Lifesaver

That's her holding the Elvis album

I popped into Facebook this morning and noticed it's Mother's Day. I wrote about Father's Day last year. I tend to write these posts after working out, mostly because my energy is up and mostly because the entire function of this blog is to write about gaining strength and eating locally. The side effect of this schedule, however, is that during the 20, 30, 40 minutes alone in my head while building endorphins, I tend to start thinking in blog posts and my thoughts meander along. Today was only 20 minutes because I'm weirdly tuckered out. Even Friday Night Lights couldn't keep me cranking away on the elliptical.

As I've mentioned in the past, I don't celebrate Hallmark holidays. I know that makes me sound like the biggest dink, like proclaiming I don't believe in god because that's what you do when you're a pseudo anti-establishment intellectual pretentious panty-waisted liberal who hates the troops and sings kumbaya. I eat meat and we have guns in the house, so shut up. Whatever. I don't believe in Hallmark holidays. I don't really celebrate Christmas either--and it isn't because I don't believe in a Christian holiday. It's because I don't want one day to represent everything I feel about someone.

I think about my mother every day. I used to resent friends who didn't appreciate their mothers and I would even go so far as to say, "Well, at least your mother is alive." Ah, who am I kidding? I still say that shit. I tend to joke about being raised feral. My mom was diagnosed with MS when I was three or so. She was sick for most of my formidable years, but I remember some of her. Some is sweet, much of it is guilt-inducing and painful.

For sweet, I remember she walked around the block with me when I was maybe in the first grade. It's hazy, like a sitcom flashback. She had a cane--or at least in this version she had a cane--and we were working our way around the corner of Columbus Rd. and Lowell St. in our suburban neighborhood north of Boston. (Aside: My pornstar name is Mindy Columbus. I can't even get a sexy pornstar name.)

Is it wrong that I just referenced porn while talking about my deceased mother on Mother's Day? But it felt so right.

That's what she said.

Oh my god. Someone stop me. ANYWAY, I had a roll of Lifesavers in my pocket and, if I remember correctly, my mom was using this walk around the block to have a quiet moment with me to explain that she was gravely ill. She had been ill for half my life at that point. She had a cane. I wasn't blind. I remember wondering why she was explaining something so obvious to me.

As we rounded the corner, Monica Linton, the bully up the street, saw me holding my Lifesavers and asked me for one. I handed one over.

Another aside. I know I was bullied because I was a damaged girl. I was. I'm not saying that for sympathy or whatever. I was a sad, conflicted, anxious, and deeply troubled little girl. I spent a lot of my time in my room listening to records and staring at myself in the mirror because I was convinced I was on the wrong side. I was the reflection and I wanted to be the real girl.

And we're back. My mom didn't say anything to Monica, but instead carried on with our conversation. Things like, how we'd have to eventually move into a one-floor house because she wouldn't be able to walk. And, how she was going to be disoriented and might not remember me. Some of the things she mentioned that day didn't happen. Most of them did.

Adrian Linton, Monica's older and less bullying but more manipulative sister, walked up. "I heard you had Lifesavers."

I handed one over.

This continued for our entire walk. By the time we got home--it was a long walk along a short sidewalk--my Lifesavers were gone. My mother walked into the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and handed me what looked like a small booklet. When I opened it up, I saw that it was a fake book filled with Lifesaver rolls. I don't know what she was saving them for--a Christmas gift, an Easter basket, a birthday? But, she gave me that treasure trove of Lifesavers, patted me on the head, and walked into our sunroom to rest.

So, Happy Mother's Day. Be nice to bullies?