The holidays are upon us and I miss my mom more than ever. I wanted to write some eloquent post about her importance, her significance, not just to me and my life but to our family's. Try as I might though, there was no way I could improve on the letter my cousin Billy slipped under my door the day after she died. Billy will never ever know how much what he's written means to me and to all of us. So I've decided to post it here...and immortalize it. For all to see. We love you Mommy...and we miss you Aunt Catherine.
May 7, 2006
Dear *****,
When I found out yesterday about your mother, aside from feeling an enormous sense of grief, all day long I kep thinking about your family and your house in ***** ******. I know that it's been years since you all lived there, but I just wanted to write this down while it's all still fresh in my head.
First of all, when your father bought that house (I think it was '67 or '68), I'm sure he thought that he was buying a house for his wife and family. But he was wrong! He had no way of knowing what would go on there for the next 30 years and if he could have, maybe he wouldn't have bought it!
For as long as I can remember, every communion, graduation, birthday, Easter and most of all, Thanksgiving, meant spending the day at your house with about thirty other people. I know you were exposed to this from an early age because I have home movies (from Uncle Bobby of course) of the day your parents brought you home from the hospital and it looks like a Fourth of July picnic in your backyard. There is also a moment on the video of Uncle Marty in the backyard, and he is giving me some of his beer and showing me how to smoke a lit Chesterfield cigarette. I can't imagine how someone could do that to a three year old, but after seeing it, Jennifer said it explains a lot!
I don't know if your parents realized what they were giving all of us. I'm not just talking about dinner and dessert, but the memories they provided for us all are something we will always have. A couple of years ago, Jennifer and I had Easter at our house and she asked me what was so important about having everybody over. I explained to her that I wanted the younger kids (Kathy's, Margie's, Mickey's etc.) to experience the same kind of holidays we had growing up. I don't know if we succeeded, but we had fun trying.
The reason I wanted to write this is because of something I read not too long ago. This past Christmas, I was given a book called "700 Sundays" written by Billy Crystal. The book is based on a one-man play that Jennifer and I had seen in the city last year. It is basically the story of how Billy Crystal's father died when he was only a kid and he figured out that he only got to spend 700 Sundays with him. In the book he talks about his parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, and the funny stories of growing up in a big family. So much of it sounded like our family that I realized the only thing different was that his family was Jewish and we're Irish.
At the end of the book, after he and his brothers had grown up and moved away, he talks of the last time he talked to his mother.
"Mom, why can't you sleep" There was a pause and then...
"Oh, I'm listening for you boys"
I knew exactly what she meant. The cry in the middle of the night "Mommy, I have a fever." The nightmares, "Mommy, there are pirates in teh room!" Then as they get older, the sounds of their cars pulling up in the driveway, teh jingle of the keys in the front door lock, just so you know their home safe. She was eighty-five years old now, alone in that house, her sons scattered across the country, but she was still listening for us.
We sold the house. We had to. Without her in ti, it really didn't make much sense to keep it. Somebody else owns it now but it doesn't belong to them...because I can close my eyes and go there anytime I want.
For some reason, all day long, I've been picking up the book and reading this passage over and over again. Although it was your family's house, and you grew up there, in a way, it was all of ours. You know, sometimes, when I'm alone in my car, I'll drive down there. As I drive down the block, I think back to when we lived in **** *** **** and I can still hear my mother tell the cab driver "8617 Columbia Avenue" ( I think I actually learned that address before I learned my own!). As I drive by, sometimes I'll see people in the front yard, or somebody going in the front door, but it just doesn't seem right. I never got the chance to tell your mother this, but I'm sure that if I did, she would probably say "Son, it's alright. Maybe those people living there now are creating their own memories." And she'd be right.
Last night, after Jennifer went to bed, I lay there thinking about all of this and how that part of the book seemed so relevant to me, so I closed my eyes...
There was mama sitting on one end of the couch and Uncle Marty on the other. My father with Uncle Sonny watching a football game. [Your dad] came through the front door, whistling of course, with a case of Schaeffer for Uncle Marty. Kathy, Margie and Noreen together in the front yard. Uncle Bobby throwing a football around with Bobby, Mickey and Matthew. Jimmy and Ellen were in one of the bedrooms deciding where they were going later that night after dinner. Tommy came over to me, looking as healthy as an ox and told me to eat all my vegetables so I'd grow up strong like him. I saw my mother with Aunt Maureen, Aunt Evelyn and Aunt Sis helping in the kitchen. [You] and Laura were going up and down the stairs with plates and plates of food. There were kids running in the front door and out the back and not one adult complained.
Later we were all downstairs eating and I looked up and saw your mother, with a dish towel over her shoulder, standing on the stairs watching everybody. She was smiling. I got up and walked up the stairs and she put her arm around me and asked if I'd had enough to eat.
"Why are you smiling?" I asked.
Without saying a word, she pointed to everyone at the table. I looked down and everyone had stopped eating. It was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. I looked at each and everyone's face and couldn't help but notice one thing. They were all smiling right back at us.
"That's why" she said.
Later, after dinner, I walked upstairs. There was no one there and as I walked in the kitchen, your mom was standing at the sink washing off the last plate.
"Thanks Aunt Catherine" I said and kissed her cheek.
"Come back anytime, son," she said.
And you know what? I will.
Love, Billy
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