My MaMa is not doing well. It was a long night last night. I need to talk about it, so if you don’t mind listening, here goes..
When my mother decided to go back to work after I was born, my grandparents became daycare. We all lived in Ft. Worth, TX together, and I’m pretty sure they only lived down the street. I spent a lot of time there when I was little. What’s really strange is what I remember. I don’t remember much, and even what I do is vague and foggy. I remember dark wood paneling, earth tones, and the smell. The smell is kind of almost like baby powder, a light dusting of perfume that’s held on the furniture even to this day.
My MaMa LOVES cemetaries. I know that right now you’re either sitting there, mouth agape, at the twisted perversion of it, or you’re thinking that it must’ve been scarring for me somehow, but niether is true. She taught me the lesson that I’ve often repeated on here: “Campagne women have nothing to fear. Not even death.” And we proved that by exploring cemetaries. Living at the Bitter House was so awesome, because it was across the street from the historic Maple Hill cemetary. I used to go jogging there on a nightly basis, and it ALWAYS made me think of her.
This past year, an amazing thing surfaced. You all know that I’ve had medical problem after medical problem this year. It never failed that, whatever I was feeling, my MaMa was also feeling. That pain in my side that no one could figure out? We finally settled on pleurisy, but there were no other symptoms. When the pain was the worst.. MaMa had broken a rib. Same side, same rib. When I had the stomach flu a few weeks ago? She had it too. Same kind, same duration. It’s bizarre. And although I never mentioned it to anyone, my chest had been spasming this past week. We found out VERY recently that MaMa had a heart attack this week.
She is VERY italian, but also very modern. She and I got our ears pierced together on her birthday. We got matching opal studs, and had it done at Merle Norman. I remember it like it was yesterday. I made her go first because I was scared. She recited her Italian beliefs, mixed with my grandfather’s military mantras as she calmed me with, ”Beauty is pain, my dear.. and pain is weakness leaving the body.”
She is an amazing woman. And she is constantly in my thoughts.
