Mom

Mom is Here

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment
It’s a sure bet- that if my mom were alive today- my sisters and I would be fighting over whose turn it was to take care of her.  “You take her.”  “No you take her.” It would be nice to think that at our ages, this would not be true; that the lessons life taught us would make us value our mother more, but nothing really teaches you that lesson as much as losing someone.

Mom 13 Years old!
When my mom died, we had her cremated. I think the original thought was to sprinkle her ashes with my brother’s ashes up at Two Rock, but for whatever reason – instead, my sisters chose a beautiful urn, with an Asian style motif my mother would have loved, and deposited her remains therein.


She died in December of 1984, and because I was pregnant with Nick, my two sisters decided I should keep mom the first year. We decided together, that every New Year’s Day we would get together and we would hand her off to the next sister. We joked about fighting over who gets to have mom- knowing this would have never been the case were she still with us.


I can’t remember why I had my mom’s ashes in the car with me the day I was crossing Geneva Ave. in my mom’s old Cougar when a Cadillac ran a red light on Mission and plowed into my right front.  The baby was about three weeks old. I grabbed the baby and ran to my Aunt and Uncle’s drug store a half- block away, shaking like a leaf. By coincidence, my dad (step) happened to be there too and when I told him what happened he took the baby so I could deal with the woman that ran the light. She had been on her way to pick up her grand daughter from kindergarten, she said. She was late. 
Mom with her Godson Peter Scanlon
My baby was okay and I was too, and I attributed that to my mom watching out for us more than the solid build of the ‘67 Cougar. We believe what we want.




It’s not death, but time, which gives us the sorely needed perception to understand the departed. I have no illusions about my mom. I have not remade her into a person without faults or human frailties.  Some of things I hated about my mom when I was fifteen I love about her now. I just needed time to understand them.


1964 34 years old in her Roaring 20’s makeup
When I was about twelve my mom worked as a cocktail waitress at a place called “The Roaring Twenties”.  She wore fishnet stockings, and a sequined costume that looked more like a strapless bathing suit. I used to love watching her get ready for work. She would apply her make-up with Hollywood precision. To my eye, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. Sometimes, because I was a day sleeper not a night sleeper, I would be awake at 3AM when she got home still looking perfect and she would let me count her tips that she kept in a sequin bag. Her happiness was fleeting-but for a short time in 1964 
I can remember her laughing and lighting up any room she was in.

When lives are cut short- we are always left to wonder… what if?  I like to think if my mom were alive, she would marvel at her legacy. She would be so happy that we grabbed onto the good and left the bad behind. That we took the demons she lived with all her life- and sent them straight back to hell.  That we each in our own ways worked through our own fears, trials and tribulations and came out right side up. I like to think too- that she is watching over all of us; children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  That she sees a little bit of her son in Joanna and her children and a little bit of herself in all her grandkids and great grandkids. I sure see it.

Mom approx. 52
Somewhere along the line the ritual of sharing our mother on New Years Day got left behind. My four years in North Carolina and just life in general seemed to get away from all of us. When I came home from North Carolina I kept thinking I need to go get mom- but then when I was at my sister Linda’s house I would forget. Out of sight out of mind, they say.

Last week Linda brought mom to me. And I feel like it’s good timing.  I’ll put her on my bookshelf (next to Smokie’s ashes now) and I’ll talk to her when I need someone to listen but not answer.

It’s hard to not wonder what mom would be like now. Would all these grandchildren and great grand-children have filled up the hole my brothers’ death left in her heart?

The passage of time has given me the gift of perception.  
Each year that passes without my mom- I realize something new about her. 

I’m glad she is here with me now. I won’t argue or be defiant. I’ll try to remember the wise things she told me when my hearing was sharp but my ears heard nothing. 

Thanks Mom

/ Katie Wigington / Leave a comment

Yesterday was the 25th anniversary of my mother’s death. She died far too young- only 53 years old. She also wasted much of her life on unhappiness.

I rarely write about my mother because it makes me sad. I do miss her and I wait for her to appear in dreams. It’s been years since I have had a dream conversation with my mom. The last one was a great one though.

I was sitting in a chair- and my mother pulled the chair backwards (how kids are wont to do). In the dream, I was scared I would fall- but then I asked her. “This is about trust isn’t it?” “Yes, it is” she said, “You need to start trusting people.”

That dream actually did change me- and how I perceived the world. I’m still wary- I doubt any city kid like myself can shake the innate knowledge that not everyone is trustworthy. But it changed how I viewed bosses, people I work with and relationships in my life. And it made me remember something someone else said to me once. “Don’t you trust me?” I asked my old boyfriend. “I trust you to be who you are.” He replied. Understanding who people are is truly an important aspect of trust. Understanding yourself though is equally significant.

So, on this 25th anniversary of my mothers death- I am trying to remember her lessons. The gifts she gave me never felt like gifts at the time. As hard to manage as I was- she predicted I would be a writer, and often said I could manage anything or do anything I put my mind to. She recognized early on that my stubborn streak would serve me well and become perseverance as I matured. I was her problem child, of that there is no doubt. I smoked, drank, and never asked for permission to do anything after I was 12 or 13. I was rebellious and if she asked me a question, I would defiantly reply with the truth. “Do you think your [step] father loves me?” She once asked me. “No mom- I don’t.” I did not hesitate one second. I can’t say I would answer any differently now.

My mother died from a virus that went to her heart. A broken heart really. My brother had died 2 years prior and most of her left then. If it were not for my brother’s daughter, born after his death, I don’t think she would have lived as long as she did. My mom, sisters’ and I took care of the baby (Joanna) for the first year of her life- then one day her mom picked her up and didn’t bring her back. My mother searched all over California for her- sometimes coming within hours of her location- only to come up empty, Joanna’s mom fleeing the scene. Her last search was in a horrible rainstorm in late November of 1984. I was pregnant with Nick and when I went to see my mom in the hospital, she asked me if I had found Joanna. “No mom, but I will.” I said. Then she told me about a dream she had. She dreamed she was a midwife and had helped deliver a baby girl. She said they named her Carol, for Christmas. She died a few days later, two weeks short of the anniversary of my brother’s death.

I found our Joanna 5 years later.

People that knew my mother will remember some good and some bad things. She was not well most of her life, suicidal and manic (gifts from her parents) she was hard to be around sometimes. Growing up with her was like walking on eggshells- we always knew a crack was coming. She was hardest on me. She had a great laugh and a sharp wit. She was smart. She was lost. She was broken. She was beautiful.

In retrospect, I see many lessons. Lessons about love; Don’t be jealous or petty or insecure. Lessons about parenting; be there, be there, be there. And don’t be so critical! Lessons about life; don’t waste it, it’s too short to be unhappy.

Earlier today, when I started writing this, I received a phone call from an old friend. It was an interesting phone call in that we talked about dreams (actual dreams not wants) and the power of the psyche to grab information from the universe. I didn’t mention I was writing this- but that was the direction I was going in when I sat down at this computer.

I think the best thing my mother ever gave me was my intuition. I tried to drown it when I was younger- but now I rely on it like the best friend that it is. Now when I think of someone, living or passed on, I try to send a message. I miss you, I love you. I’ll see you in my dreams.