Lists/Playlists/ Life and its Alternative

I am in the ocean tumble of living, grieving, trying to pay bills and litigation.
Yup, life keeps going....thank goodness.
She is free and so am I.
It will take a little getting use to...

So what am I listening to?
Yes, it's a little manic depressive:
Mozart's Requiem in D
Somewhere Over the Rainbow IZ version with ukelele
(Both aforementioned)
Beethoven's 7th-2nd movement (the one they use in 'The King's Speech')
Erasure-Chains of Love  (love it!)
I can't quite believe I'm quoting an Erasure song but:
How can I explain when there are few words I can choose
How can I explain when the words are broken
We use to talk about the weather, making plans together, days would last forever...
Come to me, Cover me, Hold me
Together we'll break these chains of love
Don't give up...Don't give up...
Together we'll be free and break these chains of love....

Look, I know this is more about Gay pride, choice, and perhaps AIDS, but a good pop song can stretch over many interpretations. If I want to find meaning in it because of my Mom's passing, it's my story and I'm sticking to it. As much as Mozart's Requiem being about my mother's death. Same/same, but different. Erasure also reminds me of a time of my feckless youth: filled with nights of romp, clubs, art openings, big hair, dark red lipstick and lots of camera flash (mostly my camera flash). Parents were neither alive or dead, but calling you to see if you were still around and conscious.

There was my mother reaching beyond the grave when I found out that she had upgraded her casket to one of the high end ones. In doing so, she 'neglected' to pay the burial fee. So it was left for me to 'clean up' the place after she left. I have to laugh, though I was a bit miffed. We all did. Thanks for keeping it real Mom. My Mom knew it was the last time anyone was going to see her. She wanted to look great, and she did.

The funeral was a necessary closure, a welcomed one. These rituals are here for a reason, and I have found out that they can really help. People showed up, they were kind and gracious. I was glad to be in the south, where such behavior (despite any agenda or back story) is as natural as breathing. Perhaps it is a matter of dialect? The southern drawl instead of the clipped Yankee? The casket did look beautiful, as did the flowers (which I picked out and gladly paid for). There was a perfect place for her at the family plot. The cemetery is in the center of town, in the shadow of the great Tuscaloosa football 'cathedral'. She can cheer if she wants to. The game has changed a lot since her youth and 'Bear Bryant'. (I wouldn't necessarily say it's progress, just growth.) It was a lovely day, 70 degrees, sunny, a light breeze, as easy to take as my Mom was easy on the eyes.  Her last words to me were 'come back'. I did and I will return again to see the rest of my family. Godspeed Mom.

Ahh she was a beauty.....

My Mom about age 22

 about age 21

early on in NYC, about 26 years old

That's me, less than 1, Mom is 39

Mom's 43, I'm 3 and a half, I still have the towel (really)

Mother/Daughter/Eternity–a work in progress

I actually used my mother's 'dying' as an excuse to a cab driver, so he would leave me alone, for trying to explain taking the wrong route home from the airport.
My mother hasn't passed away as of yet. But the time is nigh. She has pneumonia and has lost a lot of ground.
I was asked if I wanted to take 'aggressive action' or 'keep her comfortable'. This is code for sending her to the hospital where she will be hooked up to monitors and machines, perhaps a feeding tube to put off the inevitable. Supposedly someone with dementia has a harder time with this because of the lack of familiarity. 'Comfortable' is code for managing pain, remaining at the facility, in this case a nursing home, and having her symptoms managed, but allowing nature to take it's course. This course would be the body shutting down.
I opted for comfortable, though it was an uncomfortable decision, and a lonely one. As soon as I signed papers I wanted to leave, had to leave to get the plane back to where I really lived, had almost always lived. Where she spent half her life, the middle section.

She's 90, it's her choice to stay or go without me forcing her hand. Let her be comfortable.

In 1945 she came to NYC, right before the war ended. She told me on VE day, all these sailors were trying to kiss her. Unlike the woman in the famous photo, she would have non of it. She came from Tuscaloosa, Alabama, a beauty queen with high spirits and a sense of adventure. Her then husband was in the air corp and brought her to NYC on a weekend. Her infidelity to home and hearth started with that visit. She knew she had to come back, no matter what.
She did. The first marriage didn't last, he wasn't who she married, and she wasn't who he hoped she would be. At 24 this is not surprising.

Her urban friends, all from other places, Texas, Alexandria Egypt, Maine all said she should be a model and work at Bergdorf Goodman. 'What's Bergdorf Goodman?'' she asked. She soon found out and did end up working there, as a runway model. Not the same as the catwalks of today, but still earning a living by her looks. She had many adventures in the golden age of New York in the 40s and 50s. It seemed like a lot of fun, and very glamorous.
Pretty good for a small time girl. She ended up living in Tudor City with 3 girlfriends while they were building the UN. The construction always woke them up.

Eventually she met my Dad, after 6 months in the Dominican Republic hanging out with the Trujillo junta set. It was suppose to be 2 weeks with a girl friend, but they just kept staying on. I even have her driver's license for the DR.  She said the guys who liked her the most came up to her neck (when she was wearing stillettos). I saw a few pictures, it looked great.
Anyway, she met my Dad and that lasted longer because they were older and they both wanted to be married and have children. Eventually I alighted on earth and both agreed separately that it was the reason they were ever together. Not the greatest psychology for a kid, but it was something they both completely agreed on.

My Mom's glamorous life was left to stories she told me and how her life was 'before'. Before me, my dad, trying to live a conventional life, that she thought she wanted, but wasn't as keen on when it enveloped her.

But her beauty did carry her, even at the nursing home. I made a small collage of old photos, people talked of her being 'like a movie star', so glamorous. It was kind of amazing, how the nurses and aides, even the hospice people today got gobsmacked over when they saw the photos. Beauty can really count for a lot. I know it's something I pursue. Not quite in the same way as my Mom did. Being a daughter of a glamorous mom, I went about it differently; rebelliously, artistically, poetically, in flats and jeans, no makeup vs heels, pencil skirts, girdles and foundation. She did tell great stories and could be really funny. Giving me tea and cinnamon toast when I had a sore throat, making handmade Halloween costumes (no boxed sets for me), collecting angels at Christmas, teaching me how to sew clothes (as close to fashion as I got).

Parents are never an even playing field. They do the best they can, which is a sliding scale. We as children slide up and down as well. When our parents have grown old, we trade places, they become our children and we take care of them. It's one of the hardest trade offs we have to deal with in our lives. Yet, it does have a natural order. I am not enjoying it, typical of a baby boomer, but it is my duty, and in some strange way that gives me solace.

I will post pictures of what I speak when I can get them scanned in.