{"id":1644,"date":"2016-07-27T21:02:51","date_gmt":"2016-07-27T21:02:51","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/?p=1644"},"modified":"2018-07-28T12:49:00","modified_gmt":"2018-07-28T19:49:00","slug":"going-out-with-a-bang","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/going-out-with-a-bang\/","title":{"rendered":"GOING OUT WITH A BANG"},"content":{"rendered":"

It was\u00a0snapping<\/em>,\u00a0crackling\u00a0<\/em>and\u00a0popping<\/em>\u00a0around here July 4th. Despite the pleas of \"images\"law enforcement, \u201cso-called\u201d adults (okay\u2026idiots<\/em>) were setting off fireworks, the illegal kind, in backyards and on street corners. Not to mention the big official fireworks shows nearby in Culver City and Marina del Rey. A cacophony of sounds set the air on fire. I heard blasts like gunshots, whoops, hollers and dogs. Howling, howling. I felt like howling too. \u201cMake it stop…make it stop.\u201d On July 4th I want to hide in bed and pull the covers over my head. And that\u2019s where I was when the call came that my mother just passed away.<\/p>\n

Earlier that day, the sunny board & care home where she spent her last months hosted a grand July 4th barbecue. Families, friends, neighbors converged in the backyard to chitter-chatter and fill our plates with grilled goodies. I sat with my mom and cajoled her to eat as I happily inhaled yet another hot dog and scoop of homemade potato salad. She just poked at her food then put her fork down. But chocolate is another matter. It\u2019s always been the food of last resort. I emptied a handful of baby Hershey bars on the table, carefully unwrapped the foil and placed a little slice of brown heaven in her hand. She took a tiny chipmunk bite and put it down. Hmmm.<\/p>\n

\"This
This is the only picture I have from that afternoon. My mother and I are seated to the right. The man in blue is standing beside us.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

And she would not look at me either. \u201cMom, I\u2019m over here. Let me see your beautiful face.\u201d She\u2019d glance quickly my way and even more quickly the other way again. I found this odd enough to mention to my husband. For the last two weeks it seemed she was dropping deeper into the land of dementia and unlatching from this mortal coil. It\u2019s only now that I\u2019m beginning to put two and two together.<\/p>\n

After the party, the caregivers put her back into her Lazy Boy in the living room, in front of the big flat screen. She was holding her beloved stuffed puppy in her arms as I leaned in to kiss her. \u201cBye Mom. I love you.\u201d Her reply? \u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few hours later she died in her sleep. The doctor had given her a clean bill of health only a week before. There was no frantic trip to the emergency room. My husband took me into his big warm arms and then we drove to her home. I stood over her body and studied her face. It was free of anguish. It looks like she died peacefully. We should all be so lucky. A heart attack, a stroke, a\u00a0something<\/em>\u00a0that is quick and done.<\/p>\n

The mortuary dude arrived quickly too. Probably July 4th is a big night in the undertaking business. I watched him drive away, with my mother in the back of his van, the red taillights disappearing in the night. Fireworks exploded nearby turning the sky smoky blue.<\/p>\n

And just like that my \u201ctormentor\u201d was gone. She was 93 years old.<\/p>\n

As you can imagine I am experiencing a cascade of emotions\u2026and a whole lot of nothing. Those of you who are familiar with my story know that my mother had borderline personality disorder. She could be so kind and inexplicably cruel. Unfortunately, my father and I were her primary punching bags. Mom was a registered nurse, a clinical specialist, who went back to school in midlife to get her degree, which is quite an admirable feat. She prized her profession above all else and would interject the list of her accomplishments into any and all conversations. In her world there was little room for anyone else. It was only the last couple of years when dementia stole her memory and Zoloft balanced her moods that we actually had something resembling a loving relationship.<\/p>\n

She is so much a part of \u201cmy<\/em>\u00a0story.\u201d What happens to our story when a main character dies? For me, this is complicated by the specter of mental illness. I could write a book. This woman threatened to kill me. That would be a couple chapters right there.<\/p>\n

And yet\u2026 One evening many years ago, for a few moments, my mother emerged from her mental prison into lucidity. She was standing by her front door, sobbing. \u201cI\u2019m so afraid I\u2019m going to push you away\u201d she sputtered through her tears. \u201cI can\u2019t help it. I can\u2019t help it. I can\u2019t help it.\u201d She talked about hearing\u00a0voices<\/em>.<\/p>\n

You know, I had always thought\u00a0she could help it<\/em>. I thought I could \u201cfix\u201d her. And then she\u2019d be nice to me. But at that moment my view began to change. Albeit not enough to stop the suffering that would continue for decades\u2014for her and me. I can only hope that today she is free.<\/p>\n

Flash forward\u2026 I am talking with funeral-director-guy in his office at Pierce Brothers Mortuary, which is conveniently located at the final resting place of so many Hollywood stars. My parents had a pre-paid, no-frills cremation plan on file. I am deeply grateful that they did this. They bought this plan twenty years ago for $695 each. Funeral-director-guy can\u2019t freaking believe it! He shows me what the same plan costs today. Whoa! Dying is expensive, folks\u2026 While he is imputing the information into his computer I wander around the graves and headstones. A couple tourists, distraught women, are doing some kind of emotional catharsis in front of Marilyn Monroe\u2019s crypt, otherwise I would have taken a picture. But I do snap a few. My mother loved cemeteries. It\u2019s feels so Zen to me\u2014you know, that laughter in tears and tears in laughter\u00a0stuff<\/em>.<\/p>\n

\"grave-billy<\/p>\n

\"grave-merv\"grave-rodneyMy mother could have been a stand-up comedienne. She was hilarious and loved shocking people with her ribald observations about body parts. We had this conversation a few months after my father died when I asked if she had thought about \u201clike\u2026going out on a\u00a0date?\u00a0<\/em>What are you looking for in a man?\u201d She answered so quickly and precisely that it was apparent she\u2019d been mulling this over for a while.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. He\u2019s got to have three qualifications. First he has to be funny.\u201d What that means is he has to think SHE is funny.<\/p>\n

\u201cSecond. He has to be smart.\u201d Which means he thinks SHE is smart.<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd what\u2019s the third one mom?\u201d I can hardly wait to hear this one.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe has to be impotent.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh\u2026do you mean\u00a0important?<\/em>\u201d I ask\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cNo. Imp-O-tent.\u201d She stresses the \u201co\u201d so there is no doubt what she means. Or wants.<\/p>\n

There is a moment of silence before I offer some real world advice\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cMom it\u2019s so hard to find the\u00a0perfect<\/em>\u00a0guy, you know. Would \u2018two out of three\u2019 work?\u201d<\/p>\n

She ponders this briefly before acquiescing\u2026 \u201cwell okay, he doesn\u2019t have to be\u00a0smart<\/em>\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

Not long after that my mother spiraled ever so slowly out of control and eventually lived like a bag lady in her own home, refusing to let people in, refusing help, refusing to throw anything away. There were no boyfriends.<\/p>\n

\"Bernice'sAt the end of my visit, I hand funeral-director-guy her brown velour pantsuit. My mother was not a girlie-girl. She dressed like a Russian soldier. Then I give him the stuffed puppy she adored the last few weeks of her life. She and her polyester pooch and brown velour will go out in a blaze together.<\/p>\n

My mom did not want a funeral or memorial. Nothing in the newspaper. This blog is it. She did not believe in heaven. Or hell. Not an afterlife nor reincarnation. One and done. She was the mistress of fireworks, this one. Sometimes it was quite a show and you couldn\u2019t look away. But mostly I wanted to pull the covers over my head and hide. That said, I know that my mother did the best she could with her one precious life.<\/p>\n

I called her best friend with the news. They knew each other since they were teenagers in Washington D.C., giggling about the new boy down the street. This woman cried softly on the phone. \u201cYour mother had a good heart, Cali\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\"mom_s_birthday_party\"
It’s love at first sight as my mother meets her stuffed puppy at her Birthday Party last April<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

In time the stories soften around the edges and eventually fade away, but one thing remains: Our mother carried us in her belly for nine months and brought us into this world. Whether she had the stuff to be a\u00a0good mother.<\/em>\u00a0Or not. How can we ever say\u00a0thank you<\/em>, thank you enough, for this astonishing gift? For our big messy life.<\/p>\n

\"Bernice
My mother and me…a lifetime ago<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

I received an avalanche of emails in response to my last blog about my mother. \u201cPolice Pursuit<\/a>.\u201d Stories that are sad, complicated and utterly human. In my blogs I have hesitated writing about my really\u00a0personal\u00a0<\/em>stuff\u2026 You have to know that my index finger hovers over the \u201csend\u201d button before I push it down. Should I? Shouldn\u2019t I? But that began to change this year with my mother, the defining relationship in my life. Your responses remind me that our stories connect us, not in our heads, but in our hearts. They give us comfort, like a deep\u00a0heave-ho.<\/em>An\u00a0a-ha<\/em>\u00a0moment, perhaps. I\u2019m especially gratified when you leave a message on my blog (WordPress) so others may be gifted with your words. Thank you!<\/p>\n

\"Jet
Don’t mess with mama, wearing her soldier glitz<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

It was\u00a0snapping,\u00a0crackling\u00a0and\u00a0popping\u00a0around here July 4th. Despite the pleas of law enforcement, \u201cso-called\u201d adults (okay\u2026idiots) were setting off fireworks, the illegal kind, in backyards and on street corners. Not to mention the big official fireworks shows nearby in Culver City and Marina del Rey. A cacophony of sounds set the air on fire. I heard blasts like gunshots, whoops, hollers and dogs. Howling, howling. I felt like howling too. \u201cMake it stop…make it stop.\u201d On July 4th I want to hide … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":1661,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_seopress_robots_primary_cat":"","_seopress_titles_title":"","_seopress_titles_desc":"","_seopress_robots_index":"","kt_blocks_editor_width":"","_kad_blocks_custom_css":"","_kad_blocks_head_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_body_custom_js":"","_kad_blocks_footer_custom_js":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[2],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1644","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-blogentry"],"taxonomy_info":{"category":[{"value":2,"label":"blog entry"}]},"featured_image_src_large":["https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-content\/uploads\/2016\/07\/Bernice-Cali-BW-1.jpg",504,640,false],"author_info":{"display_name":"Cali Rose","author_link":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/author\/crbauthor\/"},"comment_info":43,"category_info":[{"term_id":2,"name":"blog entry","slug":"blogentry","term_group":0,"term_taxonomy_id":2,"taxonomy":"category","description":"","parent":0,"count":138,"filter":"raw","cat_ID":2,"category_count":138,"category_description":"","cat_name":"blog entry","category_nicename":"blogentry","category_parent":0}],"tag_info":false,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1644","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/3"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1644"}],"version-history":[{"count":17,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1644\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3687,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1644\/revisions\/3687"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1661"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1644"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1644"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/calirose.com\/wackyworld\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1644"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}