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I Wish She'd Remember Too
I Wish She'd Remember Too
My mom and I were the wild ones within our family. If it was not for my strict dad and my two brothers who took after him, we would be a disaster, and we both knew it. We would forget to do everything, we would be constantly late to everything, we were just not a duo who could be productive together, but we always had fun.
I remember this one time, my mom and I were eating dinner at the table, just the two of us. My dad was out of town for work, and my brothers were somewhere else. In one moment, we were sitting there, eating our food, and next thing I know, we were dancing around the kitchen, singing our hearts out to the soundtrack from Grease. It is one of my favorite memories with her, I just wished she’d remember too.
We would also mess around my my dad a lot, and we always got a laugh out of it. He, being a very strict, on time man, would get mad at my mom and I because we were almost always running late, but we didn't care! We use to say, “You’re lucky we showed up at all,” and my dad would just roll his eyes. I loved this saying, but I just wished she would remember saying it too.
My mom drove me to school every day in the eighth grade, and when we got our report card back at the end of the year, we had 38 tardies. We joked how it should've been way higher because of the countless times I slipped into class a couple minutes late before my teacher called my name and noticed I wasn't there. Being late almost became a sort of ritual with us two, where people would tell us an event started 30 minutes before it actually did, because they knew we would be 15 minutes late anyway.
She also drove me to school everyday during my junior year of high school. I had late arrival, so I didn't have to be there until a little after eight, and since my brother drove to school at 7, she drove me. Every morning we would sit in the car and listen to the same talk show every morning. Just another morning celebrity gossip talk show. Everyone in my family thought it was stupid and boring, but not us. We listened, we laughed, we sang with the songs they played during the breaks. We were doing way more than any two people should be ready for that early in the morning. I love these memories of driving to school, but I wish she’d remember them too.
It eventually got too a point where my mom and I started calling each other a “messy mess”. We were just doing everything sloppy, being late, forgetting this, forgetting that. We would constantly say we were going to do something over the weekend, and spend the entire weekend doing every except that. I always thought our brains were wired different than my dad and brothers. They were so punctual, they did everything they said they would, when they said they would do it by, but not us. It took us weeks to do something that would take a day, because we either forget to do it, or do some of it and just start doing something else. Being a “messy mess” is something that my mom and I held dearly, we knew it wasn't the best thing to be, but we were proud of it. I loved when we would call each other that, but I wish she could remember too.
My mom and I lived off gossip, whether it was celebrity gossip or real life gossip. Whether it was what she heard on the radio that morning or something that happened to me during the day. I used to work at a coffee shop inside of the children’s hospital where she worked. There were eight employees there, and I was the only male. There were an obvious set of two groups within the employees, where the morning workers didn't like the closing workers, and vice versa. Well, I was in college so I worked both, and everyone liked me. I heard all sorts of gossip about morning people from closing people, and I heard all about gossip about closing people from morning people. My mom lived for this. Every night after work, “whats the gossip,” and there was always something. We would gossip anytime, anywhere, but I just wish she would remember that.
It’s not so easy for my mom anymore. She's getting older and she doesn't remember things as well. I take my kids to go visit her every week, often times more than once a week. We just go and eat dinner, grab coffee, we just love being together, but it hurts me every time I go over there. She remembers my name and who I am, but everything else is slowly fading, and I can see it. Sometimes I walk in with my kids and she has this look on her face, a look of meeting new people. I have to sneak past my kids and whispered to her their names and that they are her grandkids, and she plays along. She pretends she remembers, but I know she doesn’t.
It is killing me, watching her mind go, knowing all the things we did together, knowing all the memories. I know she treasured them like I do, but I just wish she still could. I wish I could go up to her and call her a “messy mess” and she would know what I was talking about. I wish she would tell me gossip she has heard. I wish she would say, “you’re lucky I even showed up.” Knowing that I have to hurry in the door and remind her about my kids, tell her their names and their ages. Seeing the look on her face while talking to them. To her, she is talking to complete strangers, but for my boys, its their grandmother. I wish I could go back and relive all those moments, because now, it’s almost like they didn't even happen. How can a moment happen if half the people there don't even remember it happening?
I wish my mom was here, I wish she’d come back.
I remember this one time, my mom and I were eating dinner at the table, just the two of us. My dad was out of town for work, and my brothers were somewhere else. In one moment, we were sitting there, eating our food, and next thing I know, we were dancing around the kitchen, singing our hearts out to the soundtrack from Grease. It is one of my favorite memories with her, I just wished she’d remember too.
We would also mess around my my dad a lot, and we always got a laugh out of it. He, being a very strict, on time man, would get mad at my mom and I because we were almost always running late, but we didn't care! We use to say, “You’re lucky we showed up at all,” and my dad would just roll his eyes. I loved this saying, but I just wished she would remember saying it too.
My mom drove me to school every day in the eighth grade, and when we got our report card back at the end of the year, we had 38 tardies. We joked how it should've been way higher because of the countless times I slipped into class a couple minutes late before my teacher called my name and noticed I wasn't there. Being late almost became a sort of ritual with us two, where people would tell us an event started 30 minutes before it actually did, because they knew we would be 15 minutes late anyway.
She also drove me to school everyday during my junior year of high school. I had late arrival, so I didn't have to be there until a little after eight, and since my brother drove to school at 7, she drove me. Every morning we would sit in the car and listen to the same talk show every morning. Just another morning celebrity gossip talk show. Everyone in my family thought it was stupid and boring, but not us. We listened, we laughed, we sang with the songs they played during the breaks. We were doing way more than any two people should be ready for that early in the morning. I love these memories of driving to school, but I wish she’d remember them too.
It eventually got too a point where my mom and I started calling each other a “messy mess”. We were just doing everything sloppy, being late, forgetting this, forgetting that. We would constantly say we were going to do something over the weekend, and spend the entire weekend doing every except that. I always thought our brains were wired different than my dad and brothers. They were so punctual, they did everything they said they would, when they said they would do it by, but not us. It took us weeks to do something that would take a day, because we either forget to do it, or do some of it and just start doing something else. Being a “messy mess” is something that my mom and I held dearly, we knew it wasn't the best thing to be, but we were proud of it. I loved when we would call each other that, but I wish she could remember too.
My mom and I lived off gossip, whether it was celebrity gossip or real life gossip. Whether it was what she heard on the radio that morning or something that happened to me during the day. I used to work at a coffee shop inside of the children’s hospital where she worked. There were eight employees there, and I was the only male. There were an obvious set of two groups within the employees, where the morning workers didn't like the closing workers, and vice versa. Well, I was in college so I worked both, and everyone liked me. I heard all sorts of gossip about morning people from closing people, and I heard all about gossip about closing people from morning people. My mom lived for this. Every night after work, “whats the gossip,” and there was always something. We would gossip anytime, anywhere, but I just wish she would remember that.
It’s not so easy for my mom anymore. She's getting older and she doesn't remember things as well. I take my kids to go visit her every week, often times more than once a week. We just go and eat dinner, grab coffee, we just love being together, but it hurts me every time I go over there. She remembers my name and who I am, but everything else is slowly fading, and I can see it. Sometimes I walk in with my kids and she has this look on her face, a look of meeting new people. I have to sneak past my kids and whispered to her their names and that they are her grandkids, and she plays along. She pretends she remembers, but I know she doesn’t.
It is killing me, watching her mind go, knowing all the things we did together, knowing all the memories. I know she treasured them like I do, but I just wish she still could. I wish I could go up to her and call her a “messy mess” and she would know what I was talking about. I wish she would tell me gossip she has heard. I wish she would say, “you’re lucky I even showed up.” Knowing that I have to hurry in the door and remind her about my kids, tell her their names and their ages. Seeing the look on her face while talking to them. To her, she is talking to complete strangers, but for my boys, its their grandmother. I wish I could go back and relive all those moments, because now, it’s almost like they didn't even happen. How can a moment happen if half the people there don't even remember it happening?
I wish my mom was here, I wish she’d come back.