… nothing is free…nothing is just handed over to you..this runaway ego of yours… this arrogance and this attitude…you’re in for a very rude awakening, young man!”

When my name was read after being pulled out of the drawing, I just about shit! I couldn’t believe it! With an enrollment of 502, each name entered into the drawing after selling the case of chocolate, the odds were 501-1. Honesty, things were kind of a blur. I was in the office after having a picture taken with principle of the school handing me the keys to the car. When a woman working in the office asked me if I had called Mom,  I replied that I hadn’t.  She handed me a receiver and asked for the number, I recited Mom’s work number (which just popped off in my brain as I write this). When she answered, I said: “Hi mom! I won the car!” and she started to go off again, I just handed the phone to the secretary and she put the phone to her ear,  A startled, shocked look came across her face, then this big smile and she just radiated happiness. She let out a little laugh and repeated a few times, quickly: “Mrs. Bielawa!” then said “This is so and so with yada-dadda high school.  Yes, Joseph DID WIN the car!”

When I was 35, Mom told me at moment that the secretary told her I won the car, she knew I had her father’s “shine” but she kept it quiet, primarily not to inflate the adolescent ego any further.  Leonard “Lucky Len” Cassidy was a man of many talents, as well as “professional” gambler who combined his mathematical genius with the “shine” and played the ponies.You always hear about the wins, but never the devastation caused by the losses.  Still, the car Leonard drove up to the time of his death he won on some bet.

Momma don’t take my Kodachrome away…

I can’t even recall what the infraction was, but I was again, grounded to my room. Knowing she was on another level of the house, I quickly smoked a couple pinch hits of marijauna out the window, then proceeded to let the high carry me as I set up lights around my drafting table and began shooting some still lifes.  Music was playing softly, but when I get lost in moments, I sing out loud terribly, but just let the moment flow.

Suddenly my door flew open, startling me and she proclaimed: “WHAT! are you doing?!?” I stammered that I was just shooting some film, being creative.

She scoffed: “This isn’t suppose to be “fun“.  Give me the film that’s in the camera and your little stash”

Quite high and now freaking out at what i heard, I meekly said  “my.. .stash?”

“Yes.” she continued  “your stash of film. I know you have more than the one roll in the camera. Give me all your film.”

Bullet dodged, I rewound the film, took the canister out of the camera and dropped it in my spare camera bag with the other rolls of film yet to be exposed or yet to be developed and handed her the bag.

Years later, we reminisced about this incident and she just laughed! with that big smile, the way her cheeks would kinda “chipmunk up” and laughter that came from deep inside. Although she was a Paul Simon fan, and the song had major airplay at the time she took my film away, she claimed no connection to the two. Then she stood solid on her principle: “I had grounded you as a punishment and you turned that into fun & joy!”

“Five Minutes!”

When she did discover a bag of my marijauna for the first time, I knew the shit was coming down. She looked at me with an expressionless face and simply stated: “You have five minutes to have someone convince me not to call the police and have you arrested.” I was completely shocked!  Stunned!  I wasted time trying to think of a defense, how to get out of this, something to pacify her, which I knew was useless. She let out a little insulting, condescending laugh and said flatly: “You’ve just wasted two minutes staring at me in disbelief.  Your time is ticking. Under three minutes now”

I scrambled, and called a priest at the high school I went to, who I was being counseled by as I was trying to short through the feelings of adolescence.  He talked with Mom for awhile, she started to cry, then she handed the phone to me and I was told: “Flush it down the toilet or she calls the police.”  Ka-flush!

“…trying to perfect…”

When I lipped off, which occurred more often as I really started to find my voice, I’d be dealt a sharp slap to the face after some proclamation I would utter. The first time I caught her hand mid slap and prevented contact from happening, a strange look came across her face: fear, anger, disappointment and determination all wrapped into one.  That still didn’t really didn’t register, and my adolescent ego inflated!  I felt I had the upper hand!  In my mind I was a Jedi master!  I began to let my daily chores slip, then slide. What was she going to do?  Slap me?  HA!  I can block those with ease!

One morning after this incident, the female classmate who rode in the car pool that picked us up for school ten miles away, arrived and was sitting in the living room.  I was coming down the stairs into the living room, when Mom came out off the kitchen into the living room and said to me: ” I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t spend so much time in the morning trying to perfect your masturbatory habits and spend the time in a more productive manner getting something accomplished.  Like your chores! then this house wouldn’t be in such disarray” (which it NEVER was to begin with).  I was devastated, speechless, shocked, stunned.  My classmate let out a laugh, then quickly stifled it.  I couldn’t get past “trying to perfect your masturbatory habits”  and insinuating I wasn’t even capable of an effective wank.  After that, my chores were always completed in a thorough,  timely manner.

A South Paw?

One night during my mid-teens, I came home intoxicated, which was starting to become habitual, and I was again under interrogation and questioning. The two statements I had become quick to loathe were: “You look just like your father.”  and “What did I do to deserve this?”  Hearing them yet again, having them rile me yet again, that with an ego and belly bloated from too much beer, I decided to explain the reproduction process to her and began: “Well, I’m guessing in June or July of ’62 you and the old man must have had relations and…”  I was always on guard for the right handed slaps, but this was a quick blur from the left and then a direct punch to my gut. I doubled over as I tried to keep the churning contents of my stomach from rising, I looked over at her and she had her fists clenched in a defensive boxing stance, ready to strike! . I ran to the bathroom as I began to vomit. As I knelt over the toilet, she stood in the doorway of the bathroom and tore so righteously into me.  And she was absolutely correct in what she was saying. From that moment on, we would have our heated discussions, but I never disrespected her like that again. And not because she hit me, but because I knew she didn’t deserve it and that I had pushed her to that point.

“Right to my knees”

Although a part of me at times was an obnoxiousness, arrogant adolescent alcoholic, for the most part I wasn’t a delinquent. Whether it was my codependent behavior, my rainbow gene flaring or just my desire not to have an uproariously emotional mother in my face when she got home from work, I would prepare a dinner and have it on a candle lit table when she arrived home. This action would keep the volatile emotions of a menopausal woman at bay for a couple of hours.

If she would have friends over or if her sisters visited, there would be wine and hors d’oeuvres, usually cheese and crackers.  I would slice up the cheese, arrange the platter, serve and pour the wine, while wearing a white apron, folded down at the waist, dress shirt, top button buttoned, no tie.

Mom enjoyed white wine and although a rarity, her favorite cocktail was an Old Fashioned, but never once in my life did I ever see her drunk or over a limit.  A fall off a bike in her youth caused knee injuries and after a glass of wine, two at the most or one of  those rare cocktails, she would hang her tongue out of her mouth, bug her eyes alittle and make “her drunk face” and proclaim:  “Oh! That went right to my knees.  I have had enough!”

The Giggle-Snorts

On the occasions when the good friends or her sister’s would visit, they would get telling stories and laughing that on inhales to recover from the laughing exhale, snorts could be heard which, in turn, would result in even more laughter and even more snorts! and the occasional admittance of the wetting of pants, which brought on even more gales of laughter.  Moments like this would mortify my adolescent mind, but I couldn’t help but get caught up in the joyful energy filling the room and would laugh along nervously.

“Oh no kid, after you.”

Although I didn’t continue to practice the religious doctrine of my youth, it was the religious schooling Mom insisted I have that set me on my spiritual journey, more in   that I knew most of those teachings were for me, that I set out to find other truths.

When I would return home to visit, I would ask Mom if it was ok for me to go to church with her, I wouldn’t receive sacraments, but would be there with her. She always agreed.

On occasion, after I had not visited in a year or so,  as we walked up the stairs of the church and got to the landing, I rushed ahead to open and hold the door for her, she got that twinkle in her eye, smiled, radiated that joyful energy and said “Oh no, kid. After you!  If lightening strikes as you walk into a church, I want to be standing back here!” and she motioned with her hands for me to proceed into the church.  I did and when she came in, she was laughing and smiling, which made me erupt in laughter as well. When she came up to me, I offered her my arm and asked: “Everything OK? no rumblings, sparks or lightening?”  She put her arm in mine, that joyful expression on her face, eyes twinkling  and said “Everything is fine.” and we walked into her church and took a seat.

“No, I’m ahead. Time to stop.” 

Mom and my eldest sister would travel together lot and meet up with a cousin from Ireland and his wife. They would pick a destination, meet there, then tour the area. I was living in Palm Springs CA and some time between 1993 & 1994 they choose Las Vegas as the meet up and the American Southwest as their touring area. I drove up to Las Vegas the day before they arrived and pissed through  little cash I had in a matter of minutes hoping for a big win.  The next day I went the airport and when they all arrived, I drove them in their rental car back to the hotel.

After they settled into their rooms, we all went down to the casino, the Irishman went the cage to fetch $100 worth of $10 coins. The ladies and I had gathered by a change machine to get some coin. Mom put a dollar in and 8 quarters came out. Everyone kinda laughed and poked fun. Someone said: “try it again” and Mom put another dollar in and 8 quarters came out.  “Holy Crap Mom! you gotta get out on the floor!”  I yelped.  She was laughing, her energy radiated out as she said “No, I ‘m ahead. Time to stop.” then she stepped away from the change machine. I looked at the Irishman and I think he and I felt the same energy. I jumped right in and with a remaining dollar I had, fed the machine, 4 quarters came out.  My sister stepped in fed the machine, 4 quarters came out.

The energy around us was so active, the laughter, the humor, the good natured ribbing, the love. Mom was beaming, radiating this glowing energy.  The Irishman and I locked eyes and I KNEW he saw, felt and understood the energy that was coming from Mom. He went over to her and with his thick Irish accent gently sternly says: “Rose. We have to get you out on the floor now, c’mon”  Mom smiled let out a little laugh, stood a little taller and said: “I have doubled my money in Las Vegas. It is time to stop.”

“No one is just going to knock on your door…”

In 1995, as my life was just starting to begin it’s downward spiral from addiction, I was living in CA and renting a guesthouse and my landlord owned a bar. Someone came into the bar and asked the bartender, my landlord, if he knew any one looking for work as he was looking for temp day labor.  My landlord gave him his address and told him to go talk with me in the guest house. I still had some money to keep the cordless land line on, but was unemployed and not really looking for work.

Mom called and we were chatting and discussing my current state of unemployment. She  quizzed me on a plan and what was I doing,  then asked: “Are you EVEN LOOKING for work?”

I hemmed and hawed like a teenager and admitted no, I wasn’t.

She took the opportunity to school me and opened with: “No one is just going to knock on your door and offer you a job.”  I thought “oh god.  Here we go…”  when there was a loud knocking on my door. I told Mom to hang on a minute someone was at the door, with phone in one hand, I opened the door with my other and there was this dude standing there and he said:  “Are you Joey?  Your landlord, so’ n so at Yadda-dadda bar sent me over here.  Are you looking for work?  Because I need some day labor.”   and out of the phone comes my mother’s voice booming  “son of a BITCH!”   I laughed and so did the dude at the door. I told him I was on the phone with my Mom, he smirked and nodded, gave his business card and told me to call him tomorrow.

When I got back on the phone with Mom, we both were laughing.  She was still trying to school me, but would just start laughing, then said “Oh hell, what’s the point!?!   I can NOT believe your luck!! You would fall into a large pile of shit and come out smelling like a rose!” and we both laughed and giggled for a couple of minutes as she just cooed  “ohhh kid”

August 5th, 2008

For Mom’s 78th Birthday I took her to a Neil Diamond concert at the Verizon Center in  Washington DC. Neil was her favorite and during her sixties after retirement, followed him to a few cities.

When I first asked her if she would like to go, she said no and citied aging health issues as the reason, then added  “But I would love to see him.”  I called the box office and made a few inquiries as far as certain seating, and they provided the best of customer service. When I told Mom she was hesitant at first, but I reassured her that everything would be fine. Oh man. When we got to the venue and then our seats, I couldn’t believe it!  It was like a separate area, with maybe six or eight other folks and designated bathrooms within 10 feet. One of my most cherished memories of adulthood is rocking out with Mom, swaying arms in the air,  singing along with Neil and thousands of others during “Sweet Caroline”

I have told some of the above stories over the years, but for me, they are worth repeating. There really are so many stories and memories to list that I am sure I will revisit this subject in one form or another in the future.

It took me a few days to write this.  I wanted to publish it before the New Year.

It’s Christmas Eve 2017 and I find myself now to be at a point where I can sit down, write this out and to share it.

On October 28th, my mother Rose Marie (Rosemary) died after suffering a massive brain hemorrhage ten days prior. When her injury occurred, it was the request of the second oldest sibling, whom my mother lived with, to the third oldest sibling  (I’m the youngest) that “the boys (myself and my two nephews) not be told until after Mom dies.”  Bully on the third oldest for bucking the request, she called her son, who then called me right as I was with my other nephew Robert at Keys View, the highest point in Joshua Tree National Park, one of the rare spots where cellphone service is accessible in JTNP.  It was still a 2.5 hour drive out of JTNP before I had service and was told the details in yet another phone call that was the beginning of a series awkward conversations with people I have not spoken with in years.

I have been estranged from my three older siblings for many years now, each one dropping off or shunning me, however you want to look at it.  I understand, it always takes two to tango.

Let me put it this way…my parents divorced when I was 18 months old. I never knew my father; Mom was the only parent I knew. My siblings at 7, 6, & 4 years older than I, all had the awareness of the father in the house and their lives. I recall as alittle guy (4, 5, 6 y. o.) they would form a ‘us vs. Mom’ mentality.  Some heist or mischief would occur, we would get snagged in mother dragnet and when the questioning would begin, if she asked me a question, I would honestly answer it, tell her the truth as to what was going on. I can see how my siblings probably didn’t groove on me always speaking the truth.  Oh yes, as I aged, there were times where I did not tell a whole truth, but I never lied to her.  I carried it into adulthood, I always spoke the truth with her. Which brings up another thing…l always spoke with Mom, never to her.

Let’s get cosmic.

My astrology shows I was born to be my mother’s strength. In the mid 1980’s at the request of some friends I met while I was hitch-hiking through Idaho, I met with an astrologer in Salt Lake City.  She refused any form of payment for the drawing up and reading of my chart.  She made a recording as she read my chart so I would have so I would have a tape of the session to listen to later.   It seemed excitingly odd, peculiar and reassuring that a complete stranger would have almost a complete insight into my life based on the exact time and coordinates of my birth and how that fit into the universal map at that time. Mom always said that my health issues at the time of my birth distracted her from the chaos of the divorce and gave her a focal point.

When my hitch-hiking brought me back to Mom’s house a few months after meeting with the astrologer, I asked Mom to listen to the tapes of the session with me. She was hesitant at first, but gave in, more to pacify, than with an interest, smiled and said “What sort of mumbo jumbo am I about to listen to?”  I pressed play, and the astrologer began with “Joseph, you were born to be your mother’s strength and the reason for that is…” and I watched as Mom’s face changed as she was drawn in to the words that were being spoken on the tape. The astrologer spoke of what my chart indicated; what it meant, not good, nor bad, just what; she spoke of family situations no one outside of family knew; she spoke of what this indicated in a certain aspect of universal flow and then she revealed the nature of my life’s mission. My mother and I were in a cascade of emotions, undoubtedly feeling the same, and were a blubbering mass of tears, and we decided we heard enough.  I have listened to these two tapes a couple of times since, always very emotional, always hearing something new.

My mother taught me many things that make me the man I am today, most are my character attributes, some, my defects; but these provide me self-examination, the opportunity to change and grow. She taught me how to shake a hand, she taught me about values and ethics, about principle, integrity, respect, she nurtured the confidence in me to speak truth. By example, she and her father laid the ground work for not just my political ideology, but my life’s philosophy.  She taught me to look at the other side of things and not to accept the first line I was fed.  She had a quick wit and a sharp tongue. Her laughter! and that smiling face!  Ohhh, but that stern, angry face. My actions at various stages of my childhood, my teen years and a couple in early adulthood had that face looking back at me often.

She once bitterly confessed to me as a teen: “You have the mannerisms of your father and the rhetoric of mine!” Oh boy. I knew I was kinda screwed. I didn’t know what I was doing…but I tried to mellow it out.

Our relationship did wane at times, usually when I was engaged in some sort fuckery or tom-foolery, yet she always forgave. With her forgiveness, I was more steadfast to change my behavior to not have to make this sort of amend again.

We spent hours in conversation and debate about philosophy, theology, politics, current events, life.  During my youth, she would take my siblings on I to theatre, to art museums, museums and cultural events usually on little to no money.  As the youngest, Mom and I did these things together as the older siblings let home. Even into adulthood, she and I would attend events when I visited, particularly when she moved to Virginia.  On one of our last trips into the District, I convinced her to just sit in a wheelchair so I could push her through the National Gallery of Art.

She would always quote lines from Shakespeare or famous speeches in history when driving home her lesson, often delivered with a sharp, biting tongue.

I always called so I talk with her, sometimes multiple times a week. Even during some of my darkest days of addiction, I would call and unload a burden that was probably too much for her to bear, but she weathered through it.  In early recovery, barely out of the trenches two or three months, we’re talking and she said me “You know, I was reading up on crystal meth addiction…” and I looked at her with a stunned, amazement as remorse welled up tears of emotion as I realized here she is at 68 years old educating herself on what my current struggle was.

It was in this exact moment that I vowed to self that I would amend my ways with her. Over the course of the next few years, as I gained more insight as I recovered from active addiction, I would recall to her certain ways in how I had harmed her with my words, deeds or actions and apologize whole heartedly; I began to recall moments of childhood where she had sacrificed so my siblings and I would have a better life, and I thanked her for that; I would recall moments when I observed her, in awe of her compassion, her love and her generous spirit and I would share how I observed what she did, how it effected the people she was interacting with, and how it made me feel. We were in engaged in one of these sessions, and I felt the energy waning, in the sense that I had made peace with her. We cried, we hugged and when we parted from our embrace, she looked my in the eyes and “You’ve made up for them all.  The other three have never said these things to me, Joseph”

The biggest divide between my mother and I was sexual orientation: nature vs. nurture. Her strong religious convictions would not allow her to fully accept who I am. She took the same stance as the head of her religion: We accept you, but you can’t get married, you must abstain from your sexual practices, and pray for forgiveness of this sin. You see however, because of what she taught me, I respected her for it.

I can’t remember the exact year, but I know it was before her memory issues really started 8-9 years ago. One of the greatest conversations I had with my mom was about death. Hers. From one youngest child to another.  She talked about how her siblings acted when her parents died and what a nightmare it was dealing with all the BS that older siblings pull. I mentioned her father’s wake where my aunt flung herself on top of Grandpa’s body in the casket, wailing, creating a TOTAL scene and I remember thinking “wow!”  She agreed. She spoke of other applicable family matters, her the youngest of four as well.. She gave me her blessing to not have to attend her funeral if a sibling, the one who did, pulled shit. I chuckled and sternly jokingly said “Mom!” and she repeated it again with a little more clarity.

Over the last few years, phone conversations with Mom became quick, short; almost rehearsed, scripted. When it got to a certain point, about 3- 5 minutes in, it would be the “I love you” and then goodbye. I knew the memory issues were there.

In early October, my nephew Robert, whom I have not spent much time with in his life, came for a visit as he traveled to the West Coast from the town I lived in as a teenager. We were planning a trip up into the high desert to spend time in the wilderness of the southern Mojave Desert, then into Joshua Tree National Park.  Oct. 16^th, the day before we left, I told nephew: “Let’s call Gramma. Say hello. Tell her what’s going on, what we’re doing…you know,  just in case anything happens.” I called her, got her on the line said a quick hello then said ‘Hey! There is someone here that wants to talk with you.’ I handed the phone to the nephew who put the phone to his ear and said “Hello Gramma” and I watched as his face changed into that of a joyful smiling little boy as he spoke with Gramma Rose.

After a time the phone came back to me and I engaged in one of the most lucid conversations I have had with Mom in years. She was alert, engaging, questioning. She asked questions without interrogation, but with imagination, which caused me to pause, think and reconsider safety, logistics, survival…and she had never traveled into a desert wilderness with me. We shared conversation with each other for almost ten minutes.

“It’s good that Robert is with you right now. I’m happy about that.”  she said, startling me some, but as I thought about the last few weeks getting to know my nephew, I responded: “I’m happy about that too, Mom.”

We said our “I love you” she bid me safe travels and fun. Not realizing it then, but for the last time I began telling her how much I loved her, what she meant to me, all that she taught me and how grateful I was for her. This popped off a bubble of emotion and we both were quickly, crying and she chuckled a little and said: “oh, kid, you just don’t stop”

As the ten days unfolded before my mother’s death, it was requested that no one call or travel to second eldest’s home that she shared with my mom for the last 17 years and now, where my mom lay dying in hospice.. All messages were to be funneled though the third eldest sibling, in both directions.  We could request times to have a phone held to mom’s ear, but were told they would be confirmed or denied at the second oldest’s siblings discretion and must align with her schedule. I had never experienced such coldness and rigidity.

I began to unravel. I could barely handle dealing with being in conversations with these folks, let alone the conversations we were having.  I lost patience and found myself standing on ABSOLUTE principle; with this SHARP CUTTING tongue…I was acting like my mother as I addressed the ridiculousness of the two siblings

I had this vein of anger in me, that I could plug any issue into and stand on anger. I had a total sense of false pride about it. I knew it was consuming me, that some issues really trigger it and I knew I had to address it. I told myself I didn’t know how to let it go, when in actuality, I didn’t want to let it go.

The day that I sent the message that I would not be attending the funeral, I was out on a bike ride and I heard Mom’s voice speak to me for the first time since her death. I was so overcome with emotion that I had to stop riding because I could not see through my tears. The conversation was light hearted, joyful and she let me know she was with me as she commented on the beauty of the mountains and where I was riding. I know for certain she had never been to the Coachella Valley and in all honesty, I thought it was just my brain playing tricks on me to ease the anxiety.

When I got home from my bike ride, I received a message from the third oldest sibling stating that all the information I was previously given about my mother’s burial had now changed, and that they would not be burying her in the cemetery of her ancestry,  but in a  cemetery 38 miles to the north, in a town the family has had no connection to, ever.

That night I experienced the most anxious feelings of my entire life, and I mean that. I mean my ENTIRE life: all the physical and sexual assaults, the addiction, the arrests, the jail time, losing the business, the homelessness, the hopelessness, the uncertain of recovery, the anxiety and panic I was experiencing at this time was greater than the sum of ALL of it. I felt like I couldn’t go on, I couldn’t sit,  stand,  lay down, I couldn’t find comfort in anything,  it was the worst.  Six and a half hours of it. Thinking I was having some emotional response to announcing I wouldn’t attend her funeral, I said out loud “Oh god. What have I done?”  and I heard her voice again and she said: “Ohh, Joey. It’s not you” and I realized I was still tapped into her emotion and what I was feeling wasn’t part of me. A moment of clarity came to me, so I centered, focused and trying to sound as calm as I could be, I said out loud: “Mom. I love you very much. You have done a wonderful job as a parent, but there is no point in hanging around here anymore. Go to light. Just go to the light, Mom. You are in the hands of God. Do not fear. Just go. Leave. Please Mom. Your time on Earth is done, Go to the next plane. Go.”

I was wrecked by a greater emotion that I just asked my mom to leave this realm; I collapsed onto my bed and sobbed. I was exhausted, drained, the energy that had me “crackling” for the last 6.5 hours seemed gone. I rolled over to look at the clock. It was 4:30 am, I rolled back on the pillow and the next thing I knew I was waking up and it was 7:30am.

My friend Josh G. arrived from MN later that day, he swooped in and did what Mom used to do for families in mourning: brought a meal in, fed the mourning, cleaned the kitchen, just took care of everything, radiated them with love.

I am a very visual person and I look to the sky for solace in every sunrise, sunset and the moments in between. The ten days as Mom lay dying in hospice and the day of her death, it was desert skies as usual, clear, blue, no moisture, no clouds.

The next day Josh and I took a road-trip to the Salton Sea, we traveled along the eastern shore to the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge, west of Estelle, with stops in Mecca, Bombay Beach, Niland and at Salvation Mountain, Slab City, and East Jesus.

It was late in the day as we arrived at the wildlife refuge and we started a hike to an outcrop of land at the northwest corner of the refuge. There were some clouds moving in and the sun was just starting to wane in the western sky. The clouds were beginning to change shape and color and I began to capture the early stages of the sunset. Over the course of 54 minutes, I shot 105 photographs of the various stages of the setting sun as we walked back to the car. The next morning, I began to look through what I shot the previous day and I looked through the thumbnails of the sunset images. Some of the fiery ones at the end looked impressive, but one stood out from them all. It wasn’t too fiery, it had a nice feel to it. So I opened it up to get a better look at it:

I honesty could not believe what I saw. I went outside to Josh and Robert and asked one of them to go inside and describe what they saw in the photograph on my screen. Josh went in, looked at my computer screen for a few seconds and said loudly “D’aaawww! But it’s happy! ”  I wasn’t looking to assign it an emotion, I just wanted to know that another person could see what I was seeing there in the upper left third of the image: eight puffs of cloud that resemble a stick figure with two feet and hands out stretched.

The next day Josh, Robert and I went up to Joshua Tree National Park. Josh and Robert went off to scale some rocks and I wandered about taking some photographs. I was hiking between the range Robert and Josh were scaling to the north and smaller rock wall to the south. I walked further along to the last outcropping of the rock wall, which opened up to a boulder field, then across a valley filled with monoliths of rock, Joshua Trees, then to mountains in the background. I removed all electronics from my person, watch, phone, cameras, lenses and gear, car keys, I put it all in the camera bag, laid that on the ground and continued walking for a few yards… I don’t know there was just something about this spot. I looked around and there was a rock, about three feet tall, 40 in x 24 in or so, slightly taller to the back, out in front of two larger rocks to the back. I sat on the rock and with it’s angle was able to sit in perfect lotus naturally, so I began meditation.

With everything that occurred in the 15 days prior, it was amazing how quickly I was able to quiet and still my mind, center my being, allow myself to just: Feel one. Feel connected. Feel part of the absolute silence and vast openness. Feel comfort. Feel peace.

Then I heard my mother’s voice begin to speak as she delivered her final lesson to me. With each point she made, with every pause she took to allow me to grasp and comprehend what she was saying, a light wind would blow, caress my face, then lightly whistle in my ears. I sat in silence for a while longer, then I came out of my mediation opened my eyes and I knew immediate I was changed man. I wasn’t even sure what or how, but I knew and felt that something had shifted inside of me.

The view of my meditation spot in JTNP:

Josh and Robert had finished their climbing excursion and had come over to where I was just gathering up my camera bag, We hiked back to the car and continued our JTNP tour and headed back into the Coachella Valley.

On the day of the funeral, my nephew and I took the tram ride up to Mt. San Jacinto State Park to spend time looking up, looking out and feeling the glorious magnitude that is a mountain top. Robert went off following his bliss climbing and I followed mine with my camera. Hours later we met back at Mountain Station and took the tram down to the valley floor.

I haven’t heard Mom’s voice since the day up in JTNP, but I feel her presence, her spirit and it comes from a place of total bliss, complete joy and happiness, absolute love…truly: Peace, Love and Light. I somewhat chuckle, through tears as I write this, because I realize I am saying these three words more in the last 58 days than ever before in my life. During a meditation, she came to me, unspoken in such a blaze of bright white light, the colors of the spectrum erupting around her! It was so intense that I had to turn away and as I did I came right up out of the meditation, goose bumped, chilled, then warm, numb. I sat there, thinking: what did I just see?

The most significant internal shift and change within me is the vein of anger I once had, is gone. It’s as if it has been removed, just taken away from me, gone. I have noticed however, certain things can fed it, and cause it grow. I cannot afford to have any toxicity in my life, so I am careful to not engage in situations that may cause me to lose site of this.