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Two weeks ago tomorrow, standing in a rural Virginia courthouse in blue pinstripes and the staid black pumps that pass for my court heels these days, I lost the thread of my argument in the thicket of a sudden thought: "My mother died five years ago today."
Five years ago that day. 10 October 2008. A Friday. I remember the come-home-now email I got that Tuesday from the sistergirl's friend K, who knew I never answered my cell phone. I remember the last client I talked to through silent tears the afternoon I left for FamilyTown, trying to help them keep their housing as my heart's shelter crumbled. I remember the ABIL, the sistergirl's then-just-a-year husband, bringing us Subway sandwiches as we stood in the doorway of Mom's bedroom and watched her barely breathe and then throwing a fit that night when he didn't get thanked profusely enough. I remember cropping PDF scans of fifty-, sixty-, seventy-year-old photos on my laptop propped on Mom's caretaker J's kitchen counter, evening up edges and preserving Kodak borders as though the project before me was an academic exercise instead of a history of love.
I remember the soft cream shawl I made those last three days of La Mama's life with us, crocheted of a pretty slubby yarn MMWD had sent me earlier that year, all scallops and swoop and just a little dainty feminine fringe. I spread it over the quilt covering her legs the Friday morning she died, and I sent it into the fire with what she left behind when she moved on.
I remember these things. They hurt like hell. But I'd rather have the pain and the memories than risk losing either to what killed my mother: to Alzheimer's disease.
So this Saturday, for the fourth year in a row, I'll be volunteering at and traipsing the route of the Walk to End Alzheimer's here in Workville. And in support of that endeavor, I hereby make the same promise tonight, in honor and memory of La Mama, that I made this past spring in a similar context:
Donate any amount to the Walk to End Alzheimer's via this link right here and I'll send you a fabulous purple sQarf (illustrative examples here).
Just click the link to donate, email me at keeyoo at gmail dot com with your snailmail address, and you'll be ensQarfed by Thanksgiving.
I'm walking solo this year, but I'll be carrying you with me in gratitude and love.
Mille grazie.
(Relatedly: If you donated to the MS Walk at my request earlier this year and are wondering about the whereabouts of the fabulous orange sqarf you should have received from me in return: it's sitting atop a pile of packing envelopes in my living room with its sistren and brethren, wondering rather irritably why it hasn't met you yet. If that applies to you, (1) my heartiest apologies; (2) please re-send me your snailmail address via the email address above and I'll get an orange sqarf out to you by Thanksgiving as well.)
Five years ago that day. 10 October 2008. A Friday. I remember the come-home-now email I got that Tuesday from the sistergirl's friend K, who knew I never answered my cell phone. I remember the last client I talked to through silent tears the afternoon I left for FamilyTown, trying to help them keep their housing as my heart's shelter crumbled. I remember the ABIL, the sistergirl's then-just-a-year husband, bringing us Subway sandwiches as we stood in the doorway of Mom's bedroom and watched her barely breathe and then throwing a fit that night when he didn't get thanked profusely enough. I remember cropping PDF scans of fifty-, sixty-, seventy-year-old photos on my laptop propped on Mom's caretaker J's kitchen counter, evening up edges and preserving Kodak borders as though the project before me was an academic exercise instead of a history of love.
I remember the soft cream shawl I made those last three days of La Mama's life with us, crocheted of a pretty slubby yarn MMWD had sent me earlier that year, all scallops and swoop and just a little dainty feminine fringe. I spread it over the quilt covering her legs the Friday morning she died, and I sent it into the fire with what she left behind when she moved on.
I remember these things. They hurt like hell. But I'd rather have the pain and the memories than risk losing either to what killed my mother: to Alzheimer's disease.
So this Saturday, for the fourth year in a row, I'll be volunteering at and traipsing the route of the Walk to End Alzheimer's here in Workville. And in support of that endeavor, I hereby make the same promise tonight, in honor and memory of La Mama, that I made this past spring in a similar context:
Just click the link to donate, email me at keeyoo at gmail dot com with your snailmail address, and you'll be ensQarfed by Thanksgiving.
I'm walking solo this year, but I'll be carrying you with me in gratitude and love.
Mille grazie.
(Relatedly: If you donated to the MS Walk at my request earlier this year and are wondering about the whereabouts of the fabulous orange sqarf you should have received from me in return: it's sitting atop a pile of packing envelopes in my living room with its sistren and brethren, wondering rather irritably why it hasn't met you yet. If that applies to you, (1) my heartiest apologies; (2) please re-send me your snailmail address via the email address above and I'll get an orange sqarf out to you by Thanksgiving as well.)
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